Fritz in Costa Rica

A belated update

2011-02-23T23:58:00.001-06:00

Some friends since high school reestablished contact with me this week and wondered what I’ve been up to. One even had read my blog and wondered why I hadn’t posted in quite some time. I didn’t know I had a reader.
So much has happened that it’s difficult to summarize, and I’ll certainly leave out the intimate details. I spent today at Organico Minimarket, where I became a partner in November. This was a shift from my bbq business, especially since I had been to a raw foods retreat in July and began preparing raw foods for our nascient deli section, which I looked forward to developing. I started a web page, http://www.organico.webs.com/ and a Facebook page
I spent an hour this morning at the annual meeting of our water board, which I’ve been writing about for Voice of Nosara. If you have a remote interest in our water issues here, which are dramatic, check out my latest at http://www.voiceofnosara.com/02_11_regional_03.html
Also, some great local photos are at http://www.voiceofnosara.com/community.html
The VON is a great monthly that is fortunately backed by a publisher with deep pockets who wants to be a positive force in the community, although our print run is about a 1,000. We’re doing some real journalism here.
I’m also the de facto arts reviewer, and music critic, although I would never write an unkind word and everybody here is talented and above average.
On a more personal level, I split with my wife in August. We struggled over my decision in February 2005 to move down here full time and it’s not the outcome I wanted but it became clear that we needed to move in separate directions.
I’m keeping the bbq business alive, and am going to start spending more time with my smoker near the beach. Until now I’ve been focused on the store, which has a lot of competition in a tiny seasonal market. Shlomo started the store a year ago and we’ve been trying to grow the store ‘organically,’ which means we don’t have a lot of money to put into it.
So I’ve been working harder than I ever did in DC, but at least I’m feeding people nutritional food instead of the bullshit I was paid to spread during my former career in associations. I am grateful, and still count my blessings, that I got the hell out of there, even though there have been unexpected turns here.
But I have few expectations and am not strongly attached to much except my pursuit of happiness and satisfaction. There is a lot to be said for simplifying life when there is an opportunity, or when faced with circumstances.
I’ve recently put my surfboard back in the water after a prolonged absence, and have remembered how much fun I used to have before I got tired of being smacked down more than enjoying an easier ride. I’ve lived here full time for three and a half years, and although it is turning into a different adventure from the one I once had, I see myself living here the rest of my life.
There are no paved roads here, and the dust is unbelievably bad between November and May, and although the government is slowly working on a plan to pave the main road, no one expects it to happen soon. It took me more than a month to get my Pathfinder fixed when I tried to drown it in one of the rivers north of here one night, driving home from a fiesta or combination rodeo-carnival that is traditional here.
So there’s a price to pay to live in paradise, but I feel a lot stronger for having chosen this course, and a lot more flexible.

BBQ and Raw Food: An Unnatural Combination

2010-07-21T16:24:00.006-05:00

Last week Jane and I attended a retreat at Pura Vida Spa in San Jose that featured instruction in raw foods preparation. I had been turned on to this cuisine at a ‘cleanse retreat’ I attended in May at the Hacienda del Sol in nearby San Juanillo, in large part because with the right recipes and preparation, it is delicious. I have been interested in improving my diet since the conclusion of the high season in April, which left me low on energy.
While away, the local Tico businessman who claims to own the property near the beach where I set up my BBQ Smoke Shack had the shack torn down. The irony of this was not lost on me, and indeed if one is inclined to look for ‘signs from the Universe’ this might seem to be one.

I decided to wait for more information from the universe, and was absorbed in the raw foods school, which is designed as a teacher preparation workshop as well as instruction in the techniques and ‘lifestyle’ of raw foods. I contemplated the slogan for a potential new direction for the shack, “BBQ and Raw Foods: An Unnatural Combination.”
Chappa is the Tico who claims to own the choice piece of land where I set up my shack. Years ago when the farms were bought to form the original American Project, this corner was somehow not included in the land registry, essentially making it a ‘no man’s land.’ Chappa has been attempting to claim it through the squatting procedure, and he has paid me visits in the past to express his concerns, in Spanish, that essentially I was squatting on his squat and that he had a problem with that. Through intermediaries, I was able to smooth things over then, at least for a time.
One of those intermediaries, Ty Kennedy, visited with Chappa this week to explore whether there could be a future return for the shack. The good news is that Ty thinks he has smoothed things over and that I will be allowed to rebuild the shack. At this point, since we are experiencing an exceptionally rainy green season, I am inclined to wait until the dry season arrives in November before rebuilding the Smoke Shack.
But today I had a long discussion with my friend Shlomo, who runs the local organic food and mini-mart Organico, and I am pleased to announce plans to sell raw food products as well as barbecue at his store, including cooking classes/demonstrations.

Taking the Cleanse

2010-06-05T23:18:00.000-05:00

Today is Saturday, the day after returning from a 7 day cleanse retreat at Hacienda del Sol. I awoke before dawn, and instead of going back to sleep, had the energy to stay up and meditate, doing my usual toning practice.
I then squeezed two lemons, added a bit of water and a strong dash of cayenne, and it further jolted me to alertness. Charlie and I were on the beach by 6, and I was ahead of my regular routine by one to two hours. The night before, I read until 11:30, so my body seemed to be happy with less sleep.
On the beach I tried jogging but didn’t seem to have the energy to keep it up. I also felt the cayenne in my stomach, which did not encourage jogging. A couple more attempts failed to take off for long. It felt great stopping to chat with a couple of friends, one of whom was JP, the raw foods chef who had prepared our incredibly delicious dinner the first night of the retreat, and the last time we would be eating solid food (except for oatmeal and fruit the next morning) for six days.
That dinner was so good that it changed my whole attitude about raw food. It was a complex meal with lots of small items that had taken him all day to prepare. But it showed me how much flavor you could pack into a raw food cuisine.
Our routine started Saturday, after the delicious oatmeal breakfast, another eye-opener because I’d never had oatmeal this good. We started that day with our first colema, which involves using a five gallon jug filled with water and the flavor of the day to wash out your bowels. We were each given a jug of coffee to mix with the warm water. Menhla gave us a group instruction in how to use the devices, in six stalls, and we were assigned shifts since there were 12 of us.
This day we also met with Mitra, who met with us individually for a health consultation and then gave us acupuncture. I had had a couple of acupuncture sessions with Mitra in Nosara, and it was on his encouragement that I cut way back on alcohol, started changing my diet, and was attending this cleanse.
We started our juice regimen, with different drinks assigned at specific times during the day. We also made a roughage mix, mostly from psyllium powder, twice a day to drink down.
Sunday started our regular routine and that meant yoga at 7, preceded by a drink of lemon juice with a dash of cayenne. Adya is a beautiful teacher, Mitra’s wife, who gave a gentle yoga routine that was challenging for the beginners and satisfying for me. In Shivasana each day, Mitra would give us needles, customized for our needs, and he typically pinned me in the lower legs and on the arms.
We had colemas both in the morning and afternoon, and for the next four we added a 16 ounce bottle of lemon juice to our five gallon mix.
We also did some meditations in the evening and over the days I felt myself getting much deeper into these.
On the fourth day we switched to garlic in our colemas. Mitra put a needle between my eyes, which facilitated a very deep meditation for me.
The group consisted of a Polish-American couple from Ft. Lauderdale about my age, if I averaged them out. The rest were women in the 25-35 age group, mostly on the low side of that range. Two became sick, apparently contracting a flu-type sickness that lasted two to three days. Others were struggling as well, but I felt pretty steady, although a bit weak. I was starting to sleep much less at night, although was also unable to read at mid-day without nodding off, which has been my lifelong pattern.
Thursday was liver cleanse day and the day we would break back into solid foods. Wednesday night we had two glasses of Epsom salt solution, two hours apart, and before retiring we drank a 16 ounce bottle of a mix of olive oil and orange juice. It was an unusual taste but went down pretty easily. Two more Epsom salts in the morning and a coffee colema. We should have been expelling gooey balls of waste, but mine didn’t come out until had a second colema that afternoon. This was number 11 and final, a total of a 55 gallon drum barrel of fluids having been flushed through my colon at this point. I checked the sieve that I had placed in the bowl to screen my excretum, and was happy to see a number of gummy balls. My liver, free at last!
We had an afternoon snack of papaya, maybe the best I have ever tasted, and a salad around 4.
I also experimented with a Rife frequency machine the last three days. The theory behind it is that ailments and diseases have their own frequency, and a machine dialed to those same frequencies can provide healing to the recipient. I chose a few frequencies from a directory that I thought might promote well-being, and any affects were subtle. During the week Menhla also gave me a cranial-sacral treatment, which led me to a deep, meditative relaxation.
Since my return I’ve eagerly made grocery purchases of products to continue this healthy diet. I’ve strayed a little bit from the guidelines and food list that Mitra provided for me, based on his analysis of my personal nutrition profile. Other than the late morning lull, my energy has been good all day, and my mind has been more clear than normal.
Although the effects have been gradual, I feel like I have received what I had set as my intention, which is to have more energy on physical, emotional, mental and spiritual levels.

Being Thankful in Nosara and Nicoya

2009-11-26T22:29:00.004-06:00

Jane's not arriving here til Sunday and not much turkey is being smoked, although I managed to fire up something. I took Charlie to the vet with my bbq mate Ryan and his dog. While in Nicoya needed to get my 97 Nissan Pathfinder through inspection. This is the first time I tried doing it myself. We waited in line under the sun with the AC on and the car overheated. I had some water and antifreeze I keep on hand for just such occasions, but I figured it wouldn't help my chances of passing the inspection for the inspectors to see me refilling the radiator next to a puddle of water. But then I couldn't get the engine started so one of the inspectors helped me push it to a start. At that point I had pretty much given up on getting through the inspection successfully and thought about just driving off in shame. However, there was no longer anyone in front of me and Ryan was off finding some grass for the dogs.
My spanish is still pretty crappy but the guy was going down his checklist and so far there wasn't anything obviously wrong.
This was shortlived, as they pointed to the missing passenger side outside mirror. Necessito? I asked, thinking that the extra mirror was optional and they might not care about it. That didn't work and I'm not experienced in bribing in those circumstances. Nobody had their hand out, but maybe I just wasn't looking that hard. Then we stumbled through a review of my options, which were to continued the rest of the testing and fail or to bail out with 30 days to return. I can handle more frustration so I continued through the test, which is more rigorous than the ones in DC. I didn't pass the emission and had a problem with a cracked rear taillight assembly. Fortunately the engine had cooled and would start again.
We're finally out of there and I head to a garage nearby where I've had work done before and they remember me and my fat wallet. I'm not expecting much, just to have him find a mirror and come back another day to have the engine checked out. The owner surprises me and says that in a couple of hours they should be able to fix it up so it will pass. That brightens my mood and one of his mechanics drives us to the vet on the other side of town. I had used this shop last year to get through the test and they know how to get cars through.
The vet says Charlie has fleas and is having some allergic reaction and gives him a steroid shot and me some advice on fighting them. We got a cab back and I'm told, or at least I think I'm being told, because its Spanish, that someone has driven the car back to the inspection station to get it through. In fact, the guy arrives just as a downpour is abating, and puts the new sticker on the windshield. But it turns out they have to take back the light assembly and return the broken one because they had borrowed it from another car in their shop. The mirror seemed to fit the car perfectly and I get to keep it.
So I have a lot to be thankful for today.

Pura Vida!
Fritz

Flying lessons in the AutoGyro

2009-10-12T20:11:00.005-05:00

Just when life in Nosara threatens to become a routine (ha!) along comes something new and exciting. In this case, the opportunity to learn to fly, specifically, in one of the AutoGyro aircraft available at the Flying Crocodile, the training center for ultralights at Playa Buena Vista near Samara.
I'm in my second week of flying, toward 35 hours to qualify for a license.
The AutoGyro is manufactured in Germany and I've included a link to the photo page on their website. The gyro is remarkably stable, safe and easy to operate and under the highly experienced guidance of Frank Nierhoff today I practiced landing and takeoff after doing many descents down to Playa Guiones and many other spectacular beaches here, buzzing the surfers or whoever else, if anyone is on these beaches at all. We fly by Mel Gibson's beach but Britney Spears is long gone, as is everyone else now.
In a few days we are going to take a training run to the Arenal Volcano, and I'm including a shot taking by Alex, who is completing his training.

Security in Nosara should improve

2009-09-29T20:41:00.008-05:00

The head of the Fuerza Publica, Costa Rica’s top police official, flew into Nosara Monday with an entourage of officials to hear first hand from residents about escalating crime at this upscale beach resort.

Comisario Eric Lacayo, the chief of the Fuerza Publica, listened to almost 100 Tico and ex-pat residents and businessmen for almost an hour, and then promised help, including a follow-up meeting for Tuesday, Oct. 6, with the top prosecutor, or Fiscal, of Nicoya, as well as the regional head of the OIJ, the Judicial Investigating Organization sometimes referred to as Costa Rica’s FBI.
Area residents have been meeting over the past year in efforts to organize and address escalating, bolder and more professional home and car break-ins and beach thefts. As one resident testified, “My home is been broken into four times, costing me about $1000 each time, and my car has been broken into twice and stolen.”

One local group has been writing letters to government officials in an attempt to deploy members of the new Tourist Police to the beaches of Nosara, and it was from that effort that the high level visit was sparked. The Tourist Police report to Comisario Lacayo and have the same authority as the Fuerza Publica.

Residents complained of ineffective and corrupt local police, as well as prosecutors in Nicoya who release criminal suspects the same day they are brought before them. Further, the Nosara police station has been ordered closed by the Department of Health for its poor working and living conditions.

Residents have been petitioning and raising funds to support and attract a delegation of the relatively new Tourist Police to Playa Guiones, including a headquarters building near the beach, and to renovate the existing Police office in the center of Nosara.

Comisario Lacayo congratulated the gathering, which he said is the largest delegation that has met with him over local security concerns. With the Chief of Police of Nicoya present as well as the regional chief for Guanacaste, he said he would take the names of police officers who engaged in improper activities. Many in the audience submitted names of suspected police officers, written anonymously on pieces of paper and collected in a hat. He also urged people to call 911 to make complaints, which can be done anonymously, he said. He also pointed out that anonymous drug tips can be made by calling 176.

Money cannot be spent on improvements to the Nosara police station by the Ministerio de Seguridad Publica until the land is properly deeded to the Ministerio. The lot is currently deeded to the Board of Education and efforts to get the deed transferred have been slow, according to Agnes Pinheiro, who has led recent meetings to address security.

She said a member of Lacayo’s delegation assured her they would check on the status of the station to ensure it would not be closed because of the needed repairs.
Comisario Lacayo said there were only 18 crime reports from Nosara filed in Nicoya from January to last May. Most of those at the meeting raised their hands when asked if they had been the victim of a crime. Residents were disappointed to learn that reports filed at the local station in Nosara were not included in the official statistics. Tourists here for a week of vacation are not likely to take a day to file a report in Nicoya, and residents are also unlikely to make the hour-long drive, several people pointed out.

In response to another question, Lacayo said that the victims must file the reports themselves, rather than through a rental agent. He promised to try to find a way for reports to be filed locally and accepted as part of the statistics.
He promised a follow-up report to be presented at the Oct. 6 meeting, scheduled for 8 am at the FUCAN building behind the Kitson Library, including a response to efforts to secure the Tourist Police. He also promised to send advisors to help neighborhoods organize better communications to fight crime.

Pinheiro reported that pledges of about $12,000 have already been received toward an annual budget of $15,000 thought necessary to support six tourist police. She said an organizational meeting was planned to create an association to oversee the fundraising and security efforts. Following the meeting, Lacayo inspected the proposed office space, located across the road from the meeting at Casa Tucan.
Also accompanying Comisario Lacayo were Commandante Jose Cruz, sub-director of the Fuerza Publica in Guanacaste, and Agente Yinni Guerrero, Commission de Distritalizacion, a community liaison.

A Song and Video for the Smokeshack!

2009-07-15T09:28:00.002-05:00

We're really on the map now, we have our own theme song for the Smokeshack. Check it out at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hvj1XZtB6ag

The Smokeshack, Bigger and Dryer

2009-05-17T20:04:00.003-05:00

The Smokeshack has been taking a break lately, as we work on our strategy for the rainy season. We're building a new roof area that will cover the smoker, and we're working on a way to make the whole shack waterproof so we can withstand the afternoon rainshowers. Next week we should be back in business.

Citizens meet to fight crime in Nosara

2009-04-18T01:55:00.003-05:00

I’ve been invited to write the blog for the redesigned website Nosara.com which is one of the first local websites and due for a big overhaul. It’s purpose is to promote Nosara as a destination and help visitors plan their trips, so I don’t expect to be bringing a lot of controversy to that site.
For instance, I won’t be writing about the meeting Wednesday night of concerned residents and Ticos looking for ways to fight a recent crime wave here. The meeting of over 50 included a nice mix of concerned Ticos and expats, well represented by businesses and landowners who feel their livelihoods threatened by crimes perpetrated by a few known locals as well as some passing through who are bolder and in some cases violent.
“I’ve been here 25 years and this is the worse I’ve seen it,” noted one U.S. expat.
Agnes reviewed various ideas that had been sent to her, including firearms training. She said she preferred a nonviolent approach, but many people, frustrated with the lack of effective law enforcement, are pursuing various forms of protection.
The meeting was animated and constructive, and frank. Some Ticos pointed to nonlocals brought in as part of construction projects, or other businesses, rather than hiring locals. In defense, one builder said it necessary to bring in outside workers because too many local workers have too much of a Pura Vida attitude.
Finger-pointing aside, after almost two hours the groups moderator, Agnes of Mango Property Management, pointed to agreement that a future meeting should invite the police chief of Liberia, as well as the fiscal, or magistrate, in Nicoya who has released the few prisoners who have managed to get themselves caught. An effort to get officers from the new Tourist Police stationed in Nosara was also endorsed.
The other idea that emerged is to start an awareness campaign and post the photos of known ladrones, or thieves, as well as a campaign against the fences who buy the stolen merchandise.
A call was made for anyone to show their hand who may know one of the aforementioned officials. That the call was unanswered may point to a problem, which is the lack of political clout held by Nosareans. That remains to be seen, but even the fuerza publica, local police, didn’t attend the meeting, although invited.
Nosara has two security companies, and there is grumbling that they haven’t been more effective, although at least one of the companies say they haven’t received enough community support through subscribers to maintain their current levels of patrols.
There has been some talk of setting up a lair for the purpose of catching a burglar red-handed. Such efforts will be successful if they have the support of the police and prosecutors.
Residents are already paying heavily for iron bars, alarms and security service, which many Ticos can’t afford. If crime is unabated, more will have to be spent. At even higher cost is potentially the feeling of tranquility that is sacrificed when strangers are met with suspicion rather than a wave and a smile.

Bringing the Q to Pelada

2009-04-04T14:17:00.002-05:00

We've been bringing the Q to Playa Pelada on Sundays.

Now serving bbq at Playa Pelada

2009-03-17T23:12:00.004-05:00

We're excited to be rolling the bbq wagon out to Playa Pelada this Sunday, where we'll be setting up at the beach in the afternoon and then moving to Pancho's restaurant around sunset for a few hours by their pool and restaurant.

Sean Dunleavy at Pancho's and Ryan sparked up the idea of collaborating, and we've been wanting to bring our bbq to the Pelada community, so close yet so far from Guiones. Business has been pretty good for us, although March started off real slow. The issue here is what to do during the slower green months, and hooking up with Pancho's is bound to help. They can give their kitchen staff a day off while at the same time trying to ignite a new scene at Pelada.

We've improved our signage at the Smokeshack. Paul Dalosta painted us a great sign and Ryan did a sign with our new days and hours, Monday, Wednesday and Friday from noon to 7 pm by the beach entrance. Paul is a great musician, a guitarist, singer, composer who's normally playing at Sarafina's in Pelada, but he is also a great painter. He's been painting skulls lately, which he calls deadheads, but his sign for the smokeshack is a beauty.

The Smoke Shack is here!

2009-02-18T21:59:00.003-06:00

Ryan and I built our Smoke Shack out of bamboo and palm leaves to provide shade for our customers, just as our cheap awning from Maxi-Bodega is beyond what duct tape can repair.
This upgrade to our infrastructure will be sure to raise our profile in the neighborhood.

It smells like puppy!

2009-01-18T21:32:00.002-06:00

We picked up a new puppy a couple of days ago, a female black lab that Jane named Charlie. Our friends Mark and Jill have been very helpful with advice, since they have a lab as well, and Mark even made a pen in the yard. Charlie has been quite docile the first couple of days, and I have to see if she'll take a crap before going to bed.

BBQ and permits

2009-01-13T21:42:00.003-06:00

Our business is going well near the entrance to the beach, and we're seeing a lot of barbecue lovers, tourists, locals expats and ticos. We're also getting noticed by some locals who are concerned about whether we have permits for doing our business. That's not a surprise, and flattering, I guess some people are concerned about competition in a market that's likely to hurt from a downturn in tourism.
It's been very rewarding to get such positive feedback from so many people. This may sound like an ego trip but I'm feeling like it's now my mission to bring the best possible slow-smoked meat, fish, etc. to Nosara.
Of course I'll do what it takes to comply with Costa Rican law. The more attention we get the more we will be the concern of a few people here, whatever their motive. I know many people would be disappointed if I got shut down. I don't really consider myself a threat to restaurants, and my best fans are people who can't generally afford to shell out the bucks for the relatively expensive Nosara dining experience. Even if I'm pushed into renting retail space for a barbecue restaurant, I'll always position myself as a low cost alternative.

2008-12-30T18:07:00.002-06:00

The barbecue business has been doing pretty well now that more people are here. We were allowed to come back to the Tropicale Giordino Saturday for the organic market, by popular acclaim as people lobbied Marcel on our behalf to allow us back., as long as we roll out by noon.
Several guys have commented that they had entertained ideas of starting a bbq stand and are glad to see us there. We'll cook up as much pork ribs as possible for New Years Day because there's been a lot of advance interest.

Barbecue update

2008-12-12T14:52:00.003-06:00

We've been cooking a couple of days now near the main entrance to Guiones and I have some photos to publish.
This has been a very mellow scene, with lots of people stopping by and hanging out. We're using bamboo as dishes for tacos, and have mostly avoided the use of plastic. The tortillas, which we toast on the smoker, have been popular and easier to deal with than the bread we were getting from the German bakery. The fish is smoking up well and we're getting a lot of interest in the fish tacos. Robin has been buying pork as well as the chicken and making smokin' wraps at her cafe.
Jorgelina's sign is helping to catch everybody's attention, but the smokin' machine is the real star of the day. The owership of the lot is tied up in a legal dispute so there won't be anyone asking for rent.
I stopped at the organic market this morning to get more meat from Tony and Siggy and a lot of people have expressed disappointment that I can't bring the smoker back. But we'll be okay in our new location, and I understand why the restaurant there doesn't want us there taking away their lunch crowd on Saturdays.

Fritz's Smokin' BBQ Joint is Open for Business!

2008-12-06T19:31:00.005-06:00

Today we opened for business at the organic market, featuring the meats of Tony and Siggy who raise animals organically. My smoker debuted to rave reviews. Mark finished up his last welding details on Thursday and Frank put the wood paneling on Friday, and we barely had an opportunity to get it lit up and do some preliminary testing before hauling it out early today.

After making it home Friday, my gardener Jason helped me get some polyurethane on the beautiful pachote wood paneling that Frank put on. Frank's original idea for the dimensions were to make it large enough to haul a quad on the back, and a big marine cooler in the front. So after he put the wood on, he loaded it up to see what it would look like. Frank seemed very happy to see his dream machine in good hands. But his second baby is keeping him busy enough and slow smoking takes time.

Yesterday when I was hauling my new machine home one of the wheels nearly came off because the wheel lugs hadn't been tightened and two of them fell off, leaving only 2 on one of the wheels. With a little help from friends including Gunther and Marcel I got back on the road. I had looked separately for a jack and tire iron, but apparently they were stolen out of my car, which is a problem down here. Not thefts of jacks, but crime in general. The same thing nearly happened again this morning with the other wheel, but we made into the parking lot at Tropical Giardino and got them tightened later. Anyway, Ryan and I served a lot of sandwiches today and things are moving ahead. We won't be cooking back at the organic market, though. This was a special occasion for the season opening of the market. But there is a restaurant there that serves lunch that isn't happy about me taking business away from them from their own parking lot, and I can kind of understand that, although it is a disappointment. Next week we'll start setting up at a location close to the main beach entrance.

Seafood Buffet at Lagarta Lodge

2008-12-03T21:05:00.007-06:00

Tonight we had the seafood buffet at the Largarta Lodge, quite the treat! Platters of lobster, shrimp, calamari, snapper and dorado with half a dozen delicious sauces for dipping. I should have taken a picture of the spread, but I did get some sunset shots in of us during the cocktail hour.
We were celebrating anniversaries with Emi and Nico.

I'm going down to the wire on having my bbq rig ready for the organic market Saturday. Mark promised to work on it tomorrow and add the final metal pieces, but I don't know if Frank will have time to install the wood panels.

In the meantime, Tony and Siggy are excited to work with me and will be bringing plenty of their organically grown meats for me to smoke and grill. Here's a shot of Tony feeding his chickens on his farm in Hojancha.

Archived Journal from September 2007

2008-12-02T21:37:00.003-06:00

Upon arriving in Nosara full time on Sept. 4, 2007, I began a journal of my new adventure. I kept it up for a couple of months, before the pace of my new life, such as it is, overwhelmed my ability to keep it current. It wasn't until more than a year later that I picked up it again while I was in San Jose attending Spanish school. The format of blogger.com is limited, which makes it a challenge for the reader to follow in chronological order. Nevertheless, what follows is my original journal, in its entirety:

We arrived on schedule in Nosara on Sept. 4, 2007, and it seemed like a series of small miracles.

From the airport hotel the night before, I checked the progress of Hurricane Felix as it appeared to be tracking directly into our flight path from Miami to Liberia, the airport two and a half hours from our new home in Costa Rica. Well, we’re going to get wet, if we get there, I thought.

I managed to get a few hours of sleep at the airport hotel before our 3:30 wakeup. I was pretty tired, Jane was holding up ok that evening, as we watched a movie, Blades of Glory, to help us relax. She had woken up that morning at her sister Lindsey’s house with a lot of hip pain and insisted she needed another day in the States, during a low point in the afternoon. A call to the airline convinced her that wasn’t an option, and she seemed to settle down a bit.

We got a strong start in the morning, getting to the airline with plenty of time and finding a porter who could cut to the head of the line for us and get us checked in. When the porter said that Jane’s passport was expired, I assumed she must have her current one because I knew it had years to go before expiration. When she didn’t have it, because she accidentally grabbed the old one, I assumed this meant that she was going to get the extra day she had wanted.

She knew where it was, though, and she soon had Lindsey on the phone, who has provided us with a room and plenty of storage space for our new US base at her home in Ruxton, Maryland, next to Towson. Lindsey would soon be on her way to the airport with the passport, and with some luck there would be enough time to get Jane checked in.

As we considered our options if Jane couldn’t get on the flight, we approached the departure time, and I went to wait at the passenger drop off area, looking for the old diesel Mercedes Benz with the two canoe racks on top. Jane got her ticket, she begged some people to let us cut in line at security and we joined the embarking passengers as our plane left on time.

I dozed on the plane, but in Miami as I stared out the plane window I could see the 2 pieces of luggage Jane checked roll down the luggage belt, as they were the last on, first off.

Our flight was smooth and we arrived on time to dry weather, with our driver Antonio waiting for us in his Toyota 4-Runner.

We made good time, the roads were in good shape and they were even rebuilding a section of the road between Nicoya and Nosara. The last 12 miles to our home and new community are unpaved and always a mess in the rainy season, and Jane had the back seat to herself and was laying down trying to get through the bumps as well as possible. We dropped her and the luggage off at our third house, greeted our two gardeners as they continue to build out the landscaping, and the maid Cecelia was there so the house was open.

I continued with Antonio to the Taller Pena, where our 97 Nissan Pathfinder had been staying since we purchased it on our July visit. It needed some muffler repair and other bodywork.

I drove from there to pick up our keys from our property manager, Agnes, who also runs the Villa Mango B&B with her husband Jo.

“We’re really here,” I said as we hugged.

It was while staying with Agnes and Jo a year and a half earlier that Jane received the news that she had a malignant breast tumor.

“So how does it feel?” Jane asked me on the ride down to Nosara.

I said I wasn’t sure, it still feels unreal.

But now it is real, we are in our house, we have spent a lot of time unpacking, we are thinking about our future away from Washington DC.

Moving into a new house provides a lot of opportunities for fresh starts. It is exciting, but can also have its frustrations as you have to look through every possible drawer to find something. For someone who enjoys cooking, especially on his new kitchen island, it is part of the overall adventure to shop for new ingredients at the local stores, and discover new vegetables and have ripe tropical fruit in abundance. I stocked up at the Super Nosara, and our friend Lori stopped by with champagne to welcome us. I made some guacamole with the perfectly ripe avacados that always seem to be available.

Lori is a Canadian from Newfoundland who runs a gift and crafts store called Nativa that caters to tourists. She originally came to Nosara for the Nosara Yoga Institute, and sometimes teaches one of the public classes. She has been an early friend.

To help Jane get ready for the move, Lori spent six days at our house in August, and got to have only one tour of the city, at night. Her help was one of the critical pieces that made the whole move possible.

On my first day in my new home, I woke up with the monkeys at daybreak. I made some coffee and then went next door to check emails. We have a dial up internet connection in the first of our three houses, a smaller two bedroom that I still love like a first born. Our wireless high speed internet modems were burned by a lightning strike and the telecommunications monopoly had not been by to do their part of the repair work. So, for the time being, our communications would be handicapped.

There was an email from my boss Joe complimenting me on the September newsletter which included some late breaking news about Bush’s mortgage rescue proposal that I had added after leaving the office for my last regular day on Friday, Aug. 31. I had written, edited and published the newsletter on deadline, even though the distractions with closing on the sale of our house were enormous.

Friday was the closing day, and it was a tremendous relief to know that the sale was completed, after a challenging inspection and repair process during which the buyer had threatened to try to break the sale. I don’t know what my blood pressure was during this process, but it will likely take me awhile to chill out.

Our first full day in Nosara was a beautiful day; it became cloudy in late afternoon but only sprinkled a bit. We made the 10:30 yoga class up the road, and I dozed off briefly during the final resting corpse pose, something I’ve never done. I was clearly ready to starting chilling out.

Lori showed up with tuna filets that had been caught that day by some tourists that she had befriended earlier, and I had just taken my Weber grill out of the storage room below the pool deck, where it had rested since I purchased it on my last visit in July. We talked about dogs and options for finding and training a dog for added security, as well as companionship. Lori was taking care of Doris’ dog Perla while she was away, a Doberman-Rottweiler mix who had a mellow, sweet personality with a deep bark. Too bad we can’t clone her, I thought, because she is very well behaved and wouldn’t hurt anyone, including the renters who we want to come back for future visits.

We watched DVDs for evening entertainment and I played my guitar as Jane retired early.

Lots ahead, but no rush.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Lunch with Emi Garcia and her husband Nico (for Nicholas) today will be a delight. When we first began our construction, Emi was an assistant in our development company, Nosara Development, and was very helpful to us with a lot of details. We became friends and were very sorry when young Emi decided to return to her native Argentina. She married a man in France that she met in Panama and we were very happy to see her back here working at Harmony Hotel in July. We were basing our YogaSurf vacation at this beachside hotel, beautifully upgraded by the new owner, John Johnson of the Johnson & Johnson pharmaceutical company. They were fashioning it as an eco-hotel and Emi is the director of sustainability.

When I saw her again Thursday night, I couldn’t believe it to hear that she is also the new editor of Voice of Nosara, the monthly local that I had long planned to become involved with to use my journalism skills at the local level. She was thrilled to hear of my interest and before I left she asked me to contribute a story about the trip we planned the next morning to Ostional for the Arribada, the periodic arrival of thousands of Olive Ridley turtles to the beach to lay their eggs.

This is a renowned event and the reason the beaches in the area, including our own Playa Guiones, has special protections.

Ostional is several miles north of Nosara and this time of year the Rio Montana is impassable. The Harmony Hotel arranged taxi drivers, and we met Miguel at 5 am. At the river, he flashed his lights to another driver on the other side, and we crossed the pedestrian suspension bridge, not for the unsteady of foot. The two of us squeezed into the cab of a pickup truck on the other side and proceeded to the beach entrance, where there was a small crowd and a couple of tourist buses.

We were at the end of the typical seven day egg laying period, governed somehow by the phase of the moon but no one is sure, and we saw a few sets of tracks that had not been washed away by high tide. Vultures picked at the remains of what seemed like thousands of shattered egg shells.

While Jane and I started walking north on the black sand beach, the crowd had gathered to the south, so we joined them. Dozens of Ticos were engaged with rakes, clearing driftwood and any other beach debris and setting it into large piles. Meanwhile, some smaller groups had gathered to gaze down at the sand at what we were to discover were baby turtles emerging by the dozens from holes in the sand.

Here, from a nesting that must have taken place a couple of months earlier, were the babies finding their way up through the sand. An instinctual draw to the sea would get most of them on to their new lives, but the initial process seemed a bit scattered as the hatchlings scattered in different directions.

We saw an American girl there, Erin Lear, who was volunteering as part of a special project to protect the turtles, Global Crossroads. The presence of people to keep away the vultures and other predators helps ensure that more make it back out to sea, she said. She used a finger to help clear some of the sand that kept falling back into the hole and into the face of each successive turtle as it crawled toward the light.

While Ostional is a national park, it is legal for locals to harvest some of the eggs, which are considered a delicacy. Many are crushed by each successive wave of mama turtles as they flap their way up the beach.

The September Arribada will yield hatchlings in November. Once hatched, the babies spend an additional 8 days in their nests buried in the sand before finding their way out.

Our lunch with Emi and Niko and Lori started out poorly as we couldn’t find their house, but when we found the right road we were rewarded with a spectacular view overlooking Guiones beach. I found a bottle of Argentian pinoit noir at our local grocery, Dos Lorenos, and Emi was thrilled because it was one of the top labels in her home region of Patagonia. Nothing is contaminated by chemicals there and everything is grown organically she had told us proudly.

This led to a discussion of the water supply in the American Project of Guiones and the situation facing the entire coast if development outstrips the ground water supply. The poster child for poor water use is seen at Tamarindo where their aquifer became salinated from too much use, and they have already drained the aquifers of two neighboring watersheds. They have now asked the government to take water from Lake Arenal, a man-made reservoir that is already low and overtaxed, not to mention a major source of hydroelectric electricity. Emi thinks that because there is so much development and money in Tamarindo now that they will get what they want.

The conversation turns to the global financial system, which Niko seems certain is headed for a 1930s level crash. Emi described a very bleak time in Argentina when their economy collapsed due to a debt crisis, and people lost their savings.

I said I had seen many financial crises in my career, from the oil collapse to the third world debt problem to the current situation with bad mortgages, and think we’ll get through without a huge crash.

Anyway, if that happened it would be good to own land and have some diversification. Costa Rica is a good place to ride it out, I think.

I went to the Nosara Surf Shop Thursday to see about buying a surfboard. Pio was there, a young Tico I had taken a couple of lessons from a few years ago. We looked at a row of longboards, some just over ten feet in length. Pio thought that as I progressed I’d want something around 9 feet and there were some beautiful professional level boards at around $1000 and some others at around $700. We agreed that a 9’4” board would be about right for me.

We had purchased a used Nissan Pathfinder on our last trip in July from a young blond yoga teacher named Joy who had taught yoga for us on one of our yogasurf retreats. I drove it to the surf shop the next day to pick up my board. I felt like I was getting the right board. The shop owner even knocked a few bucks off.

But first, back to check emails and spend some time on CBA business.

Getting out in the water toward the end of the day, the board seemed to glide smoothly and steadily. I got up consistently for short rides in the whitewater, remembering what it is all about.

I took it out again in later afternoon the next day, walking the few hundred yards to the beach in flip flops. My choice of footwear was governed largely by a concern that unattended shoes may be stolen from the beach, and flip flops are far from my first choice for comfort, but they reminded me happily with every step that my new lifestyle was real. When the next day I headed out to surf in the morning after an early rise and coffee, I knew I was finally living my dream, a day that starts off with catching a few waves.

The day continued with time on the internet and CBA, and then a short walk to the daily 10:30 yoga class at the Nosara Yoga Institute, where Jane joined me. We had lunch at the Soda Tica, where a delicious fish platter is $4.

A few days later I met Nico at 7:30 on the beach. He had a borrowed shortboard that he was learning to surf with, and I couldn’t believe he could ride that thing at all, and in fact he had been barely able to get up on it. We went out, while Emi walked on the beach. He wanted to head for the outside, past the breaking waves, and I figured I’d do my best to get out there with him, even though the waves were large and breaking in short intervals and I knew I probably wouldn’t make it. I did my best, though, paddling hard into crashing waves, hoping for a long interval but not finding it.

No problem, I caught a few on the inside, feeling the fatigue in my arms. I crawled out of the water after exhausting my strength. Sitting on the beach, Emi appeared and we had a nice talk while waiting for Nico. We discussed the story idea she had about the status of real estate sales in the Nosara area, as well as the prospects for and procedures to establish zoning rules to provide local control over development. I mentioned the conversation I had with a developer named Chris, a former Californian who moved here a few years ago and has been involved in selling property and building houses in the area.

His view is that even though not much is selling now, people are not dropping their asking prices because they can generally afford to hold on to what they have. He said he thought having land now in Nosara is a better investment that in the U.S., where it is losing value. Jane and I agreed, although I think the law of supply and demand has not been repealed.

We had our second home listed for sale since last November for $390,000, a price that we considered attractive. There were no offers. A few days ago a local real estate agent tracked me down because he had a buyer who was seriously interested, someone tired of the crowded and overdeveloped scene on the mid-Pacific coast well to the south of us, but I told him we were no longer interested in selling. We had put the house on the market with the anticipation that we would keep our house in Washington and rent it out, and would need the cash to pay down our debt or build some additional cabinas. However, that scenario changed, like so many before it.

Back to the beach. Emi and I concluded our editorial meeting as we spotted Nico approaching along the beach. The current had carried him down a bit. He had managed a couple of rides and was starting to really enjoy the sport. His experience snowboarding in the Alps and his lighter build gives him some great advantages as he tackles his new sport. We agree to meet at the same time and place hasta manana.

As I get back to the house, Jane and Lori are on the deck doing Pilates. A few minutes later John shows up, who is a carpenter/contractor from Georgia who has also recently made a permanent move to Nosara. We had asked him, after seeing him again at the Soda Tica, to give us an estimate on building out shelves in the three storage rooms, or bodegas, at our house. I showed him a large empty room underneath our pool deck, and we discussed a plan to have shelving for four or five surfboards, which would give guests or renters a secure place to keep their boards and not have to bring them into the house. John is a tall dude about my age with surfer looks and a seeming laid back mentality, and he said he needed a little time to get connected with materials and labor, and I assured him we weren’t in a rush.

Our 11 boxes that we shipped from DC had arrived a couple of days ago, and contents were overrunning two bedrooms, so the extra storage space was definitely needed. But the bedrooms weren’t yet needed for guests and we weren’t expecting any until November.

It’s great meeting new people here. You’re bound to run into them on the beach or yoga class, at a restaurant, at a grocers or just walking on the road. It may not leave a lot of room for privacy, and gossip is a major preoccupation, but there was none of this in my world in Washington and I am still awonder at the pleasures of randomly meeting familiar faces.

On our July visit, I kept running into Stephan R., at the SuperNosara, the beach, a restaurant, maybe even 4 times in the space of a few days. He is working with Thierry, the developer who built our houses, to build Alma Verde, a retreat center with about 50 home lots near Garza, one beach to the south. Stephan is the director of the Omega Retreat Center in Rinebeck, NY, and his Costa Rican center is planned on that model, with facilities for 100 or so and a similar lineup of retreat stars in the personal growth field.

Lot sales there, up a steep road with incredible views, are by invitation so as to ensure the kind of community appropriate for a retreat center, and we had decided to purchase one a year or so ago after Jane became concerned that our current location would be too dusty and noisy from construction trucks. This concern flared up on one of our trips when some gravel roads were being laid in a new development and all the Mack trucks were taking the road in front of our houses. I knew this was temporary but there was no appeasing Jane but to spend $200,000 on a lot at Alma Verde, in addition to the five lots we had subdivided our original land into.

By being among the first buyers we had been able to select a choice view, overlooking Punta Guiones, a large land outcropping that separates Guiones and Garza beaches. I don’t know when or how we’re going to ever build a house there, but so far I haven’t exactly gone wrong in investing in land in Costa Rica, so this will probably turn out to be a great investment as well. What it doesn’t have is walking distance to the beach, but I feel like it will eventually open an interesting new chapter in our lives.

Jane and I went to the 8am yoga class today, since it was rainy and I needed a rest from surfing. I’ve been meeting Nico at 7:30 but haven’t been able to paddle through the waves to get to the outside. He muscles through with his short board, but it’s harder with a long board, you can’t do a duck dive underneath the crashing waves.

The yoga class was great, a teacher we hadn’t met before who put us through an intense 90 minutes. We’ve been taking a class almost every day at the Yoga Institute. The Institute was started as the Nosara Yoga Retreat Center about 12 years ago by Don and Amba Stapleton, and Jane and I were their first retreat guests, in November, 1995, before we were married. Jane knew them way back from their days at the Kripalu Ashram, when it was headed by guru Amrit Desai before he was disgraced and sent packing after a sex scandal.

Jane was on the invitation list when their Nosara center opened, and we were the only ones there for their inaugural week, it turned out. It was on that most incredible trip that we came to purchase our lot. Amba’s mother owned a real estate agency in Costa Rica and made it very easy to buy. We were back in San Jose our last night, so I spoke to her on the phone from our B&B, run by Arturo and Vanessa Calvo. Vanessa was also a real estate sales associate for Amba’s mother. At the time I had little idea what was in store, but buying the available lot seemed like a good thing to do at the time. I think really it was to impress Jane, because it was on that trip to Costa Rica that I decided we had matrimony in our future.

Don and Amba regularly walk their two golden labs by our house on the way to the beach, and we invited them over Sunday night for some of my home cooking. They’re vegetarian, but I’ve had some experience stir-frying tofu, and I’d grill some vegetables on the Weber grill.

The NYI is doing well, with up to 60 people in the 4 week teacher training programs they do several times a year. They mentioned the need to start offering on-site lunches, and we joked a bit about Fritz’s grill shack and doing barbecued tofu. Jane said she liked the idea of having people down to our house for lunch, and I can never be sure when she’s kidding. I’ve learned to be careful what you wish for when you’re down here because wishes tend to manifest themselves. Anyway, they thought my cooking was great.

We’ve discussed building a yoga palapa on the top of our hill, since we don’t have money to build a house and it would allow Jane to offer yoga retreats on our premises. Maybe it could double as my barbecue shack, I’m just thinking aloud here. Lots of possibilities for a new career in the culinary arts. We do have a beautiful ocean view at the top of our lot and it would be good to put it to use.

Life is settling into a bit of a routine here, with surfing and yoga interspersed with CBA internet sessions. I’ve started making salads for dinner at Jane’s request, and then we settle in for a movie. A young man from California who moved here a few years ago with his dad started renting videos and now offers an excellent and wide selection of rentals. Then I’ll often practice guitar for awhile until I’m sleepy or my fingers are too sore.

Sept. 15 was our 11^th wedding anniversary and we went to La Dolce Vita, a great Italian restaurant that I think was here on our first trip. It’s much larger, or course, but on this Saturday night in the off season we were one of only two couples in the place. We nevertheless had delicious lasagne and I had lobsters, I think there were four on my plate. We left stuffed and happy. It had been a rainy afternoon so we picked up a couple of videos and spent the afternoon watching them. I felt a little strange just hanging out, I’m not too used to the chilled-out lifestyle. I have to remind myself that I’m in the process of creating the life I desire. It’s a great challenge, and I have to figure out a new balance that feels right. I need to spend a sufficient time writing, playing music, reading, and socializing, as well as income-producing ventures.

Saturday we got kittens.

Sarah, with help from her boyfriend Ty, rescues kittens and finds homes for them. We heard about her during our July trip when we were discussing pets with Lise Quan, our surf instructor for our yogasurf retreats.

They came over on their quad with five kittens in their carrier, so we could pick a favorite or two. I had thought that a kitten would help keep me company when Jane was not around, and was not sure about two of them. But they were as cute as, well… kittens, and as they scampered around our living room floor, it seemed natural to have a couple of them, so they could also keep each other company. A boy and a girl, and we found a pair that seemed to get along well with each other. I wanted to pay for their vaccination but Sarah wouldn’t let me. She had a sheet with information about when future shots are needed and contact information for the vet that makes a periodic trip to Nosara from the provincial seat of Nicoya.

A woman around 30 or so, Sarah is a nurse although not practicing in Nosara. We heard from our gossip source Lori and Emi, later, that Ty has been in Nosara since arriving with his parents as a teenager. He has apparently established a reputation with his adventures.

Ty offered to return with his welding equipment to repair some metal rods that have broken off from the fence that surrounds our pool deck. I’m looking forward to his return, and the opportunity to invite them for a meal prepared on my Weber grill.

Some time back, I found some grill and barbecue designs on the internet, some based on a 55-gallon drum that require some welding. We’ll see where that goes.

Jane is thrilled with the cats, a pleasant surprise because she has always called herself a dog person and has been planning to get a couple of dogs once she’s settled in here after a heavy travel schedule that takes her to March. She said the kittens, and the responsibility they entail, help her feel like the whole move to Nosara is more real.

Sarah hand-fed the kittens, helping to ensure their natural friendliness. Our previous experience with a cat was Jaxx, who we took care of for a couple of years while his owner went overseas to indulge her fantasy about the Peace Corps. Jaxx wasn’t that friendly, although he warmed up to me just fine. Jane never had kittens before (and I hadn’t since childhood) and was delighted with the experience.

Sarah and Ty departed with their remaining three kittens, borrowing a trash bag to cover the carrier since it had begun to rain. Ty said he only had a quad, a 4-wheel ATV, because the bad roads just did too much damage to vehicles and maintenance was high. It started to rain pretty heavily after they left, and although they had full rain gear, I did not envy them the ride back to their home in the hills.

That evening we skipped a free movie they were showing at the Harmony Hotel, and watched the movie Queen on dvd and played with the kittens. They have leopard-like striping on a gray-beige background with white legs and neck rings. We discussed different names, and I said I wanted to name the boy Felix because Hurricane Felix was in our flight path on our way down, and Felix is a great name for a cat, almost as good as Fritz. Jane wanted a more exotic flavor and was drawn to Isis.

As I type, they are next to me cuddled next to each other, sucking each other’s fur no doubt thinking of their absentee mother’s tits. How cute is that?

The next night, Sunday Sept. 23, would be Jane’s last night before returning to DC and then on to a retreat she is producing in Italy. We invited Lori, Emi and Nico over for another dinner ala Weber, this time a mahi mahi steak and chicken. I got to the local carniceria too late; it closes at 11am on Sunday. The butcher shop and its location near the local landing strip was a critical discovery I had only made earlier this year. Finding the Weber was another momentous event occurring on that same trip in July. My first purchase there was pork ribs, and I pointed to my own ribs to indicate what I wanted. The ribs were cut into smaller portions and I would have to learn enough Spanish to describe a St. Louis style cut.

A bridge on the only road to the airport was damaged by heavy rains, underscoring the delicate condition of the infrastructure. This caused Jane consternation as her departure approached, because she could not really afford to miss her flight. We were hearing regular reports about the bridge, just the other side of Garza, which is the next beach to the south of ours, Playa Guiones. At first, some cars were able to pass, but the passable section continued to erode and the authorities ordered it closed, with truckloads of dirt dropped in front of it to ensure no one made an attempt to pass. Even though we heard that the bridge would not be repaired until after the rainy season in November, there were workarounds in place. Monday morning, I drove Jane to the bridge and helped carry her luggage to the other side, along with others including a busload of Tico commuters. Agnes had arranged for a taxi to meet her on the other side at 8 am and take her on to Liberia, a couple hours drive.

I stopped at the seafood market in Garza on my way back, where everything is frozen. I had been introduced to it by Tyler, who was responsible for the surfing instruction on our first yogasurf retreat in 2005. He said it was a cheap way to feed a lot of people, and we got a kilo of small lobster tails, more the size of jumbo shrimp, and a nice dorado (mahi mahi) steak. I recall it was under $20, and I grilled up for about a dozen of us. This time I ordered a kilo of jumpo shrimp and a relatively small dorado filet, not much more than a pound. The sales girl was having trouble translating the price into dollars, which is all I had, and consulted with a young man who seemed to be used to this sort of confusion. I paid about $35. Since there are no prices posted and I’m a gringo with limited ability to communicate, I just pay what I’m asked. I understand Ticos will often have a gringo price and a Tico price, but I’m not too concerned since everything is pretty cheap, and the Nosara groceries generally have prices on everything except vegetables and fruit, which are fresh, delicious and inexpensive. I later learned that the jumbo shrimp are quite expensive and the regular size are reasonable.

I have renters arriving Oct. 1, a family from Tennessee who have never been to Costa Rica and are spending the entire month here. I told them via email that because of the bridge we’d need to make special arrangements to get them here. They had a travel agent book our 3 bedroom house, and I disclaimed that I hope they’re aware that October is deep in the rainy season. They’re looking for a family adventure and to give their kids a great experience, and I’m sure they’ll do that. I told them to bring dvds and books for downtime. I said I would try to find the most economical means of renting a car and getting from Liberia to here.

I’m overdue for meeting with Emi and giving her my copy. I’ve had to focus on my own newsletter this week, and my precarious dialup connection has made this slow. But worse really, is having to go to the house next door to get the connection.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to my new newspaper career with Voice of Nosara. Just a couple of years ago it was a dozen or so Xeroxed sheets that came out monthly. When the editor at the time moved from Nosara, it was basically up for grabs. I think the woman who was publishing it was asking for a couple thousand dollars for the software templates, and there was a rudimentary web version as well. Had we been able to move at the time, I saw myself taking it over. This would be the culmination of my career in journalism, starting in high school with the Bosse Spirit and my own alternative, the BullSheet, moving through the Indiana Daily Student and then the Henderson Gleaner. One of the great things about journalism is that it allows you to think of your own stories, then research and write them. There aren’t that many people in Nosara, although it is growing quickly, and everyone has their own story.

But John Johnson bought the VON, after he bought Hotel Villa Taype and renovated it beautifully to Harmony Hotel. He’s a member of the Johnson&Johnson family, and from what little I know he fell in love with Nosara and is not worried about an immediate payback on his investments. The Hotel has been done with every ‘green’ feature that is feasible. The rates are still quite reasonable at about $100 a night but the management is highly professional and know they need to return a profit. Likewise, he has subsidized the VON with money for professional design and printing, and a certain editorial budget that gives Emi some salary and a little more for small fees for some articles and translating, since it is bilingual. Emi said he is looking for a break-even situation within the year, and a professionally designed web version will be available in time for the high season. There is a pretty fair amount of advertising revenue available.

Today started out with spectacular sun and I met Nico on the beach at 7:30am to surf. He was very confident that today would be the day that I paddled past the waves to the outside. I wasn’t as confident, but he boosted me up. Yesterday, I invited him to try my longboard, because he’s been borrowing a tiny board which I think must be impossible to learn on but probably is a lot easier for him to dive under waves with and have an easier time getting to the outside. He liked my board as he tried a couple of waves on the inside and popped up easily. I thought he would be satisfied staying on the inside and practicing his popups, which he got little chance to do on his tiny board. But he successfully broke to the outside with it and got some nice rides from there.

So I had to go for it today, and it looked like the waves were bigger than usual. More surfers were out, and it looked like conditions were ideal. We waded out as far as we could and then started paddling. I kept going as the muscle fatigue turned to agony, and thought of the dragon breath exercises we did the previous day in Kundalini yoga class.

It was starting to feel like my arms were going to drop off, but I was hanging on through some large crashing waves and heading in the direction of China. Finally, it appeared that I was well on the outside of any breakers. I rested for awhile, letting my arms hang lifelessly in the water, like a corpse, for a few moments and then decided to retract my arms in case they attract the attention of a hungry fish. I had actually beaten Nico to the outside, but he was now out, much closer to shore, studying the waves. I slowly paddled in toward him, giving him the surfer signal with my thumb and little finger. We discussed what to look for in a wave and how to tell which way it will break, issues he seemed to grasp much better than me. We took our time wave watching, and I finally decided I was ready. I picked one that I could see was already starting to break, paddled and held on for dear life as the wave was crashing around, finally managing to get up to my feet and immediately falling over. I started paddling back out again and managed to make it, since I didn’t have as far to go this time. The waves gradually knocked me back to shore, and I headed back to start my Saturday.

Friday night had been frustrating. Two men with ICE, the government-owned telephone monopoly, showed up Thursday night and after an hour or so of working through a variety of problems, had the high speed internet restored. In retrospect I should have given each of them a $20 tip, probably about a days pay, but the service has been down since a lightning storm in mid-August and that’s a ridiculously long time. The wireless still wasn’t working, though, but that was set up by a computer guy named Jose who had originally charged me $800, including equipment, to set it up with wireless modems in each of our three houses. It was working beautifully on our trip in July, although my Vonage router stopped working after a few days, leaving us without free phone service to the US.

So on Friday I commuted next door to our second house where the modem is located, and connected the cable and put the finishing touches on CBA Reports, enjoying the big upgrade in speed. That afternoon I toyed around with the routers and got wireless up, and was looking forward to a weekend of internet and phone calls lounging by the pool. My setup was a bit precarious, as I hooked up a couple of phone modems and had two or three laptops running browsers, testing things out. I punched in Jane’s phone number into Skype on the MacBook, a recent acquisition that has me wishing I had stuck with Windows, and heard the beginning of the simulated phone ringer through my headset, and then,

Nothing! There was no connection to the internet, Skype informed me. I eventually went to check the modem at the other house, and determined that it was not receiving a signal. So I’m back to dialup for the unknown future.

The experience of dialup has been interesting. It requires patience, for sure, but that seems easy here in the tropics, surrounding by nature. Not having it available in the house has been more of an issue. True, the walk to the next house is only about 75 yards, door to door, and as commutes to work go, it can only be beat by actually keeping the laptop in bed with me. But without internet we have no phone service in our house, and we have no television, just a dvd player and 19-inch tv. The withdrawal from media is something I have generally welcomed, although it makes it interesting to observe habits and consider the process of change. The experience of moving to Costa Rica is all about change and reinvention, the opportunity of a lifetime to make conscious choices about how I will spend the rest of my life. That is the dream at least. Someone asked me what I was going to do in Costa Rica, looking like she couldn’t imagine a typical day here. I said it would start early with surfing, doing a little work on the Internet, taking a break for a yoga class, doing some more computer time for both CBA and my other stuff.

My neighbor Ernie from across the road showed up and interrupted my nascent muse about the prospect of starting my life over. He just came in from his home in San Diego to settle on the sale of a piece of land he owned and would be around for two weeks, which is great news. We spent some time getting reacquainted and later went to Marlin Bill’s restaurant for dinner. Ernie is semi-retired, maybe close to 60, and has been dabbling in real estate in the area for several years, long enough to have gotten in before the big price run-ups of the recent boom years.

He sold a lot for $145,000 that he paid $35,000 for four or five years ago, so he was happy about that, especially since not much is selling in today’s phase of the real estate cycle. Ernie likes to surf, I guess it goes without saying, and is single and a bit of a ladies man, by reputation. He has a handsome, leathered face with features that show his Mexican ancestry, and is fluent in Spanish. He’s well connected in town from spending a lot of time here over the years and I was happy to make some new acquaintances over dinner.

I had never met Marlin Bill himself, although his restaurant may have the best central location of any, across from Café de Paris and elevated in the hillside just above Coconut Harry’s Surf Shop. It’s probably the most Americanized of any of the restaurants, with prices reflecting that. Bill is a big bearded man in his 40s and his waitress, Angie, is married to Kimbo, a surf instructor who works with Tyler Marsh running the Safari Surf Camp. Kim was one of our surf instructors on our first YogaSurf retreat in 2005. The other guy hanging out was Mike, who had been a harbor pilot in Virginia Beach and now has a good collection of surfboards that he rents out, Ernie told me, and helps out a couple of hours at the restaurant in exchange for dinner.

I asked about the whereabouts of Coconut Harry, another Virginia Beach native, who had sold his surf shop earlier in the year. Harry had been a ubiquitous presence at the beach or around Café de Paris, notable with his shoulder length bleached blond hair, surfer physique and garrulous attitude. He loved to talk and had been a salesman before moving to Nosara in his 40s. The last couple of times I had talked to him, though, he had turned darker in his outlook about the state of affairs in Nosara and was rueful of the local surf punks who were using crack and turning to crime instead of honest work.

Mike said Harry was always trying to rescue people, and had heard that he was currently trying to help out an ex-wife who had a serious illness. He mentioned in passing that Harry’s apartment above the surf shack had been burglarized by some of the local punks that he had been trying to ‘rescue.’ Well, that would explain Harry’s mood shift, and probably his decision to sell the shop.

When Jane heard that he was asking $350,000 for the shop she started thinking seriously that we should by it. This surprised me, but also sounded like a very cool idea. Jane has a retail streak in her and has dabbled in selling clothing, so her idea was to sell yoga-style items in the shop, as well as the surf and tourist items that are the shop’s mainstay. But to buy it would have required the sale of our second house, which we had on the market at the time for $390,000. More critically, Harry also had another prospective buyer lined up, who had first dibs while he lined up his financing. That came through, so it was only a short-lived fantasy we had.

Back to the process of reinvention; a rainy morning gives me the opportunity to think about it. My mind turns to the issue of television, and whether to have a satellite connection. I really haven’t missed the connection to the outside world, especially as it is so dominated by news about Iraq. It is much too easy to turn on the set as a palliative against boredom. I haven’t been in the habit of reading books, and this is certainly the opportunity to develop that pastime. And certainly, I wouldn’t be on the laptop writing this journal if television were absorbing the time.

We won’t face the issue for real until Jane settles in here in March after her series of yoga travels. We had agreed back in Washington to forgo having the satellite installed, both thinking it would be a healthy break. But when we were settling in here she said she missed it, especially the PBS evening newshour, which we were in the habit of watching.

I’m ruminating about this now because it is a huge issue, and tv will likely absorb countless hours of time that I might better spend writing, playing guitar, reading, or socializing with new friends, part of a new and better lifestyle. When I look back on my life in years to come, will I think fondly of the enrichment I received through television, or will I be grateful for the effort I made to become a better musician, or writer?

Of course, even without the satellite, watching dvds every night can absorb just as much time, and that’s what I’ve found myself doing. While Jane was here, we rented movies, and now by myself I’m digging into my extensive collection of concert dvds. Reinvention is a work in progress and involves a lot of conscious effort.

Oct. 4

I totally missed celebrating my first month in Nosara as it escaped my mind. The day started early with a drive into Nicoya with Agnes and Ernie. The bridge had reopened the day before, and we had some business to conduct in the regional government center. Agnes thought it would be a good idea for me to register my gardeners, Marco and Jason, as well as our part time maid, Cecelia, under the name of my corporation, because we would pay a lower rate for social security and workmen’s comp this way. Wages and benefits are under $3 an hour, but little savings add up over time. As household employees, rather than under Agnes’ business, the rate is lower, with the same protections and benefits.

We also applied for a third phone line so that eventually we can have a phone in each house, and we applied to have the line in our two bedroom house moved over to our new house where we are living. She was told that we could expect the line to be moved in 30 days, but it could take more or less forever to get an additional line. I know that our developer, Thierry, had paid a multi-thousand dollar bribe to get the two lines in, so I’m not exactly holding my breath for a third line.

We also met with Agnes’ tax accountant, and set up some paperwork so that I could start paying some tax on my rental income. I agreed that this would be prudent, especially since it would not be too much. Agnes said there is a tax inspector who sometimes shows up in Nosara, who might start asking questions if he sees our rental properties.

We also made some initial inquiries into health insurance, which is run by a government monopoly called INS that also insures our home and I hope our car, although that’s another story. Details, details.

While there is basic national health insurance that covers everyone in Costa Rica, for extra money you can upgrade the insurance for greater coverage and better hospitals. Even out of pocket, health care is remarkably inexpensive and many from the US and elsewhere come to San Jose for cosmetic surgery or dental work.

All this paperwork required hours of waiting, which after lunch was accompanied by heavy rain. Since I hadn’t bothered to bring my umbrella with me I tried to squeeze under Agnes’ as much as possible, while carrying bags with the kitty litter box, Science Diet brand kitty food, blender and spare gas can that I had purchased.

The patron at our last stop, back at the family-run accountant’s office, kindly gave us a ride back to the service center where we had dropped the Pathfinder off for an oil change, fluid and filter check. Agnes also asked them to check the battery because it sometimes struggled to start. Upon our return, reuniting with Ernie, we were told that it needed some more extensive work to the alternator and I’d need to bring it back as soon as possible. This was bad news because the ride on the unpaved part of the road, although not much more than a dozen miles, was tortuous this time of year. I can’t adequately describe the constant jarring from the massive potholes and deep ruts. Finally getting back to Heartwaves around dusk, I felt beat. It didn’t help that I was up until midnight the night before, as my renter Tonia’s lost baggage was finally delivered by an airline courier who had trouble finding the place.

So I never remembered the one month anniversary.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with my neighbor Ernie and he has been showing me around and giving me tips on surfing. My progress has been good but yesterday I got pounded by a wave and didn’t have the strength left to get to the outside. My strength may have been affected by the copious wine from the day before at Doris’ house. She is a remarkable cook and had extended an invitation to me to join Emi and Nico, as well as Jacque, a 32 year old Swiss American with remarkable energy who is involved in a local development project. It was a wonderful Saturday afternoon at Doris’ open air casa in a Tico neighborhood in Nosara. She is an attractive blond Austrian of about 40 who keeps books for the yoga institute and some other places. She had been in a relationship for awhile with a Tico man who ultimately proved unfaithful, and had been single for awhile. Lori was currently sharing her house following her own disastrous relationship, but had returned to Newfoundland for October.

I had met Jacque in July and he was in a tumultuous relationship with a beautiful woman named Ashley, whom Jane had met on an earlier trip. Ashley was a serious astrologist and shared that passion with Jane, so they became quick friends. Our conversation turned to the difficulties of finding a good partner. Doris and Lori were both frustrated with the lack of suitable prospects in Nosara, and Jacque was frustrated over the constant battles that appeared to be dooming his otherwise passionate relationship with Ashley. They just didn’t seem to be cut from the same cloth, he lamented, although at one time they were planning a wedding.

On the other hand, Nico said he proposed to Emi a week after they met. I suggested that there is always time to find the right partner. It was on our trip to Nosara in 1995 that I concluded that Jane and I had our futures together, and we were in our 40s by then.

October 8

This morning Ernie took me with him for breakfast in the village and I waited for him while he got a haircut at one of two local shops. I’m letting my hair grow out for now but am glad to know about the local options. He likes a short crop and I may eventually want something like that, and you can’t beat the price, under $5. He then took me up the mountain road to show me where Ty and Sarah live, through beautiful countryside that you can take all the way to Nicoya in the dry season. Even though the rain and clouds obscured most of the views this morning, I got a clear sense of how beautiful the passage must be, and looked forward to exploring it during the dry season on my quad.

Ernie was more interesting the more I learned about him. He had a spiritual philosophy that was similar to my own but more developed through practice. It was based largely on the Law of Attraction, a concept popularized currently by the book and dvd The Secret.

I have not studied it in detail, but the idea is that the things that you think about the most are the things that will materialize in your life. This happens whether you think about negative things or positive things, so it is important to think positively, and to associate with positive thinkers as well. I think this is a good, practical way to live, regardless of whether there is a spiritual aspect to it, or any possible scientific explanation based on the principles of quantum physics, as its proponents ascribe. I’ve had too many good things happen to me in my life, so I find this spiritual philosophy very attractive, no pun intended. I’ve often said, especially lately, ‘be careful what you wish for’ because you will probably get it.

Another tenet of this philosophy is ‘go with the flow,’ rather than try to paddle upstream, because the flow is natural and will take you in the direction you want to go and bring you to the things you seek, while also minimizing resistance. This has an obvious attraction to someone such as myself who might be described as ‘laid back,’ and who prefers to avoid confrontation. So far it has worked for me and I don’t see any need to change now.

A third component is to ‘pursue your passion,’ which I am likewise drawn to. This will take some work, as I have to rediscover my passions, following 30 years of being pay-check oriented. But I know that writing is at the core of this, and can feed the artist that is within me. The embers are still there but have to be stoked. If I can’t do it here, then it’s not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.

But I have other interests to explore, to see if there is really passion. My guitar has been sitting largely idle, and needs some sparking. Perhaps that will happen when I start taking lessons with Nosara’s artist-guitarist-in-residence Bill McPherson when he’s back from recording in LA.

It remains to be seen whether my interest in cooking and especially barbecue is strong enough to lead to a commercial venture. I guess I’ll go with the flow on that one. One reason I’ve been drawn to the culinary is that it provides such instant positive feedback from people when they like something you’ve prepared. A great meal offered to a small group of appreciative friends can provide more praise than years of work behind the desk of an office and leave you feeling better inside.

Ernie is part of a group of followers of an entity named Abraham who is channeled by a woman named Hicks. While there are certainly possibilities for mischief from such a source of wisdom, the message either rings true or it doesn’t. And Ernie has the type of positive outlook and perennial natural smile that you have to admire and want to associate yourself with. It may be more from a lifetime of surfing, or having hard working and aspirational parents, but he built a successful home repair business, raised three children, and has created a great life for himself that still has many exciting chapters ahead.

Ernie was telling me about a local woman named Richmond who was among the first here as the American project, as it’s called, was first started in the 70s, and she was its manager. By coincidence, or what might be called synchronicity, her daughter and Ernie’s niece were friends in the San Francisco area. Our developer Thierry had also been their guest when he visited San Francisco, and these had been Ernie’s contacts and motivation for first visiting Nosara less than five years ago. Thierry had showed him a number of properties, but Ernie liked and bought the first lot he saw, across the road from our lot.

I told Ernie, as he sat getting his haircut, that I had a story for him. A couple of years ago Jane started taking Pilates at a new studio near our house in DC. We went to an open house party there and mentioned to her Pilates teacher that we were planning a move to Nosara. She said she knew a couple who had just moved there from Colorado to open a bed and breakfast, and had sewn the wedding dress for the woman. The couple rode down on motor bikes toward South America but stopped in Nosara. We looked them up on our next trip down, it was Agnes and Jo at Villa Mango.

I tried marinating a Lomita beef roast in orange juice for about 24 hours before putting it on the Weber, and it turned out tender and tasty.

Oct. 9

The rain has stepped up and caused me to postpone my return trip to Nicoya to get the car fixed. Meanwhile, I have moved next door to the two bedroom while workmen are carving up the kitchen counter to prepare it to be replaced by granite. They disconnected the wireless internet server there, which also knocked it out here in the two bedroom. It still works in Heartwaves Two, so I visited Tonia and her boys and she didn’t mind me hanging out on the deck catching up on emails. Not much is going on, I’m a little surprised at how slow the action is back at the CBA office, but certainly don’t have a problem with that. I took an early siesta, the rain was pretty steady and seems to make naps more inviting. The rain clouds finally cleared in the afternoon, so I checked up on the mess from the workers as they were off on a break. Concrete dust is everywhere, it will be a real mess to get cleaned up. I hoped that two days of cutting the concrete would be all they needed, although the process of getting the granite ordered and delivered could be a long one.

I invited myself back over to Tonia’s to do a final email check for the day, and Julian was eager to play cards and Tonia needed a break to tend to little Liam, so we played around of a game called 31, and then went on to Texas Hold ‘em poker and some Go Fish! It also gave me a chance to meet two neighbors who had already befriended Tonia. Shana had recently moved into Henry’s House around the corner with her boyfriend, who is the son of the owners of Harbor Reef hotel and restaurant. She regularly walks by with her two Huskies, who are eager for play on the beach. Another neighbor, Yogi, drove by with her three sons, and she and her husband Steven live in one of the houses on the way to the beach, and have lived here about five years. He’s a specialty neonatal physician in San Diego who commutes here every few weeks. Tonia, Julian and Liam were soon off to join them on the beach and I’ll have to conclude our game of Go Fish later.

Oct. 10

Today I made it back to Nicoya with Agnes; it didn’t seem to have rained that much overnight. The roads had turned to ponds in many places, but with Agnes to talk to and help guide me through small floods, the drive passed fairly quickly. We ran into several people from Nosara, including Marcel, a Frenchman who runs the hotel and restaurant Tropicale Giardino and is the current president of the Nosara Civic Association, and Bobbi Johnson, a resident of some 17 years and all around community activist and environmental protectionist. I saw Bobbi the previous evening at Marlin Bill’s with Ernie, when I had reintroduced myself. She promised to keep me busy with some local projects and I said I was willing, and also was planning to write for VON.

We also met Enrique in line at the bank, and he runs the Nosara Office Center, a small shop with internet access and services such as copying. He and his family had been robbed at gunpoint a few nights before, and the thieves took some laptops and money. Agnes said it might lead to some additional organized action against crime, since it was not just gringos who are getting robbed now. Certainly, crime at gunpoint is an escalation that is a source of alarm.

One of Agnes stops was a T-shirt shop, where she was having her new business logos for her B&B and property management companies put on shirts and caps. We’ll want to eventually have our own logos for Heartwaves and YogaSurf Nosara and getting our own T-shirts designed would be cool. I also picked up some cough syrup because I’m starting to have an allergy issue with the kittens. I was afraid this would happen, but I think I can keep it under control. Leo and Isis have been great entertainment and companionship. They’re venturing more outside now, but still like to cuddle up in my lap for a nap.

The Nissan was finally finished by early afternoon and the disturbing whine was gone, to my great relief. We had a drive home free of rain. Agnes said the recent rain had been as bad as she has seen it, and the entire green season had been unusually rainy. This brightened my outlook somewhat, because if I can get by during the worst weather, prospects as a year-round resident weren’t that bad. In fact, I was concluding that I preferred the green season to the dry season, with all of its dust.

Today continued with more rain, with intermittent dry spells and a dry but gray late afternoon, spent mostly with Julian as he played internet games on my computer at webkinz. My wireless is still on the fritz even though they have finished sawing up my countertops and the dust has been cleaned up, allowing me to reconnect the router.

Tonia would like to take the family to see the Monteverde Cloud Forest when her husband Josh arrives next week. I’ve offered to find information about it on the internet, but Julian is catching up on two weeks without the internet so all I have time to get is a phone number for her. I’m not much of a tour guide yet, but it’s another persona that I aspire to. But I’ll need to get a lot of miles under my belt first. Perhaps what I can do is help her plan her trip with information I can get online.

Friday began with a lot of rain again. Nico said there was a hurricane off of the Mexican Pacific that was responsible. I met him in the afternoon to show him a map of where our houses are that he could fax to some potential renters. He and Emi are leaving for a month long vacation in Argentina next week and he said he was suffering from jungle fever because he hadn’t been away for six months. We made plans to get together Saturday somewhere that has satellite tv to watch the Argentina-Columbia soccer match, which Emi was excited about. I said I would grill Sunday and we made plans to gather the usual suspects around the Weber.

I stopped at Dos Lorenos for supplies and couldn’t get the engine on the Nissan to turn over, like the battery was dead. I stewed over my options as repeated attempts indicated a dead battery. There were four local young Ticos hanging out in front of the store, so I mustered up my Spanish and implored of one young man, sitting on a bicycle, ‘por favor, necessito empuje,’ hoping I had remembered the right word for ‘push.’ The young men were quick to gather and I got a rolling start, shouting ‘muchas gracias’ as I motored down the road, thankful indeed.

Mauricio, who works for Karl our builder and speaks pretty good English, stopped by to show me three granite samples that I had picked for our kitchen counters. The azul that was my favorite is clearly the most beautiful of the three top picks, also the most expensive, and we confirmed the deal. Mauricio is a very personable fellow and he patted me on the back as he left, but I’m afraid it will be awhile before the granite is installed.

The alarm next door in our middle house with the dysfunctional kitchen went off again for no reason, and I went next door through light rain and punched in the code to silence it.

October 18, 2007

At last, a (mostly, so far) dry day, after more than a week of steady rain. This has been a test, and what I had prepared myself for in this rainiest of seasons, but the severity of the rain has been unusual. The river by the gas station has flooded, forcing anyone needing to venture into the village to use a back road, itself in terrible condition. Some of the major hiways in the country are closed, and the condition of the hiway to Liberia is in doubt.

Ty and Sarah stopped by to give Leo and Isis vaccinations. The vet from Nicoya wasn’t able to make his scheduled trip because of the road and weather conditions. Ty lamented the rain and his inability to complete a welding project.

The steady rain has started to give me a bit of cabin fever. I got some relief Tuesday evening as Doris came over, joined by Emi and Nico, to give a yoga class on the deck. I haven’t been getting any exercise, without surfing and with the end of classes at NYI for the month of October. Doris did an excellent class with good spinal twists and some balancing postures that I struggled with, feeling a little moldy myself.

We planned to do it again Thursday, which is today, and I said I would fix dinner if they could stay. It is Emi and Nico’s last night here to relax before they depart Saturday for a two week visit to Argentina, so it gives me something to look forward to. I’ve been spending a lot of time watching dvds, and all day on the internet. Some CBA business is a welcome, although uninspiring diversion.

A news report today from amcostarica.com includes this update on the weather situationhere:

… more than 54 stretches of road that have been washed away or otherwise damaged. Some 98 communities have suffered flooding, and at least 22 bridges have suffered some form of damage, the commission said.

Thank God for the internet! My surfing today brought me to a blog written by a women fashioning herself ‘gypsy journalist,’ who here with her husband and three young boys from Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin, near where my sister lives in the Milwaukee suburbs. This is great reading and an inspiration to me to step up my own level of discourse. What I’m missing is photos, though, as my Nikon digital pocket camera crapped out on me early into this trip. And today my video cam has also malfunctioned. I’ve been told that the tropical climate takes a big toll on electronic devices, but I’ve been in some denial. Note to self: Back up computer files.

As if on cue, I just got an error message that says “Windows Explorer has experienced a problem and has to close.” Well, I had a lot of web sites and blogs open, but at least I saved the website link for the gypsy journalist:

http://web.mac.com/gypsyjournalist/iWeb/Maggie%20blog/Welcome.html

I found some other blogs and sites in today’s surfing adventure, helping to while away another rainy day. Today, at least the monkeys showed up during a dry spell, providing a little more diversion. Here are some links I found worth looking at, and am most interested in the site dedicated to cooking and new recipes from Costa Rica called jungle fusion.

http://www.abroadincostarica.com/

A 51 year old real estate agent in Key West starts a new life with her family after burning out as the real estate market in the US begins to crash.

http://doscolones.typepad.com/

Helpful info and commentary, his ‘two cents’ worth

http://www.jungle-fusion.com/

I really enjoy cooking in Costa Rica, with the discovery of new foods, and everything seems to taste better. Last night I decided to try roast chicken and vegetables, which could cook in the oven while Doris led yoga. The stove in this house, our first, is fairly rudimentary and the oven has three selections, with no indication of temperature. I chose ‘maximo,’ apparently the nuclear option, and found my dish blackened on top and stuck to the bottom of my pan. However I salvaged most of it and it still received pretty good reviews, with no leftovers. There’s a deluxe European style oven in the other house, in the bedroom for the time being.

Seeing Nico and Emi leave for a couple of weeks is sad because they’ve become my favorite new friends. Emi challenged me to think of more stories to write for Voice of Nosara; she has a good instinct as an editor.

I said I was still thinking about an article reviewing local real estate development and sales, and the local economic outlook in the face of the turmoil in housing in the US. However, real estate people here seem to have the same optimistic outlook: prices will stay stable at their current lofty levels and sales will pick up again in a year or so. I told Emi that I’m not completely convinced that that will be the case, that there could be more of a downturn here. Certainly in the US, real estate forecasts are constantly being revised downward. However, I’m not sure I want to start my new journalism career on such a negative note, and one that could put me in disfavor with so many people. Doris suggested I write under a false name, which was a pretty funny thought but not without merit. But I don’t want to write something that just regurgitates the perennially optimistic views of real estate developers either. So I need to think of some other story ideas. There will be plenty of topics, many controversial.

Crime is a good example, one which we touched on. There are three local policeman generally on duty, three on and three off. But they don’t have a phone, and get around on bicycles or scooters! Coconut Harry offered to buy them a phone after his store was burglarized, but he said rules disallow that because it could be considered favoritism. For serious crime, investigators will eventually come from Nicoya, but don’t count on anything soon. And the guilty are quickly released while they await prosecution, a system that doesn’t provide much deterrence. There are two private security companies now for those who can pay $50-70 per month for the alarms and monitoring, but without a phone connection they don’t know when an alarm is triggered, and my experience with false alarms is discouraging. There is some sense, though, that there is some deterrence, and time will tell more.

One day Jane and I will visit Emi and Nico after their planned move to Argentina, and explore Patagonia and the other wonderful places they have described.

Jane is back in Baltimore, suffering from more health issues, not sure if she can return Tuesday, Oct. 22. She was pretty healthy when she left here, getting stronger every day, that’s all I know. But there’s not a lot to get back here for now, rain and a dysfunctional kitchen.

I’m having some allergy issues, related to the kittens and/or mold issues from all the rain, but am getting by ok with an occasional benadryl or dose of cough syrup. The fresh air is the best remedy, sitting on the poolside deck with laptop, legs propped up on a chair. I’ve learned from the blogs and chat groups that allergies are common when the rain gets this bad. Apparently a lot of new gringos get a case of crud after arriving, with more intense symptoms, that can last a few weeks. It’s thought to be a one-time thing, part of the adjustment process to a new climate, but I’ll be happy if I can skip that initiation.

I’m interrupted by the sounds of the alarm going off next door. This time it’s not a false alarm, but workers returning to take measurements for the new granite countertops. There’s a woman whom I’m guessing is with the granite company, and a man who says he’s from Thierry’s office, who take a lot of measurements and ask me some questions that I think are related to how far the bullnose should extend. I try to reach Karl when I get back here to my phone, but just get a recording.

I’ll have to move back over next week because Ron is arriving here, and I hope they at least will have reconnected the kitchen sink. I can probably get by for awhile without the stove by putting my Weber to good use, and also have a microwave, but kitchen plumbing is another issue.

Ron and his wife Rebecca leased our two bedroom for a year and had planned to oversee construction of a house they planned at Alma Verde, the Omega retreat center. They’re from Vancouver and publish a magazine and website, www.shared-vision.com

As I understand it, they scaled back their plans after getting their passports and perhaps purse swiped while being distracted on the road. It might have been the common ploy used by some thieves here to induce a flat and then show up to ‘help’ the unwary tourists.

Jane met them on a previous visit and I’m looking forward to meeting Ron, although we had some issues regarding the terms of the lease. We agreed to help defray their costs by subleasing the house to the extent possible. They’ll be future neighbors at Alma Verde, unless they have completely changed their minds, so I don’t want any issues among us.

Oct. 22

The second day of sunshine and beautiful weather! Today, I started out by surfing. The water didn’t seem too bad, considering all the runoff. I watched the waves and paddled to the outside without getting clobbered. It had been at least two weeks since being in the water. I thought I was well outside the breaks, but a big wave came up and broke in front of me, wiping me out as I remembered Ernie’s advice about staying under long enough to make sure you don’t surface as the board is landing, possibly on your head. Well, it was still the best way to start the day.

It was busy, both with CBA and other activities, and I stopped by the Nosara Development office looking for Mauricio or Karl to make sure someone would reconnect the sink in Heartwaves 3, because I had to move back there tomorrow, as Ron and Becka were scheduled to arrive Thursday in HW1.

Thierry was there, having returned a week earlier from an extended stay in Europe. We had a wonderful meeting, sharing views on the subprime financial crisis and state of the world economy among other issues.

Parque Nacional Barra Honda

2008-11-30T20:35:00.001-06:00

Jane and I were picked up at 7 am by Nico, Emi and their visiting friend Sophie for a drive to Barra Honda National Park to explore the caverns. The park is located past Nicoya, about 14 miles if you pass through town and keep going straight past hiway 21. It sounded like it would be a great roadtrip, and started off great, with the previous night's rain eliminating the dust. Emi got us a discount on our entrance fees because we would be writing about our experience for Voice of Nosara. Nico had his camera and Emi asked me to write the story.
Our 3.5 kilometer hike was mostly uphill and more than we had anticipated and my back was already stiff as we got out of the rental car after the bumpy ride. Jane made it most of the way up the incline but she turned back due to pain in a leg. I persevered as it started to rain, and we finally got to the mouth of the cave. The guides set up their rigging and hooked us up to safety straps as we climbed straight down about 50 feet.
It rained pretty hard on the walk back but Jane was happy and relaxed waiting in the car.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T17:35:00.000-06:00

I've spent the day smoking chickens, having failed to identify a turkey beforehand. Ironically, I noticed a few frozen turkeys this morning at Rusvelt's Super, and at least now know where to get them for Christmas. I'm still using my old smoker, pictured here with Isis, waiting for Mark to finish the new machine.
I delivered a couple of chickens to Robin for her wraps, which are starting to sell well. Tonight I'll bring some chickens to the Thanksgiving dinner at Veronique's.
Yesterday Eleanor and Ryan had a nice potluck dinner and I spent some time talking to Joaquim, who has been living on the Caribbean side of CR for 12 years and had a lot of knowledge to impart about coconuts and their use in cooking. I've been having great success using coconut oil and ground up fresh coconut in vegetable sautees, but there's a lot further I can go with it. Today I asked Jason my gardener to round me up some more meaty coconuts and I'll take them to Joaquim for a lesson in making coconut milk.

The mean green smokin' machine

2008-11-25T00:38:00.000-06:00

I smoked four chickens today after catching the chicken truck that delivers to local restaurants. Jane sold three to friends and the fourth goes to Robin, who has had some success selling the bbq chicken wraps at her cafe. Yesterday I sold an entire rack of pork ribs, more than 5 kilos or about 12 pounds worth, to Rick Walker and his Corky Carroll's surf school.
I also put the second coat of paint on the smoker today, and it's looking pretty good, with a metallic green. Saturday I saw Tony and Siggy, the Germans who raise the organic meat, and confirmed our plans for barbecuing their meat at the Saturday organic market, which will start again with a big debut on Dec. 6.

2008-11-20T19:26:00.000-06:00

My barbecue business took a step forward today, as I ground the rust off my new smoker in Mark the Welder's shed, while he and Dave put a trailer hitch on my Pathfinder so I can haul this smoking machine around. Tomorrow I'll paint it, and found a metallic dark green that I hope will work well.
Crime has been up in Nosara lately, and I finished a story for the Voice of Nosara today about recent burglaries, as well as the decision by one of our two security companies to cut back their staff because of declining revenues. This crime wave has some old timers concerned, although there have been break-ins for some time. When the first security company opened, we had alarms installed in all three of our houses, and haven't had any problems. Some people are especially concerned because these burglars are a little bolder, and have been entering houses while people are sleeping.
The other story I wrote for VON is about the effect of the global financial crisis on our high season here, which normally gets underway in November. It's been a little slow to get going, although it's not dead by any means.
I'm still formulating a plan for rolling out the barbecue business. This week I delivered a well smoked chicken to Robin at Robin's Ice Cream shop, which is more of a cafe. I also brought bottles of my bbq sauce with the new label that Nico made for me to put in her cooler to sell.
My earlier plans to work with JP the raw foods chef fell apart, so there won't be any high profile space at the Kaya Sol cabina shared with Ashley. I may be able to sell my sauce from her refrigerator there.
My vacuum sealer remains unused, and I need to pursue some options for selling the meat at a retail location. I'll be cooking regularly at the Saturday organic market when it opens, but my best hope now will be to haul the the cooker to an unused space near the entrance to the beach and cook and sell there.

Nov. 13-Dentist and Voice of Nosara

2008-11-13T22:42:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I worked on stories for the Voice of Nosara. I was reminded that my deadlines were approaching by the editor, Emi, the previous night at a dinner she hosted. The newspaper designer, or layout editor, based in New York City, was in Nosara for a vacation with her boyfriend and Emi planned a party to honor the occasion with a dinner for the various contributors, including me. Here's a photo of the regular contributors to VON.

Emi asked me if I would be interested in catering the dinner with my barbecue and I said of course. We worked out a deal where basically I would be reimbursed for my cost of food, not unlike my compensation package for writing articles. I'm really just happy that the publisher is willing to sink enough money into VON to make it a credible read. The crowd raved about my food, which included some new dishes, including a smoked potato salad and papaya-pineapple-coconut salsa. I also debuted the barbecue sauce label that Nico designed for me.

This afternoon I start off by interviewing the head of the water board about the enforcement of a law approved last year that will give the board some legal tools to control local development. I go on to a series of interviews about the effect of the global financial situation on the high season which is just getting underway.

It gives me the chance to catch up with Robin, who runs a restaurant and ice cream shop in the middle of the beach area who wants to feature a new bbq chicken wrap featuring my chicken. Since it will be identified as Fritz's BBQ, it will help in my 'branding'. I'll start by bringing her a smoked chicken next week so she can create her wrap, and she'll also carry my bbq sauce.
In general, the people I talk to expect some slowdown from last year's season but aren't too concerned. There has been strong year to year growth in tourism up to now, which has built a reservoir of optimism.

Today started with a two hour visit to the dentist, a beautiful young woman at Pardise Medical Center at Guiones beach. I broke a molar Saturday night eating popcorn, when I bit into an unpopped kernel. While dental work is not covered under the national health insurance program, it is much less expensive and a crown will cost hundreds, not thousands of dollars. I can generally get an appointment right away, but thank god I wasn't in pain because it took from Saturday night until Thursday to see her. In a real emergency I could have found someone sooner, but she had filled some cavities earlier and had a brand new local office so it was worth the wait.

Nov. 11-Jane's Back

2008-11-13T22:23:00.000-06:00

Jane returned Nov. 11 and I picked her up in Liberia after doing a couple of errands on the way. I picked up my government health insurance card at the insurance office in Nicoya. It cost me $1200 for the year and entitles me to the best private hospitals in San Jose. It seemed like a great deal when someone recommended it to me and helped me apply. However, I learned from my Spanish teacher that I could get the standard policy, at a greatly reduced price, and still have the same essential coverage in the event of a major, complicated health issue such as cancer or heart attack. For those complicated and emergency issues, all the expensive equipment for diagnosis and treatment are at the government hospitals. So that fancy hotel-like private hospital would not do me any good under those circumstances. Next year I can save the extra money.

Jane arrives tired from having stayed up the night before packing. She has been away three months but is happy to be back and is finally hailing my wisdom in getting us out of Washington, although she enjoyed being there for the election of Obama. She goes to get after eating three bowls of a squash-coconut-tofu dish I made. The same dish, without the tofu but with some additional pepper, had been a big hit the previous evening at Zac and Tata's Monday night potluck.

Monday, Sept. 22-Leaving Nosara for the US

2008-11-05T21:01:00.000-06:00

I left Nosara Sept. 22 for an extended trip to the US, to be followed by three weeks of language classes in San Jose. The time I had in San Jose allowed me to begin writing about my experiences again. I have waited until now to transfer these writings in the form of this blog. The entries are labeled by the date they occurred, and it will be easier to follow my journey if you start from the earliest date and move forward.

A young couple, Kate and Julio, are staying in our house looking after our cats Leo and Isis during late September and October while we are away. The cats have been a great source of entertainment over the past year although they like to bring small iguanas into the house for their amusement and slow torture, if I’m not quick enough to slide the screen door shut upon their approach.

Sandy, a retired vet who now lives next door, told me the cats are bringing the lizards into the house to show me they are contributing to their food supply, or something endearing like that.

Sandy and Rourke are next door in our middle house for a 12 month lease, starting last August. Rourke, in his late 40s, retired from various family and other business ventures in Canada and Florida. They had explored Guanacaste during the past summer, and found Nosara to be the most agreeable spot they found, based in part on the quality of the restaurants. I got a pretty good lease agreement from them, and considering how the economy has steadily been tanking, I’m very glad to have a year of rent locked up. They shipped down a crate full of their stuff, creating a massive storage problem for me and Janethat hasn’t yet been fully resolved. Their intention is to buy property and establish themselves full time, and it will be interesting to find out if they stick to that plan. Life here has its share of challenges, as well as the rewards, and not all of the challenges can be solved with money.

The principle case in point here has been the telephone and internet service, which have either been down, intermittent, or marginal during August and September, and problems have continued since I last checked a few days ago with Agnes. They seem to be rolling OK with it, although it has been a source of great frustration for me.

Other frustrations associated with maintaining three houses include a small mudslide that occurred behind R&S’s house during an intense rainstorm a few days before my departure to the US. There has been some erosion of the unreinforced hillside that each of the three houses is built into. It only seems to be a problem with our third house, but many cubic yards of dirt were liquefied and came flowing out from behind the house onto the deck and dangerously close to the pool. There haven’t been any further problems, in spite of continued heavy rains, and I’m hoping that we can fix the problem with some reinforcements short of building a retaining wall, which would be a huge and expensive project.

I’ll need to make a lot of digressions, since there is a gap of almost a year in my narrative.

Julio, a Tico from Monte Verde, whose lightly-accented English is due to a year he spent as a high school exchange student in Ohio, drove with me to the airport in Liberia. His girlfriend Kate teaches yoga at the spa at Harmony Hotel, where Jane will also have a position when she returns to Nosara in November after departing in August.

I didn’t know Julio and Kate that well, but other than the yoga connection through Jane they were part of a small group of us who had been gathering for a Monday night potluck dinner organized by Zac and his wife Tata. They are both acupuncturists and opened up an office in the past year. I first met Zac when I went to make an appointment for Jane, who had been feeling ill with some flu-like symptoms.

I met Zac again at Kaya Sol on a Thursday night where he was playing guitar and singing. Truth is, I didn’t recognize him at first, as a few of us were hanging out in the road smoking after his set and the light wasn’t that good. But I was impressed that he was also a musician.

Now he and his wife had organized these pot lucks, and not only was the food great, afterwards he would bring out his guitar and some of us would sing along. It’s a sweet, mellow scene that I look forward to rejoining when I return.

I arrived in Washington, and stayed with Elliot that night upon my late arrival, having picked up Jane’s BMW which she left at Dulles with the key hidden in the back seat. Jane was at a yoga conference in Denver with Joy Burch, the young yoga teacher from South Carolina, who moved to Nosara to teach yoga and work at the Nosara Yoga Institute. Jane had recently sold Joy her yoga retreat business, Inward Bound.

Jane had a rough period since returning to the States in August that involved moving our US 'stuff' from her sister Lindsey’s house in Ruxton, a suburb of Baltimore, to a friend’s house in Bethesda. She also managed to have moved some assorted furniture, as well as a few items and clothing I left behind, to a Baltimore warehouse owned by Lindsey’s son Bo. This was precipitated because Lindsey expected to lose her house due to bankruptcy that appeared unavoidable. At least as important, Jane didn’t want to be around Lindsey’s crazy energy, which has lately been spinning potentially out of control.

Elliot and his girlfriend Nannette had visited me back in late February. I was then staying in our first house Heartwaves 1, the two bedroom, since the other houses had renters, and Jane was off on her travels. I was happy to have them visit, but Elliot doesn’t care much for the beach so I wasn’t sure how they’d enjoy their stay. They took some walks on the beach, and slept in very late, and enjoyed the fresh fruit smoothies and salsas I made. Their visit overlapped with the visit of Lindsey and her contractor friend Marc for a two week visit in February. I had offered the bedroom to Marc just prior to the arrival of Elliot and Nanette.

Sept. 23-Financial Crisis Epicenter: Pigtown

2008-11-05T21:00:00.001-06:00

My first morning back in Washington I copied some interesting salsa recipes from a book Elliot bought after his visit, which gave me some ideas for using papaya and other Costa Rican fruits. I then headed to Baltimore to meet with Marc, to see what he was doing in Pigtown, where we were involved with some properties that had been previously owned by Lindsey. This had been a big point of discussion during his visit to Nosara, and he seemed to offer the only lifeline available.

Pigtown, located near the stadiums in Baltimore, is a quasi-historic neighborhood like so many in Baltimore that had fallen on serious hard times. For surprisingly little money, Lindsey had purchased, in several chunks, two blocks worth of decrepit, small, brick rowhouses, in the frothy days of real estate. She had lofty intentions of restoring the properties and adding solar and other energy-efficient improvements, and selling them under a scheme that allowed her and the buyers to share in future appreciation. At the time, she was able to find lenders who were way too willing to finance her ambitions, and she accumulated heavy debt on her over-mortgaged home in the upscale neighborhood of Ruxton, massive credit card debt, and financing against the properties themselves. This was a highly speculative venture at best, but as real estate bubbled away, it was easy to point to other real estate development in the area and steadily climbing values as an excuse for behavior that in retrospect was clearly delusional. I viewed her as a poster child for the subprime lending bust.

(Warning: further digression) I had actually become involved in a Baltimore real estate venture myself, less than a year before Lindsey bought her initial 12 rundown rowhouses for the bargain basement price of $35,000. For $65,000, my friend Patrick and I had purchased a three story brick rowhouse on Lombard Street in a once proud neighborhood of Union Square. Once proud, but for perhaps at least since the advent of white-flight some 50 years ago, it suffered from steady decline. So much decline that Patrick had to forcibly evict some crack-head crackers so that we could begin a slow process over many weekends of cleaning the place out and preparing a plan for rehab.

Patrick talked me into this venture and needed my money. I agreed to be the banker, using my home equity credit, and we relied on his experience as a carpenter and jobber as part of our plan to fix up the place and either sell it or rent it. It seemed like a good plan at that price, because houses were being fixed up everywhere and being sold for rapidly escalating prices. We worked weekends for well over a year, as I recall, and the place was nowhere near being habitable. By the grace of God, or whatever force was working in my favor, a buyer came along and offered a great price, leaving me with about $20,000 not including a deductin for $15 per hour for my labor. The sale also occurred not long after my decision in March, 2005, to move to Costa Rica, leaving me free to focus on that transition. While not as lucrative as it would have been if we had just cleaned the place out, I viewed the event as a learning experience. Since the buyer planned to gut the building, putting our labor and money spent to waste, I had to be philosophical.

Jane and I became entangled in the latest Baltimore mess in the final build-up to our departure for Nosara. While we had shed many possessions through yard sales, Craig’s list, and other means, there remained many items that we could not, or chose not to part with. Additionally, Jane felt strongly about the need to keep a living space available in the states where we could stay, and where she could keep a desk and operate her business while in the States.

At the time it seemed like Lindsey was offering a perfect solution by offering us the use of her master bedroom at her spacious home in Ruxton. However, she soon made it clear that a big string was attached, that she needed us to buy one of her Pigtown units and provide her with a much-needed if ultimately inadequate cash infusion. She promised to pay the mortgage on a $75,000 sales price and sell us one of the more habitable units, and at this point it was too late for us to do anything but acquiesce. At about the same time we were going to our Aug. 31 closing on our DC house, we also closed on the mortgage for Pigtown.

Marc is a professional developer, and although the extent of his experience in this area is somewhat murky, he seems to know what he’s doing. I’m not sure how Lindsey found Marc, or perhaps how he found her, but he and his boss, who has the money, were interested in buying her houses. It appeared certain to me that she didn’t have any other realistic options, as she was just about out of cash and credit and at the end of her rope. I got to know Marc in Nosara, and it appeared clear to me that he was our only hope if we were to avoid taking a bath on our property or otherwise avoid a nightmare thousands of miles away.

I met with Marc at the site of our properties that Tuesday afternoon, and he had a good-sized crew busy at work restoring many of the rowhouses, even building basements in some to create more habitable space, since they were typically only about 500 square feet over two floors. He and his investor-boss had picked them up for about $40,000 apiece from Lindsey, more than she had paid but well below what would have been needed to bail her out of her situation, which also included an empty business storefront in the same neighborhood that was lacking a back wall. Her son Bo had originally partnered with her in this venture, which she called ‘The Green Pig,’ but had separated out of apparent and understandable concern for his own financial self-preservation.

Marc said his plan called for spending $40,000 to $60,000 per unit, and that with all-in costs of about $100,000 per unit they would have a positive cash flow from a monthly rent of $850 or so, which is what he said he could get from the city in subsidized low-income rentals. He said he expected it would take years for enough appreciation in the neighborhood to allow the units to be sold at a profit, but that didn’t matter to him or his boss as long as they were rented out.

My property was an end unit on one of the two rows of houses and was clearly wrapped up in his venture, for better or worse. It had been in better shape than most of the other units, and was currently occupied, albeit not by someone who was paying rent. We took a look inside, and this was actually the first time I had set eyes on my place. It didn’t look too bad, considering the neighborhood, and Marc pointed out some things related to heating and plumbing that would have to be fixed or upgraded in order to qualify for the city’s assisted rental program. He said a few thousand dollars should be enough for the necessary repairs and that he was willing to get the work done with his crew as well as find a renter while he was getting his own rentals lined up.

This obviously seemed like a great proposition, especially since I didn’t have any other good options and was concerned that this could become a real albatross. I put my faith in Marc and left it in his hands. Before leaving we talked about him visiting Nosara again, where he had some additional ideas for property development.

I drove back to DC that evening to spend the night with my friend Craig in his new apartment. He has been going though a terribly painful and contentious divorce, and I did my best to give him solace and support as he related details that were much worse than I had imagined. We sipped on Cuban rum, Habana Club, that I had brought back from the new duty-free shop at the Liberia airport.

Craig had visited me in Nosara in late January, part of a 50^th birthday celebration that included three of his oldest friends and his brother Dave. It was a great adventure, with everyone trying to surf for the first time. As can be imagined, things can get out of hand with men trying to recapture their youths. After a dinner one night at the Tropical Giardino which included many pitchers of Margueritas, I took them up to see the Black Sheep Pub, an isolated but remarkable English pub with a German-style drinking hall. It’s up a steep mountain road above the village of Nosara, and I missed the turnoff on my first attempt to find the place. There were five us in my Pathfinder, since Rob had earlier succumbed to a stomach bug, and they were all loudly wondering whether they would make it back alive from the dark wilderness. Their exclamations of mock shock grew more animated as I climbed the steep dirt road, feeding their drama with my own voicings of concern. I finally pulled into the Black Sheep, around 10 that Friday night, and the owners Joe and Helen said they had just sent the bartender home but would reopen for us. You have to see this place to understand it, it is like entering an authentic English pub, replete with antique wood bar, transported to literally the middle of nowhere. I knew they’d get a kick out of it, and of course more imbibing ensued. Another trio made it up after us, but otherwise we ‘owned’ the place, one of Craig’s favorite expressions.

I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on outside by the pool, but Dave grabbed one of the two women that had accompanied a guy, the other patrons, and fell sidelong into the pool. After they climbed out, she let him have it with a strong slap to the face. Helen said it was time for us to leave, and I didn’t need to be asked a second time. After some initial flirting that apparently turned sour, and a cocky dare to throw her in the pool, Dave just did it, it appeared. In our hurry to leave, I did a face plant on the stairs down to the driveway, ruining a pair of glasses, but my drunken angels kept me from getting hurt. The guys didn’t let me drive back, though, and managed to navigate back.

I was shocked to learn from Craig that during his divorce proceedings, his wife cited his 10-day trip to Costa Rica, a long-planned and well-deserved break, as some sort of example of his lack of responsibility. It shows that she doesn’t have a lot of strong cards in her hand.

Sept. 24-Back in the office in Washington DC

2008-11-05T20:59:00.001-06:00

Craig dropped me off the next morning at the nearby Metro stop and I rode into Roslyn to return to my old offices at the Consumer Bankers Association. I had an unusual queasy feeling, knowing that this week would mark the end of a job that began 22 years earlier. I was certainly glad to be closing out this phase of my life, but it was not any sort of happiness that I felt inside, although there was certainly an element of relief. It truly did not seem like a very auspicious end for such a large period of my life, for a few reasons. Constant problems with my internet connection beginning in July had made my contact with CBA and the outside world in general seem rather tenuous, and it had been necessary to make trips to an internet café in Nosara at times to publish the August and September issues of the newsletter. My successor was finally hired and in place, and her efforts to assert control, as well as some minor mishaps on my end, had created some stress that pierced my Pura Vida. I really just wanted to get the last issue done and over with, and while I had a few friends in the office who would surely be glad to see me, there were others I was not so sure about.

These mixed feelings were further compounded by an ongoing slow-motion crash of the financial system that had provided my employment since 1980. I reflected on how fortunate I was that we sold our house in the Spring of 2007, and closed on the sale just as the poison of bad mortgages began its paralyzing effect in August. Had it not been for the one buyer, God bless him, it is highly likely that we would still own our house and that I would still be working at CBA, desperately trying to stay current on a combined $750,000 in mortgage and home equity debt provided by Wachovia, now the subject of speculation about its own future.

It was with this surreal background that I entered the CBA offices with my shaggy locks, greeted the few people necessary and slid into my temporary office safely tucked away from others in back. I hardly felt the conquering hero, and preferred to keep a low profile. I suspected there would be low morale, as the crisis in banking threatened the very existence of CBA, premised as it is on the type of lending that was now at the heart of the meltdown. I would have three days to do my business and see who I wanted to see, and then there would be a staff reception to bid me farewell.

Wednesday night I picked Jane up at the airport and we spent the night at her new set-up at her friend Andrea’s house. Jane had done a good job of settling in with her extensive collection of clothing and related paraphernalia into a large room that is the third floor of Andrea’s house. She said she is comfortable there and it should work out for the foreseeable future.

Sept. 25-Catching up with friends, karaoke

2008-11-05T20:58:00.001-06:00

Thursday after work I met some buddies, Jeff, Kim and Ray, for some beers. Kim seemed to be doing fine after a few beers, with no apparent aftereffects of a rough patch he went through over the past summer, or the negative things he was dealing with when I saw him last December. Ray was about the same as ever, bending Kim’s ear and rehashing the experience they had a few years ago when they had played together in a band.

After a few beers we headed on to a karaoke joint, the Rockit Grill, we used to frequent. I signed up for my ‘go-to’ song, ‘The Weight,’ and then after that warm-up I went to a favorite that was a little more challenging, ‘Like a Rolling Stone,’ a song that made a difference back in the ‘60s when released by Bob Dylan. I hit it pretty well, no doubt aided by Sam Adams. When Jeff got his second song in we were ready to head back to his place where I would spend the night. He proudly showed me the new Paul Reed Smith guitar he bought during an extended work assignment in Denver, and plugged in and played along with a Carlos Santana CD.

I first met Jeff almost 20 years ago at a business event, but it wasn’t until a few years later when we ran into each other at a karaoke bar that our real friendship began. It wasn’t too long after that that he started playing guitar again after a long absence. Like others I would meet in the years after I started to learn to play guitar myself as a 35 year old around 1990, he had played in a band when young and set his instrument aside as families and careers took precedent. At the time he and Ray were part of a University of Michigan alumni group that played in a softball league and often went out for karaoke after the games, and I fell in with that crowd for several years, donning the yellow and blue t-shirt even though I graduated from a rival Big 10 school, Indiana University.

This was in the period after I took some guitar and vocal lessons, which I attribute to a major turning point in my life. Almost all the friends I made after that, whether they were fleeting or more permanent, were through a musical connection. Jeff is a good case in point. I don’t even think he owned a guitar when he started noodling around on one of mine many years ago, but it appeared to re-spark something deep inside him and I think it was to change his life in some significant ways, as it has mine.

It seems that all my friends and associates in Washington have been going through some significant challenges lately. This doesn’t even include Tom, one of my closest friends who killed himself a few years ago after he fucked up his life to the point that he didn’t see any other way out. Strangely, one of his last acts before a sharp downhill turn was to go on a buying binge at a guitar store, even though he didn’t know how to play. I ended up with a couple of guitars, a bass, and an amp following that disaster.

But Jeff appears to be in a good place in his life now, an exception, although he divorced his wife a couple of years ago and shares custody of their two daughters. I don’t know, my theory is there is something about the music he has brought into his life that keeps him on a steady course. Maybe I am projecting my own experience onto his.

Sept. 26-Goodbye to Career in Banking

2008-11-05T20:56:00.000-06:00

Friday morning Jeff dropped me off at the Metro, and I returned to the office for the last time and finished a few final stories for the newsletter I wrote, edited and published for 22 years. At my parting reception, with wine and turkey rolls, I relaxed and we shared some stories about some of the misadventures of my career. I pointed to my career ‘highlight’ as the spokesman for the defense of ATM fees, a role that I pointed out no one else in the industry cared to perform. I noted the cruel irony that I am now paying large ATM fees, including an extra 2% on international transactions, and can’t follow my own advice to walk a few extra blocks to get to my own bank’s ATM and avoid the fees, because that would involve walking thousands of miles.

I left CBA for the last time, but just before leaving sang a song, acapella, that I had written for such an occasion, back while still living in the US. I didn’t sing it before the whole group, but Joe and Melissa and Steve and a couple of others were around to hear it and get a couple of laughs. It’s sung to the tune of ‘The Weight’ by The Band, my classic rock karaoke favorite.

I rode into the city, on my Harley Davidson

Hooked up with a yogi, she said you must be the one

We went riding in the country, and ended up in France

Next stop was Costa Rica, where we started making plans

(Chorus)

Take a load off Fritzi, Take his load, he’s free

Take a load off Fritzi,

And…you’ll want to live just like me

I’m going down to Nosara, Costa Rica is my game

Got a little house there, and more are on the way

Hey mister, I can tell you, how you can get a bed

Just put my name in Google, You can find me on the web

I’m going down to the beach now, got a surfboard in my hands

It’s a different kind of commute, I got an attitude transplant

Hey surfer can you tell me, what the waves are like today?

Got me a board and an old guitar, cause I sure do like to play

I went down to the crossroads, and the devil made his stand

I said, ‘Hey Lucifer,’ I got your contract in my hand

Well, Fritz, my friend, the devil said to me

You did me a favor son, and kept the bankers company

I especially liked the last verse, it rang true more and more every time I looked at it.

As I left CBA for the last time, I felt the strong imagery of the building collapsing as I shut the door behind me.

I took the Metro to Bethesda, and then walked in the rain for a few blocks to find Andrea’s house where Jane had set up a bedroom. Although it was the close of a 28 year career in banking public relations, I felt more numb than celebratory. It was to have been a night where we also belatedly celebrated our wedding anniversary, but it seemed that all we could do was find a Thai restaurant in the neighborhood before heading over to Margie and Richard’s house to watch the first Presidential debate.

Sept. 27-Life with Jane

2008-11-05T20:55:00.002-06:00

We snuggled in bed together the next morning, and I felt especially close and emotional. It was as intimate as we had been since Jane left Nosara back in August, and she would spend the rest of the morning packing for a three week trip to Italy, while I would head off to California in a few days.

Jane and I had our ups and downs over the past three years, to say the least. She resented my unilateral decision to move to Costa Rica, and although I came to realize the depth of that feeling, I had never had second thoughts and had remained steadfast in my determination to move forward. There had been continued flare-ups, or meltdowns, and at one point during the past Spring we reached a low point and had discussed how we would divide our lots and houses. At that point it seemed we were both at a tipping point where we were prepared to go in separate directions. Then Jane was off again with her travels, not to return until late June, several days before an early July yoga-surf retreat featuring a teacher, Amy, who had come to one of the New Year’s retreats.

I picked up Jane at the airport at Liberia, and the tentativeness of our reunion reflected the wariness and fatigue that had marked our relationship during her last stay, now months past. Nevertheless, we slowly warmed up to each other, and welcomed Amy into our home when she arrived a couple of days ahead of the group, which numbered only six people although I had expected Amy to be more successful in lining up more of her own yoga students.

Things seemed to be going well up to that point, which led to some overconfidence, and the mistake of inviting the group to our house for a welcome dinner that I would prepare. As I prepared the dinner, Jane’s anxiety began to flare up, and we exchanged some tense words over the way I was preparing the salad. This didn’t happen in front of our guests, but Jane later had a rude, or perhaps just very undiplomatic exchange with one of our guests. I was cleaning up and didn’t witness it, but after everyone left she became very emotional and upset, feeling she had been extremely insulting and hadn’t been able to control the words that came from her mouth. This led to an emotional meltdown, the most intense of the many I had seen over many years, and a night of sobbing inconsolably in my arms.

I felt, or hoped, that Jane would emerge from this catharsis and emerge renewed, but after crying all night she still seemed pretty despondent the next morning. She was very insistent that I apologize to the guy over breakfast for her rude and unprofessional demeanor. I don’t think he was too concerned about it, and the Pura Vida would surely smooth over any bruised feelings anyway. Jane regained her composure and finished the week strong. She said she appreciated my emotional support, and although it took her a day or two longer to bounce back than normal, I think it has been uphill for us ever since.

Back in DC, the banking news continued to get worse each day, with the nation’s attention focused at that time on the newly proposed $700 billion bailout plan. While I was no longer a spokesman or apologist for the industry, thank God once again, I was glued to the cable channels every chance I got. It was a confluence of Congressional politics and a consumer banking meltdown of historic proportions. I kept reminding myself of my good fortune at getting out ahead of this train wreck. Yet I wondered what it would be like if I were still a part of it. I had become used to bankers being vilified, but this was beyond anything imaginable.

In a way, I felt like I was sneaking out of town, and hoping no one would notice or catch me. After all, I had been part of a political and PR machine that had helped make the current mess possible. It was the build-up of enormous consumer debt - that largely coincided with my career - that was now collapsing and bringing the world economy with it. Oh well, nothing I can do about that. I mean, it wasn’t my fault, was it?

Sept. 28-On the way to the Bay

2008-11-05T20:55:00.001-06:00

Sunday I headed out to Chesapeake Bay after spending the morning visiting one of my oldest friends in DC, Lynn. She was very happy for me and glad to see me, although her own life had been stuck in a pretty deep rut for at least the past two years, and she was unemployed. I really wanted some of my good luck to rub off on her. I also know that her religious faith was helping her cope with her difficult circumstances, although perhaps barely. I left wishing there was something more I could do for her spiritually or psychically other than send her a good vibe.

As I approached Chesapeake Bay I stopped at the house of my brother-in-law Gus and his wife Cindy, and helped with their planning for their Christmas vacation in Nosara. They seemed to be getting along well and were excited about the two weeks they had planned for the trip with their two kids, now in college. The unsettled weather that day precluded sailing with my friends Geoff and Nancy, but I had a great dinner with them that Nancy prepared and we were joined by Jim and Ramona, part of the sailing community there that I once felt part of. The Wednesday evening race and frequent weekend visits to the Bay had once been a principle diversion from my life in the city.

Sept. 29-Sailing Chesapeake Bay

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Monday morning was beautiful as was the sailing. Another sailing friend, Ted Greenfield, joined us and he later followed me to Bo’s Baltimore warehouse where I entrusted him with my Taylor guitar for his use and safekeeping. Although you wouldn’t know it because he’s certainly not the evangelical type, Ted plays in one or two church bands and is pretty committed to his church. He’s also a funny and creative media type, working enough with web and video to support a lifestyle on the Bay, so I’m happy that my Taylor is in good hands.

I met again with Marc and he gave me a mason jar of fine bootleg moonshine that he said was from North Carolina by way of some connection of his in Baltimore. Marc is very generous, and I feel I haven’t done much in reciprocation although he did stay at my house in Nosara and will again, I’m sure. I headed back to Craig’s that night for some pool and Monday night football, and left the moonshine with him. He insisted on driving me to the airport in the morning where I caught a direct flight to California.

Sept. 30-On to San Clemente California

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In San Clemente I found my aunt Geneva in good spirits and not overly concerned about the stock market, now dropping hundreds of points a day while Congress considered and reconsidered the financial bailout legislation. The next day, Oct. 1, I took her to LAX where she flew to Ithaca, NY, for a friend’s daughter’s wedding and nine-day stay with her niece and my cousin Connie.

That night I made a long overdue call to my sister Gretchen in Milwaukee, and she offered to fly me to Milwaukee for the weekend on her frequent flyer miles. This was a great chance to see her after well over a year, and a good way to break up my extended stay by myself in San Clemente. I didn’t even have Geneva’s cat, Miss Kitty, for company, since she had been boarded out at a friend’s house.

Oct. 3-Side trip to Milwaukee

2008-11-05T20:53:00.001-06:00

I enjoyed the three nights at Gretchen’s renovated farmhouse, the first time I had see it since extensive remodeling. Earlier that week my niece Anne had departed for Seattle for a temporary job working for the Obama campaign, and she called after an 18 hour day of neighborhood canvassing expressing serious doubts about her desire or ability to stick with it. I told Gretchen I thought it would be a dose of the real world that would provide a valuable experience for her that she would look back on one day. A couple of days later Annie called from an airplane on the way to a new assignment in Denver, more of a battleground state.

The photo is of me and Annie at the 100th Anniversary of Harley in Milwaukee.

Oct. 6-A good barbecue smoker

2008-11-05T20:52:00.001-06:00

Monday was back to California and I again found myself glued to the tube with more news of panic throughout the world’s financial system. It was getting to me, as commentators were making an excellent case for years of economic turmoil that will surely slam tourism and property sales in Costa Rica. More and more, my nascent barbecue business appeared to be a vital part of my economic future. I shopped for some bbq accoutrements, the most important of which were temperature gauges for the pit I would have in November.

Since the idea for the barbecue business originated in early 2005, I had thought about how I would build a good smoker. I found plans on the internet, and although nothing seemed exactly right for my needs, I figured I could come up with something that would provide the smoking, temperature and moisture conditions that I needed to produce genuine USA style barbecue. It wasn’t too long after my arrival that I found myself at Kaya Sol, having a beer, and struck a conversation with a guy named Billy whose long beard made him look like a member of ZZ Top. He was a surfer and former biker, having belonged to a group called the Orange County Assholes, riding not far from my aunt’s home in San Clemente. The conversation soon turned to barbecue, and he told me about the great grill that his friend Mark, a welder, had made. He invited me to stop by his house in the neighboring beach community of Playa Pelada to check it out, and we would walk over to the beach and meet Mark, who hung out there at sunset drinking beer with some other locals.

This I did the next day, and indeed it was a nice grill, with a cover that closed tightly allowing it to be used like a Weber. He took me over to meet Mark, a grizzled fellow who liked cigarettes and Imperials and worked for years as a welder in the Texas oilfields, where he had made hundreds of barbecues, he said. He had one finished now and if they guy who asked for it didn’t pick it up soon I could have it, he said.

So they next day or so I headed off to his large welding shop next to the Nosara airport landing strip. It was not pretty, with some junker cars outside and assorted chaos inside, but the grill was well made. There was also a larger bbq pit he was working on, made from a discarded hot water heater with an offset firebox and a heat shield inside the chamber, designed for true slow-smoked barbecue. He showed me the features and clearly knew what he was doing. I ended up buying both machines, this being around the beginning of the year. A friend, Jacque, helped me with his Toyota Hilux pickup truck deliver them to our third house, the middle one, where we were living at the time.

But what really caught my attention, at the back of Mark’s shed, was a barbecue pit, with two cooking chambers made from old hot water heaters, and a firebox below, all mounted on a trailer with plenty of cargo area. With its double chambers, it didn’t resemble any barbecue pit I had seen before, and I had done a lot of research. Mark said he had been helping a friend, Frank, built it. The rust all over it told me that they were taking plenty of time. It still needed a lot of detail work, but it had two decent sized cooking chambers and the wheels, with suspension and shocks, indicated it would be roadworthy.

The barbecue pit that I now had was sufficient to launch a barbecue catering service. And I would be keeping my eye on the large rig, because it was a serious commercial scale machine. I had not met Frank, who would be the owner, and need to find out more about his plans.

My own barbecue business was launched on St. Patrick’s Day, March 17, with my partner Tigre. My experience with Tigre, ending with his tragic death, is recounted separately in a narrative that I will eventually reweave into one complete story.

I continued to stop by Mark’s shed to admire the pit on wheels, and it was pretty clear that not a lot of work was being done on it. Mark told me that Frank, who is a carpenter, had a new baby girl and wasn’t too focused on his pit at this point. I wasn’t in any hurry to move ahead, since it was the low season and we were just doing ground work in getting the barbecue business started, working first out of the Black Sheep Pub and then moving over to La Banana. And of course, early on, there had been the episode with Tigre’s death. Toward late summer I finally felt the time was right, and I reached Frank, who has a house high above Playa Pelada. He said he would sell it for what he had into it, and would have to figure out the cost of materials and labor. He estimated it would need about five more hours of labor to complete the work, not including the paint that it needed.

A few days later we talked again and he said he would need $1800 and Mark would need to be paid for several hours more work as well. I presented him a check for $1600, in August, with the understanding that I would pay the rest upon delivery. Mark also needed to build a trailer hitch for my Nissan Pathfinder, which required buying a piece of angle iron that wasn’t available anywhere in Nosara at the time. Anyway, I didn’t want the thing before my return in November anyway, and hope we can have it together pretty soon after my return.

Oct.. 7-Visiting friends in SoCal

2008-11-05T20:50:00.002-06:00

Tuesday I visited Dave Snedeker, his girlfriend Amy, and their new baby girl Ann at their beachfront apartment in Playa del Rey. Dave was overjoyed at fatherhood and it was an uplifting experience. His father Wally and step-mother Wanda were visiting there that week as well. As Dave ushered me up the steps, he advised me that just hours ago Wanda had learned that her older brother had killed himself.

Sitting on the deck overlooking a wide swath of sand and the ocean, enjoying a Southern Comfort, Dave and I had a chance to reminisce about his trip to Costa Rica that past winter, while his parents busied themselves making arrangements for a return the next day to family in Tennessee. I learned that while Wanda’s brother had some instability in his background, it was the failure of a recent tourist venture, caused by the collapsing economy, that put him over the edge. He had taken on debt to buy a campground in Canada, a story with foreboding overtones.

We had a nice dinner on the deck, and Dave encouraged me to expound on the nature of the credit collapse, which I was happy to do since I had been giving it much thought as of late. Dave is involved with venture capital for oil shale development and has a good understanding of finance, but the discussion was one of several that reinforced how politicized the whole mess has become. The blame game is in full force and in the early innings, and is shaped by people’s prior political persuasions. Not everyone is blaming the banks, to my surprise, and some, mainly conservative Republicans, are pointing to government policies that encouraged lending to minorities and low income people as the root of the subprime mortgage meltdown.

I explained my view that loans made as a direct result of these policies were relatively small, and that the large bulk of problem loans were not driven by these policies. However, I’m not willing to let Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac off the hook either, because they helped fuel the mortgage bubble. We missed the second Presidential debate that night, but I didn’t really miss it, having seen the first.

I spent the night there at Dave’s encouragement, and the next morning drove south in smooth comfort in Geneva’s Lexus, on my way to meet Ernie for lunch in Cardiff-by-the-Sea. After lunch we took a nice walk along the beach on the warm and sunny afternoon. Ernie and his real estate partner Pamela were fortunate to have sold their double lot in Nosara located near our houses in the K section earlier in the year, but he said the mood in California was pretty grim these days. However, he has been enjoying his life and getting in plenty of golf, now typically at discounted rates due to the economy. Ernie’s natural smile didn’t seem phased and he said he still has cash on hand waiting for the right real estate opportunity in the San Diego-Oceanside area. Concerns about a recent dent in his cash account were salved by a surfing session that morning. As I bid farewell, not expecting to see him in Nosara for some time, he gave me a recent CD of an Abraham-Hicks talk. I listened to it in the car later, a rumination on the Law of Attraction as expounded by the channeled spirit who calls himself Abraham. It fit right in with some other CDs I had been listening to called “Infinite Possibilities – The Art of Living Your Dreams’ by Mike Dooley. As summarized by Dooley, thoughts become things.

I have been giving a lot of consideration to the law of attraction lately, since it seems so relevant to the way my life has been unfolding over the years, and especially as it has led me to my new life in Nosara.

Oct. 11 A recap of Jane and Geneva

2008-11-05T20:50:00.001-06:00

I picked Geneva up at LAX on Thursday and on Friday we were joined by our distant German relatives, Frank and Inge, who were in Los Angeles visiting their daughter Taina and her husband Miguel, helping out between nanny gigs for their latest son Mateo, a midget version of his three year old brother Miko. On Saturday Taina and Miguel, along with my cousin Katya drove down to join us for dinner.

The last time I saw Katya was last Thanksgiving at Geneva’s, the occasion of Jane’s emotional meltdown which caused a major rift in the relations between her and my aunt, and by extension me. It was that Thanksgiving evening that Jane, unsolicited, started complaining about her hardships with her new life, including the short gap in October in medical insurance coverage that she viewed as a significant crisis. The next morning after a cordial beginning, things went rapidly downhill. Geneva let Jane know that in her opinion Jane was not much more than a spoiled brat living off my check book and with a tenuous grip on her mental wellness. The two got into it like pit bulls with me in the middle, not wanting to alienate either one. The two finally separated and later I took Jane to the airport where she departed earlier than planned for a visit with a friend in Arizona. I spent a few more scheduled days with Geneva and we mostly avoided discussing the fight. A few weeks later in Nosara I received an email from Geneva telling me that she longer wanted me to be the executor of her estate, based on her concern that I was too dominated by Jane.

Following that debacle, Geneva asked me to housesit for her for about 12 days in April while she took a river cruise in Europe. I happily obliged, wanting to get our relationship back on track, although spending the time alone in her house, with its sweeping view of the Pacific, left me feeling detached, with a sense of ennui and perhaps a bit of depression. Things had really been cooking in Nosara, literally, as the barbecue business was enjoying its early success with Tigre in the waning days of the high season.

Taina and Miguel, with Miko, visited for a week in Nosara last March, staying at the two bedroom house, and were there for our St. Patrick’s day barbecue debut at the Black Sheep Pub. Miguel thinks he met just about everybody there that night in his attempt to locate the owner of a van that had blocked their rental car, and I’m sure he did because he has that natural gregariousness of a politician. They asked about the business and were saddened to hear about Tigre’s death.

That night I returned to LAX to catch a red-eye to San Jose, where I would spend three weeks in Spanish language school, Epifania.

Oct. 12-Arrive in San Jose, meet my homestay family

2008-11-05T20:45:00.000-06:00

I arrived on schedule and my ride was there to take me to my homestay family. I was given my choice of two rooms, simple but reasonably spacious, and foggy from the redeye picked the right one to settle into. I took a nap and at some point met Andres, the twenty-something son of the woman who ran the house. He spoke great English, and I was invited to join them to see a movie. We trouped out, Andres with his girlfriend, another brother Mauricio, and sister, Andreas, and mother Yolanda. The mall, Terramall, was quite similar to US malls with a lot of designer shops like Tommy Hilfiger and the same brands you would see in Washington. Likewise the multi-plex theaters were similar. Andres had some sort of coupons for the tickets and said I didn’t need to pay. We saw a violent American movie, ‘The Taken,’ about an ex-CIA agent rescuing his daughter who has been kidnapped by the Bulgarian mob who is selling her into white slavery. It was a violent, action-packed movie, and as I reflect back on it, righting this much later, I can’t help think about all the violence and death the CIA has inflicted on Latin America in carrying out the US mission to defend capitalism, no matter how correct, against communism and socialism. Costa Rica abolished its army in 1947, although it cooperated with the CIA as agents used Costa Rica as a base for operations in support of the Contras in the Nicaraguan civil war. The CIA built the airport that is now the Oduber International Airport in Liberia, which opened the region that includes Nosara to development. The availability of the airport at Liberia (LIR) was one of many pieces paving the way for our relocation to Nosara. So I suppose I owe that to the CIA, but still, they are killers that have subverted Democracy in so many Latin American countries. I guess our goal of creating democracy in Iraq is an effort to make up for that. Right.

Oct.14 Epifania language school

2008-11-05T20:44:00.001-06:00

I finished my second day of Spanish language classes today in San Pedro, a suburb of San Jose. I’m taking two classes in the morning, a total of four hours, and it leaves me free afternoons and evenings. It is giving me a chance to catch up on my writing, which I never had time for on my recent stay in the US.

Having completed my first year in Costa Rica, I feel I am deep into my new life and that it is going well. While I felt some anxiety during my stay in the U.S., it was a feeling that I don’t have here now, at my home-stay in San Pedro, even though I am in totally new surroundings in an unfamiliar neighborhood with no one that I have known for more than three days.

The classes have been good, and I’m making rapid progress with no more than one or two other classmates at a time. The first day, my classmate, Woody, a Canadian, started talking about the Law of Attraction, or Ley de Attracion, part of The Secret or El Secreto, and related it to how he had come to move down to Costa Rica. The teacher and school founder, Gisella, was animated by this discussion as well and I was also able to relate how I felt that moving to Nosara was no accident. I thought that conversation, in Spanish, was very encouraging for my first day.

Oct. 15 Time for Reading & Law of Attraction

2008-11-05T20:42:00.000-06:00

Since afternoons and evenings are free, I have had plenty of time and some concern about the risk of boredom or ennui. So far, as I write this after one week, that has not been the case. The home-stay family has been very friendly, Yolanda and her sons Andres and Aron and daughter Andrea. Andres speaks great English, although after Sunday we have avoided using it, and works for a shipping company. Aron is not around as much but Andres said he is a nurse and I understand he is continuing some sort of medical studies. Andrea helps around the house, and has been especially helpful since her mother broke a bone in two places in her lower leg Tuesday night, which required a few days stay in the hospital while they pinned the bone back together. She’s a sweet lady and a good embodiment of the love that holds Tico families together and makes Costa Rica a great country.

In browsing through a couple of shelves of books near their television I picked out a paperback titled “Revolution Against War,” by D. Park Teter, since I knew I would have plenty of time and had only brought with me “A History of God” and a collection of American Indian literature, “Song of the Turtle,” given to me by my Nosara friend Helder.

A reference to hidden creative power on the back cover was enough to get me started and it turns out the book’s theme fits right in with the law of attraction, although published in 1990 and based on the author’s own discovery and research process following a highly unusual event of ‘coincidence’ in his life

Well, I just restarted my computer after a blue screen crash, and lost the last couple of paragraphs I wrote about Teter’s book and theory. According to his view, there are no accidents or coincidences, but rather so-called reality is a projection of a ‘dream’ dreamed by the collective public that also has specific personal meaning for each individual. I’m not sure what meaning I should place in my computer crash and the loss of my initial description of his thesis, but perhaps, according to his idea, the universe is telling me not to place too much meaning in it. Of course, that interpretation would validate his point. Perhaps it was just a simple computer crash because Microsoft’s Vista operating system is a piece of shit.

I have also been listening to a series of CD lectures called “Infinite Possibilities, The Art of Living Your Dreams,” by a former accountant named Mike Dooley, who also lectures and has a website, www.tut.com based on ‘Totally Unique Thoughts.” His fundamental premise is that ‘thoughts become things,’ which he expounds upon for 12 hours. Like Teter and Abraham-Hicks, this is another takeoff on the law of attraction, and Dooley cites the channeled information from a spirit called Seth, as recorded in a book by the same name, as the source for much of his information.

The reader of this journal may or may not be disposed toward such thinking, and many would even find this sort of thinking delusional. But I feel like there have been too many fortunate breaks and coincidences in my life to ignore material such as this, because these theories describe my life and how it has unfolded, to a large extent. I would also point to books by Wayne Dyer or Deepak Chopra as sources of related information and views, and these are bestsellers so there are many people of similar minds.

Last Monday, after my first conversational Spanish class turned into a discussion about the law of attraction, with the three of us all testifying, in Spanish, about our own experiences that seem to validate this law, I went to check my email on one of the school’s computers available for students. There was an email Jane had forwarded with a ‘thought of the day’ from the tut.com website. I was from ‘The Universe’ and read:

“Ever wonder what would make life's fleeting pain and sorrow totally and unquestionably "worth it," jane? How about living forever, wildly in love and loved wildly? Yeah, baby

“Thoughts become things... choose the good ones!”

I responded that I have been listening to the CDs from this same guy, Mike Dooley, which I found among her miscellaneous CD collection on a shelf in our bodega, or storage room, in Nosara. She replied later that she wasn’t aware of the CDs, but had been turned on to the guy by a couple of pals at the yoga retreat she was attending at the time in Italy. That’s a little coincidence, but it’s the type that has been occurring multiple times per week, especially as it relates to Costa Rica. If I’m delusional, I’m happy in my delusions in Nosara, while it seems most everyone I know back in the US is experiencing various forms of misery.

Oct. 17 - My musician pals

2008-11-05T20:41:00.000-06:00

Friday afternoon I visited a friend, Andres, whom I met in Nosara and is living temporarily with his mother in the San Jose suburb of La Uruca. He’s a musician friend of Juan, an Argentine guitarist and performer who has become a close friend and whom I have been spending a lot of time with in Nosara.

I’ll digress here. I first met Juan last April, when Tigre invited me come with him to an open mike at Marlin Bill’s restaurant, where Juan was playing. We brought djembes to play along and there I also met a fellow, Darrin, who I later placed as the current principal singer with the Medicine Show, the local band rooted by Bill Macpherson on bass. The three of us played djembes as Juan played electric guitar and sang in his distinctive, throaty voice. With little experience playing percussion, and none in public, I sat a little further back and did my best to follow the rhythms and patterns of the other two. There were no more than three or four diners, so it was pretty low key but nevertheless a great time and one of those experiences that made me think, ‘this is what I came to Nosara for, part of my dream.’ This is a very exciting feeling, to feel a dream is being verified.

I was with Juan and Tigre the night of Tigre’s death, and received the phone call from Juan at 7 am the next day, May 15, and we became close friends during that period and after. The immediate days after Tigre’s death were emotionally charged, as my house became the central meeting place for friends and acquaintances to meet and share their grief.

Juan said that my faith in him and appreciation of his music gave him confidence, or something like that, and whatever it was made him especially appreciative of our friendship. I helped him do some recordings of his music using his equipment and mixer and my Apple Mac and its Garage Band program, which is surprisingly sophisticated with its features. I also set up a free website for him at MySpace, which has a section for musicians and bands that want to show off their work. It’s a work in progress, but you can see it at www.myspace.com/juanperegrino

Juan met Andres in San Jose, but Andres was working as a tour guide in Guanacaste when he came down to Nosara, via bus and hitchhiking, to join Juan for some gigs in the area. Andres played bass and they were joined by a local drummer, Jon Jon, who normally played with the Medicine Show. With not much practice, the three of them sounded pretty good together and were capable of doing some great jamming.

Their initial gig was at La Banana, the bar where Ryan and I had been serving our barbecue one or two nights a week. One of the things I like about Juan is that he is a great promoter, and he’ll pass out our homemade handbills on the beach and to anyone he sees around Guiones, and in our small community it’s not that hard to get the word out about what’s happening. While there haven’t been that many people around during our low season, he’s managed to draw some respectful audiences and my barbecue sales have benefited on the occasions that we have both worked the same venue.

Andres is a young Tico, 24 I believe, whose manic behavior ensured that evenings with him around were likely to be animated.

The new trio had Friday and Saturday night gigs in the neighboring beach town of Samara, significantly larger than Nosara and which still had a modest but fair-sized crowd available in early September. I accompanied them on their Friday night gig at Coco’s restaurant, riding along in Juan’s old GM van, which he slowly negotiated through about 12 miles of really bad dirt road with broken power steering.

After the show we sat around having some beers with Coco, and as Andres was intensely flirting with Juan’s sister-in-law Sylvia, he offended Coco with his lack of deference to him.

A few days later I learned from Juan that after there gig Saturday night, at another club in Carillo just past Samara, Andres had some sort of mental breakup and literally went crazy. Sylvia was there and it wasn’t pretty. Wow, I thought, life in the jungle can be strange.

So when I got an email from Andres, I was a bit wary. I let him know that I was in San Pedro at language school and he said he was staying at his mother’s house following some treatment related to his behavior. He sounded lonely and bit remorseful so we chatted on the phone and I agreed to visit him. I got instructions for a couple of bus connections and we had a nice reunion. He talked openly about his condition, which he said was a type 1 bipolar disorder, along with some other condition that is shared by some artists and can contribute to their creative process. He said he spent some time in a psychiatric hospital, under physical restraints at one point that coincided with his birthday, and takes medication to keep his condition under control. He told me he had been seeing a therapist who was using some alternative approaches to drugs, and has been advised that he will be walking a ‘tightrope’ and can’t drink alcohol, smoke pot, or even fall in love with a girl for fear of setting off another episode. His attraction to Sylvia, along with fatigue from little sleep and the aforementioned stimulants were all factors leading up to his breakdown.

Andres picked up his acoustic guitar and played a few of his original songs, one about love and another about the rejection of love, and his old dog shook his hindquarters, as if dancing to the music.

His dream is to be a working musician, and to pursued his ambitions in other countries where he believes there is more support for it than in Costa Rica.

Oct. 19 Dreaming

2008-11-05T20:40:00.001-06:00

I signed up for extra weekend classes, and this morning, Sunday, with Giselle, I mentioned my attempt to remember my dream, or sueno, as I woke up. I’ve been thinking of dreams lately, but I always seem to forget them as soon as I wake up and the fragments that I sometimes hold onto for a short time don’t strike me as especially interesting or worth remembering. Giselle said she had studied psychology while in college including the work of Freud and Jung as it related to dreams. She suggested that before going to sleep, I remind myself to try to remember my dreams, and then to have a notebook to take down any information I remember in the morning. She said that if I did this I would start to notice things happening during the day that related to my dream information and that I would find this very interesting. Well, I need to give it a try.

Oct. 20 Dreaming some more

2008-11-05T20:38:00.000-06:00

I made a focused effort before falling asleep to member as much as possible about my dreams that night, and kept a notepad by bed. I did remember fragments of several dreams, including some segments with my friend Craig. It seems we were attempting to make a business strip together. My clearest imagine of him is as a sharply dressed executive giving speech to a luncheon club of other executives. His professional attire and demeanor tell me he is at the top of his game, which I interpret positively because he has had the toughest challenges of his life lately and is still holding it together.

Oct. 22-Robbed at knifepoint in San Jose

2008-11-05T20:37:00.000-06:00

As an alternative to class this morning there was a tour of San Jose, and I wanted to become more familiar with this city. A Japanese student, Tomoka, and a woman from the Bahamas, Tootsie, opted for the tour and off we went with Jose from the school. As it happened, a television reporter and cameraman from Canal 6 joined us and a report aired the next morning. I missed it, but Yolanda, the proprietress of my homestay casa, saw me and called out but it was over before I got downstairs. I’m not sure about the story angle but some city officials took the tour and I was told their purpose was to take a look and make sure things were tidy in the city. Seeing the tv crew, I couldn’t help but thinking of the many times I had appeared before the camera to answer questions about banking. I considered the possibilities that cameras might be attracted to me. Oddly, doing the tv interviews was one of the few things that I enjoyed about my past career. I’d always considered it an ego thing, but it was also part of the measure of success for someone who is typically identified as an industry spokesman. I half way expected the journalista to turn to me with her microphone and ask me a question, in Spanish of course, about how I thought the financial crisis would affect the economy of Costa Rica. I even thought how I would get a copy of the segment and send it back to the US, perhaps to my old boss Joe. Well, needless to say, not all thoughts become things. Perhaps because I didn’t want it hard

enough.

Later I got a call from Andres and he was planning to be at a bar called Observatorio for some live music that night, and wanted me to join him, although our plans to meet for some music the previous evening had disconnected. Andres is also the name of one of Yolanda’s sons, and I reviewed the location of the bar with him and waited until a little after 9 before heading out. My homestay house is in the third block off of the main street that goes through San Pedro, and is in a decent middle class area with enough traffic to be annoying during the rush hours. The night was cool following late afternoon thundershowers and it was no more than a couple of hundred yards to the main road where I could either take the bus or catch one of the plentiful and cheap taxis, which is what Andres suggested. I was a little wary of taxis, only because the previous morning, one of my fellow students, an older American woman, had arrived visibly shaken as a result of a taxi driver who had taken her on a circuitous route in spite of her feeble protests in bad Spanish. I already knew the bus route and my destination was pretty much a straight shot.

As I was half way to the main road, walking alongside a playing field in an area that could hardly be considered deserted, I was jostled by one of two young men walking toward me on the sidewalk. I initially considered it an act of overt rudeness, but quickly a knife was shown and I backed away, putting up my hands, indicating nonverbally that I would cooperate and give them what they wanted. The taller one, with the knife, was clearly loco and I recognized the word gringo as he seemed to have some soft of vendetta against people like me. The other one kept repeating tranquillo, and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get his buddy to calm down or if he was trying to tell me to calm down. We did a little dance, it seemed, but I just wanted to throw them my wallet. I had emptied it of everything but about $50 worth of Colones and one piece of plastic, my debit card for my Banco National account.

I wouldn’t call it a premonition, but as a matter of simple precaution in a city with a lot of crime I had removed the plastic from my wallet, including my Washington DC driver’s license, leaving only a photocopy of my passport. But rather than waiting for me to hand over the wallet, one of the ladrones felt the need to hold the knife to my throat, while the other one personally removed my wallet. The shorter one then also slapped my front pocket, where I felt sure he would relieve me of my cell phone and the digital camera I had just purchased the day before.

Having secured my billetera, they left me unscathed and continued to walk, not run, down the street. My cell phone began to ring, and I reached into my pocket with relief that it was there. It was Andres, wondering where I was. Robo, I said, using the Spanish word for emphasis. I would not be seeing him tonight, and he said he was very sorry. I was happy to discover that my camera was still in my pocket, and I looked down the street in the direction of mi casa. I had spoken to Andres for less than a minute, but before I had moved, a police car showed up. I yelled ladrones and pointed excitedly down the road. I watched as the car headed in the direction of the thieves, and it appeared that there was something else happening in the block past my homestay.

I walked back in that direction, stopping at my house and ringing the buzzer next to the locked gate that abutted the sidewalk, rather than using my key to gain entrance. Yolanda’s daughter Andreas appeared at the door and I said, Robo, necessito Andre. When Andre appeared, I told him I was robbed and I think they captured the ladrones down the street.

He joined me for a walk less than half a block further down, where four policemen in two vehicles had two young men sitting down on the sidewalk. I looked at them in the spotlight of one of the police cars, and aside from being amazed at the speed at which everything had unfolded, had some concern about my ability to positively identify the scumbags who robbed me. Not only had the light been limited, but the presence of a knife at your throat and the resultant adrenaline can blur your memory. Not to mention that even in my younger days I was never that great with faces. Now the two were sitting quietly on the sidewalk, in a different context as well.

One of the policemen was going through the contents of a bag that had been taken from the perps, showing me some items that included a Michigan drivers license that clearly belonged to another hapless female victim. Meanwhile, another policeman looked along the street for anything that might have been discarded or tossed away, possibly as the police approached.

At around this point, the policia had ordered the taller perp to stand up against the wall that ran parallel to the sidewalk, in this hilly neighborhood. I’m not sure why, but if they were just getting around to frisking him, it seems like it was a bit slow in the process. I approached from the side and put my face as close to his as prudence allowed. As he looked toward me the crazed expression started to return, and I stabbed my finger in the direction of his face. This provoked him further, like a wild animal, which confirmed without any further doubt in my mind that this was the loco ladrone who had earlier wielded the knife. I may not be great with a face, but there was no mistaking that crazed look.

Within minutes my wallet was found, with the cash but not the debit card or the assortment of business cards and miscellaneous papers. They also found the knife, and then my watch, which had been torn from my wrist. Until I saw the watch, I hadn’t remembered them taking it. Such is the adrenaline. Actually, I was feeling pretty calm. I never panicked or really lost my composure at any point.

Thank God that Andre was there with me to translate. We went with the police in one car, a tiny econo-model, while they took the suspects in the other vehicle, a double-cab pickup, to the station and temporary detention center. The police took my preliminary statement, a rather slow process, and Andre was on the phone with Banco National to have my debit card cancelled. I gave him the name of the company my account was registered with, F.J. Nosarico, and we repeated the spelling a few times while they tried to pull up the account. I gave them my name, which they also had somewhere in their records, as well as the mailing address that they had on file to send me monthly statements. This went on for ten minutes at least, and finally Andre hung up with the assurance that they would continue to attempt to locate my account. As soon as he hung up, he got a call, or perhaps returned a call, to his house, where someone there had found my card on the street. Another resident of the house, Hector, had returned to the house sometime after the robbery and noticed papers and my card laying in the street or sidewalk near the house. So fortunately, my card had not been cancelled and Andre called the bank back to say, ‘Never mind.’ I was glad to be able to avoid the timely process of obtaining a new debit card, since the concepts of ‘convenience’ and ‘banking’ with one of the state-owned banks in Costa Rica are not closely related.

For many years I have carried in my wallet a small piece of paper that I received during my initiation to the first level of Reiki, a form of spiritual healing. It is titled ‘Protection Method,’ with the subheading ‘OM’. It reads:

I am the universe, I am

I am the sphere, I am

I am the light, I am

I am the flame, I am

I am the sword, I am

I am the reflection, I am

I am the Universe, I am

This piece of paper was among the items from my wallet awaiting our return home. But first, the police took us to a judicial center, where after some time waiting I gave my detailed statement to some officials, again receiving priceless assistance in translation from Andre. We got back before midnight, and I took one of the sleeping tablets I had purchased the day before because my extended afternoon siestas had been causing some problems falling asleep at night.

Sunday, Oct. 26 Touring Jaco and Manuel Antonio

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I met Andres around 9 am at a MacDonalds near an Adobe rent a car office, to pick up a car and begin our road trip to the coast. A motorcycling club was also meeting at that spot for a road rally, causing me to reminisce about my Harley riding days in DC, while munching on an egg McMuffin waiting for Andres.

Earlier in the week we had discussed a weekend tour, perhaps to the volcano Poas, or to the coffeetown one of my teachers recommended. Saturday he invited me to sit in with him during a band rehearsal he had that day with a fellow named Gustavo, in a neighborhood called San Francisco. There was a young percussionist, and later Gustavo’s daughter joined us as a vocalist. I had a great seat in the middle, tapping my knees with my hands and practicing my rhythm.

At some point that day I recalled that Andres had mentioned that he had a drum kit that he left in someone’s safekeeping and he needed to get back. I asked him to remind me where it was, and he said Quepos, a town on the middle-Pacific coast that is next to a famous national park, Manuel Antonio, three or four hours away. I wanted to check out this part of Costa Rica, which also takes us through another well-known surfing destination, Jaco. So why not take a tour that lets us return Andres’ drums? He’s a professional tour guide as well as a musician, so I figured it would be a good day.

We took an alternate route through the mountains to our first stop, Jaco, having been advised there were road obstructions on the main route. Andres drove, while I sat back and played some of his CDs, further exploring Latin music and learning about the countryside as well.

I had really only heard bad things about Jaco, that it was overdeveloped, ugly, and full of crime, drugs and prostitutes. It’s the closest beach to San Jose, about two hours away, which would explain its popularity and out-of-control development. I pictured it as a larger version of Tamarindo, which I found to be rather tawdry, and is pointed to by the enlightened denizens of Nosara as the worst-case-scenario of what over-development brings to Costa Rica.

We didn’t spend much time in Jaco, stopping for lunch and at a couple of music venues where Andres wanted to reestablish connections. I have to say the town wasn’t so bad, and not nearly as big as I expected, although a few high rise buildings threatened. It seemed reasonably clean and tidy, more so than Tamarindo, and might compare favorably to Playa del Carmen, a pretty cool beach town south of Cancun. It was certainly not ‘sleepy,’ a term often used to describe Nosara, but maybe not that different than Samara, even a little more ‘upscale’ in appearance. For young partiers with money to spend, there were many attractions.

We continued along the coast, about an hour further to Quepos and Manuel Antonio, passing on a straight road through huge expanses of African palms, which Andres explained are the source of palm oil destined for biodiesel fuel. I wondered what the precipitous drop in oil prices would do to Costa Rica’s national ambition to produce bio fuels, including a big push to produce alcohol from sugar cane.

Quepos is not situated directly on the beach, but it’s a fairly busy town that serves as the entry point for Manuel Antonio. There is a road that winds from one end of Quepos up into the mountainside, and is lined with restaurants, hotels and resorts, many of them tucked into side roads and quite high-end. The road winds down again to a beach area, crowded with shops and beach concessions. At this point it was after 3 pm and we hadn’t connected with the people who had the drums. The beach area, what I saw of it, was beautiful although crowded, even at this low season. The park is noted for wildlife hikes, best appreciated early in the morning. We returned to Quepos, an unremarkable commercial center, and secured the drumset as a serious deluge set in. Our return along the coastal road was treacherous at times with the nightfall and hard rain, and I was happy not to be driving. Passing Jaco, as we began our ascent into the mountains, we stopped at a roadside cantina for a beverage. Two friendly hookers offered to show us a good time, but we let them know we weren’t interested and continued our journey.

Oct. 30 Getting Ready to Leave San Jose

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This week we had been hitting some advanced grammar, such as three approaches to the past tense, not to mention the regular and irregular verbs that fall under these tenses. Along with other complexities such as the male-female changes, it’s beginning to feel overwhelming. I’m hanging in ok, trying to stay positive. I’ve been getting exercise at the American Gym nearby at the Outlet Mall, and spending some time practicing guitar. Yesterday I got a call from Andres, and he had all positive news about musical connections that are happening, some possible because he has his drum set back. Even his sister, who has been a source of concern for him, is now scheduled to receiving a kidney transplant from a donor. I wonder silently if I shared positive energy over the past weekend was playing some role in his turn to good fortune.

I tell him about plans Friday night to go to Mac’s American Bar, which advertises “Costa Rica’s Only Real BBQ” and a band, “Blind Pigs Band,” playing classic rock and blues. It’s close to the MacDonald’s in Sabana Sur where we met for our Sunday excursion.

Giselle offered to drive me to the Economy rental car office downtown Saturday with my stuff, so I could drive back to Nosara.

I’m ready to return, and am having some bouts of boredom or dis-ease of some sorts, signs that I’m ready to move on. I spent some time before dinner doing some meditation, or my preferred version, toning, which involves sounding a continuous verbal note instead of a mantra. I find it has a more powerful effect than normal silent meditation, and also helps my singing voice, as a side-benefit.

My last night in San Jose should be fun, with Jose from the school and possibly others, as well as probably Andres gathering to check out bbq and music. I feel like it will be a good and interesting night, and a proper send-off. It’s also Halloween, growing in popularity here but also practiced as Devil’s Night by those looking for mischief.

Halloween

2008-11-05T20:08:00.000-06:00

In the afternoon after my final class I go for a final workout at America’s Gym. My week’s billeto there, which cost under $10, has saved me from serious musculo atrophia. With some time on my hands I decide to take the bus to downtown centro for a final walk down Avenida Central, the main shopping street closed to traffic and full of pedestrians. I’m doing some window browsing but there is not really much I want, except maybe a couple of banderas that I can use as sweat bands or to filter road dust when I’m driving my quad.

As I approached the end of the pedestrian mall, I come to the Mercada Historia, and old-style market building filled with small shops. It looks like fun so I enter the maze. I find the bandanas at the first place I stop, a stall filled mostly with tourist curiosos, and pick a couple of blue ones.

Wandering further, toward the middle there are tiny diner-style eateries, and a variety of butchers and fishmongers. I run into a stall that sells bulk spices. Back at my homestay, I had enquired if there might be a place that sold bulk spices, and Andres said he wasn’t sure but suggested a market downtown that might sell spices. So here it was, and I order several half-kilo bags of ground peppers, oregano, cumin, cilantro, as well as a couple of others that I would have to identify later. I asked the clerk to write the names on the bags. I found a second shop that sold bulk spice, and ordered a few more things, and bought some ginseng at another shop as well. For energy, or energia, which I would need more of in Nosara.

Next I buy some flowers to show my appreciation to my homestay hostess, Yolanda, and then get a call from Andres. Although our plan is for him to join us that night at the bbq restaurant, he doesn’t have anything to do now, around 5, and says he’ll join me downtown. It doesn’t take him long to find me at the Mercado and as we head back down the pedestrian mall he asks me if I’d like to shoot some pool. There’s a place with a free table, and the hookers are nice but they don’t bother you, he said.

We walk to an area where there are some government buildings and a nice neighborhood, which I remembered from the downtown walking tour a couple of weeks earlier. We arrive at a nice looking, rather upscale hotel/bar/restaurant and I recognize the name, The Sportsmen’s Lodge, from their regular ad in amcostarica.com, a free subscription news service.

The pool table in the bar was available, although the room was packed with a Halloween crowd that consisted of the girls dressed up in various costumes. The men all appeared to be older gringos, and I mean gray or white hair, with few exceptions. There was a lot of mixing going on but nobody bothered us as we played eight-ball. Andres even had to request a waitress to bring us drinks. We played a round, very poorly, it was very distracting but I can’t blame that for all my poor shots. An American guy, who travels between homes in Oregon and Dominical, asked if he and his newly arrived buddy could play us for a drink. We were all playing so poorly I was starting to wonder if we could leave in time to meet Jose back at my homestay. It came down to the last ball, which they sank, but our friend said not to worry about buying them a beer. Off we headed, an hour of fun for the price of a beer and coke, about $4.

We got back to the homestay just before 8, and I introduced Andres to the other Andres, and to Yolanda, who was entertaining a cousin and another couple. Andres made a good impression and told me that he really liked the energy in the house. After a short while, Jose showed up, and Giselle with him, who is also his mother. Again, Andres made a good impression and soon they were chatting like old friends.

Jose drove us to Mac’s American Bar on the other side of town, where the ad I had showed him said there would be a live band, the Blind Pig Band, as well as ‘the only real barbecue in Costa Rica,’ or some claim to that affect.

We got seated at the last available table amid the Halloween festivities, and were informed that they only served barbecue one night a week, and that was tomorrow, along with the live band. Oh well, in spite of the ad, they changed their schedule, probably figuring why waste good bbq on a Halloween party. We didn’t want to stick around in a noisy place with a hamburger menu, so Jose said he knew of another place that featured ribs, although not cooked in the style I had described as real bbq.

This was a place called “JR’s Ribs,” made out in the old style of a Texas ranch, complete with waiters dressed up like western-style cowboys. The meat was tender but bland, with plenty of mediocre sauce, and prices were between $15 and $20 per plate.

Yolanda and Andres has plenty to talk about, such as chakras and other metaphysical energies, although I understood little of it. He asked her about the name of her school, Epifania, which turns out to mean ‘epiphany’ in Spanish. I happily related, in Spanish, the story of my own epiphany, and how it had occurred during our first yoga-surf retreat more than three years ago. I didn’t explain it very well, of course, but I said that I came up with the idea of combing surf and yoga lessons into a single retreat, and that my esposa, Jane, organized the retreat as part of her business. It was during the retreat when I had the epiphany that it would be possible and financially viable to move to Nosara full time.

That was the highlight of the evening, it was certainly not the barbecue. Giselle asked me to keep sending her good energia for the school, which she founded a couple of years ago based on her idea that people learn a lot faster through conversation than they do relying on textbooks. She earlier had a career teaching Spanish to Japanese at their embassy.

Saturday, Nov. 1, return to Nosara

2008-11-05T20:07:00.001-06:00

Saturday, Nov. 1

My cats Leo and Isis are waiting for me after a long day and a long absence.

Jose picked me up at 9am to take me to my rental car, a compact 4 by 4 Hundai which costs about $85 for the one way trip, a bargain compared to a $180 taxi fare. My departure from San Jose proceeds smoothly until I’m close to Puntarenas and fall into a speed trap, big time. I had been stuck behind trucks in the mountains, which is normal, but finding myself with a lapse of slow traffic after I had stopped at a roadside stand, I hit around 80 kph, which is the normal open highway speed, maybe a little over 60 mph. The officer said it was a 40 kph zone, and in his weak English and my weak Spanish he said it was a $100 ticket and had to be paid at the bank in Puntarenas on Monday, because it was closed today. With some additional discussion I pointed out that it would be muy dificil for me return to Puntarenas, about a three hour drive one-way from Nosara.

He went inside his station house, which was directly across the road, and when he returned he indicated that he wasn’t going to give me a ticket, and marked lines across his ticket pad. Not exactly sure of the customs in such circumstances, but having a general idea, I pulled out a 10,000 colones bill, around $20, and said I wanted to make a contribution to the local policia. He looked a little uncomfortable, while I wondered if I had done the right thing. Then he pointed out that the ticket was for a hundred dollars, so I said un poco mas? and handed him another 10,000 note. He was happy and made sure that I had good directions to Nosara.

Agnes told me that I shouldn’t pay these bribes, and take the ticket instead, after I got stopped once on the way to the airport in Liberia, and paid 10,000. She pointed out the tickets are normally only about $5. I figured I didn’t have any choice on this occasion, and it was just a contribution to the local economy. I did wonder why he said the ticket would be $100, an extremely high price, quoted in dollars rather than colones.

I received a call from Jose enroute with the news that the gas stations had been closed in Nosara, because apparently the two places had been operating without the proper permits. This is disturbing, because the closest station is on the paved road near Samara, a 15 mild drive on bad unpaved road. I pick up a five gallon can in Nicoya and fill it before turning off the paved road. The roads are dry but the sky is overcast, with random light sprinkles.

I pondered what was going on with the bomba, the gas station. I had been working on a story for VON about the new, modern bomba that has stood without gas since it was built a couple of years ago, due to lawsuits based on its proximity to a creek and wetlands.

Rather than digress further, I’ll paste the uncompleted, last version of the article here, which you can skip past it if you prefer:

La Bomba, the gas station that has no gas, sits invitingly on the road between Playa Pelada and Nosara, on a wetland that has no water.

Both conditions are subject to change, and that is the issue behind a long-running legal battle between the Nosara Civic Association and the gas station owner, Roberto Villalobos.

The NCA contends that the station was illegally constructed in a wetland area subject to flooding, next to the Sube y Baja, a stream that could bring pollution to the Nosara River and nearby beaches and turtle nesting grounds.

In the most recent development, the owner has won a declaration from a government agency that the land is not a wetland, which could allow the necessary permits to pump gas.

The dispute goes back at least to 2002, when a construction permit was first obtained and was later revoked. The NCA reviewed the situation in a legal brief filed in 2007, which pointed to ample evidence that the station sits in an area designated as a wetland. The petition was filed with the government’s environmental agency, MINAE, which reviews the laws which restrict construction in wetland areas. It also points to previous agency actions that appear to confirm the illegality of the construction, and seeks enforcement of the law.

There is a story there without an ending, a story that pits a Tico businessman against gringos and other local citizens who insist that the laws be obeyed, which would mean that the bomba be torn down.

The gas station was built on wetland, next to a stream that flows into the Nosara River, with a history of flooding. Wetlands serve an environmentally important function, to hold water and filter it and ease flooding, which is why they are protected. The prospect that flooding could bring gas and oil into the river and on the beaches motivated the Nosara Civic Association (NCA) to fight the construction of the gas station at that location, according to NCA officers.

In 2002, landowner and businessman Roberto Villalobos obtained a construction permit for the property, after receiving the necessary approval from SETENA, a secretariat of MINAE, the government agency with authority to protect the environment.

This alarmed some local residents and officers of the NCA, who had seen the area underwater in a previous flood, and who attempted to convince MINAE that the area should be protected as a wetland.

Villalobos, who also owns the gas station and adjacent hardware store in Samara, dug into the hill at the back of the property to move earth and raise the level of the ground.

Efforts to protest the construction plans led to a lawsuit filed by NCA and a stop-work order was issued by the court in July, 2004. Construction of the gas station, already underway, continued in spite of the order.

The legal status of the ground as a protected wetland was not confirmed until 2006, and while the gas station was finished by then, the pumps remain under wraps as a consequence of the NCA’s legal efforts. However, an auto parts store is open and vehicles are being serviced.

In October, 2007, a new lawsuit was filed by the NCA, against the Municipality of Nicoya, MINAE and SETENA, in a further effort to achieve enforcement. NCA President Marcel Schaerer says there is not a dispute about the law itself, which he says is clear. What is lacking is enforcement.

“The municipality has to enforce this and to come with a Caterpillar and take the thing away,” he says.

While the national government has proclaimed a commitment to protecting the environment, and has indeed sent bulldozers to selected areas, it is an open question on the fate of ‘la bomba’.

###

I wonder if the lawsuits initiated by the NCA are responsible for the shutdown, leaving Nosara without gas? This is the law of unforeseen consequences at work, and I am not happy about the prospect of the long trip for gas.

I finally pull up to my house and Leo and Isis are there to greet me, with Isis, my girl, showing some initial shyness. Sandy and Rourke greet me from next door and I spend some time hanging out and catching up on what little news there has been. Except for the occasional bad storm, there hasn’t been that much rain, although I had heard in San Jose that the year has had a record amount. The mudslide behind their house has been neatly repaired, involving about a weeks worth of dirt moving and a bill for $650.

Rourke said he has been proceeding with plans for his coffee shop, scouting sites and doing some preliminary work toward obtaining the necessary permits, including finding out what standards are required in selling food, such as baked items. I find that muy interesante, and tell him that I’ll eventually need similar permits but am not in a big hurry because I don’t plan selling from a regular commercial space, at least not anytime soon.

Jorgelina has left a sign for me on my deck that says ‘BBQ by Fritz’ with a blazing yellow fire. She left out the smoke, though, so I’ll need her to do a little more work. Latinos don’t seem to appreciate the humo, the smoke. For lunch on the road I stopped at the Tres Hermanos barbecue restaurant that features a statue of a giant madras bull at the turnoff from Hiway 1, the Pan-American Hiway. Equipped my new linguistic skills and still seeking genuine barbecue after the failed attempt the previous evening, I discuss the menu with the mesero, who may also be the cocinera, asking ?much humo?’ and receiving assurance they used a lot of smoke They are doing the real thing here, it appears, and I spot an interestingly-engineered barbecue pit near the back. I order the costillo de cerdo, pork ribs, my own specialty, although I am curious about the res, the beef that in Nosara is too tough for barbecue. I also ask, ‘?Que tipo de arbol,?’ and am rewarded with the name of a wood for smoking that I haven’t heard of, and he writes down the name for me, zenisaro.

I was served a generous plate of very tender ribs, perfectly cooked so they almost melt in your mouth and come easily off the bone. The sides were lentils, and shredded carrots in a sweet sauce. There was a framed newspaper article on the wall, and I could make out enough to tell me that the Tico pitmaster had studied barbecue in the US, perhaps at a one-day seminar such as I had attended. I couldn’t really taste the smoke flavor and found the sauce they were smothered in to be rather bland. The Ticos are not big on a lot of spice or flavor, I had learned during my homestay in San Pedro. The plate, which I struggled to finish because it was a lot of meat, cost about 7,000 colones.

I settle in that evening with a nice bottle of Trapiche Argentine merlot.

Visions are pouring into my head, the Nosara magic back at work. I take out the recipe for corn bread that I received at the school from one of the teachers, Zaidy, and visualize making test batches, while Jane and I take them around to friends and customers as samples to build momentum for the business. I visualize Jane and myself in harmony, ensuring the success of my barbecue. If she wants me to branch out into raw foods, I will happily oblige, but make it clear that bbq is primero, and raw foods are segundo for the negocio, business.

I start singing, ‘Take a load off Fritz, take a load, he’s free, after Rouke and Sandy have left for the new ‘movie night’ at Marlin Bill’s, and there is probably no one else, save possibly some nearby construction workers, in earshot. I take out the guitar I had brought down with me from the US, and warm up with an exercise that Juan had shown me, my fingers flying in a coordinated speed at a level higher than I had previously reached. I visualized becoming good enough to play publicly some day with Juan or Andres, and then beat out a rhythm on my djembe for good measure.

Later, I visualized that this journal would be published some day. Certainly, at least self-published on the internet.

Sunday Nov. 2 Nice to be Home

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I awake to a beautiful Nosara morning, bright and cool. I have coffee and will leave a little early for my rental car return, maybe to drive into the village. My first stop is the beach, where there is a good number of cars in the lot, 10 or so, and the waves are nicely formed and head high. I see Darren, who catches me up on the music scene and asks if I’ve heard anything about Juan. He and the drummer John John are in the process of forming a new band, along with Steve the guitar player, and splitting off from the Medicine Show in order to make a little more money than from the Medicine Show gigs, managed by Bill MacPherson. There’s also going to be a new guitar player in town trying to make a go of it, a black guy with a European background who Darren said is really good and will be back in three weeks.

Also at the beach with his dog and golf cart, having arrived too late for the good early surf, is Jeff, a regular barbecue customer. We exchange a little gossip about a rumor about Britany Spears renting a house in my neighborhood for a trip this Christmas, which makes me think about how easy it is to start rumors or spread tales in Nosara that need not bear much relationship to verdad, the truth.

Jeff is an architect who has two baby girls with his Tico wife, and builds houses that his son Ryan sells. I tell them that I’m going to get busy with the barbecue pronto. Darren says he thinks that the barbecue pit on wheels that Mark and Frank have built has been a project in Mark’s garage for five years, and is excited that I am taking possession of it.

I drop the car off at the Economy office, which is close to the forest trail connecting the Café de Paris rooms and the Nosara Yoga Institute. It passes by Coconut Harry’s rental house, and I am dismayed to see two more houses crammed into that space, another example of developers and property owners trying to squeeze as much as possible onto their small lots.

I step through construction debris in order to find the path, and am able to enjoy the solitude and naturalizad on the walk home.

While Rourke and Sandy reported continuing internet problems, I carefully reset the modem and wireless router in the morning, and got a steady signal. I measured the speed and it came in at about 300 mbps, more than twice as fast as when I left. It was fast enough to watch video clips, for the first time, and I saw snippets of McCain’s appearance the night before on Saturday night live. Finally it’s clear that Barack Obama will be our next President. Hooray! High speed internet Hooray!

Next I’ll have to plug in the Vonage phone and see if that works, but I don’t want to push my luck yet. It’s very tranquilo here on my deck this morning with my cats.

A short while earlier, I stopped to watch eight ants working perfectly together to carry away a dry catfood nugget. They had it most of the way down the hall toward my bedroom. They were lined up perfect with four to a side, and it even appeared that another ant hanging out nearby went in to relieve one of the others and take his place. In our fractured society, I don’t think you can get eight people working together with such intelligence. Certainly, with their ant intelligence they could understand the wrongness of invading Iraq, or of taking on excessive debt just because their banker or broker said it was a good thing.

I pondered the ants’ fate, since they were heading toward the bedroom and their trespass was not something I felt I could allow.

I just went back in the house to see if the ants or their catfood nugget were still around, and they had disappeared. With regret, though, and somewhat concerned about karmic consequences, I had put a drop of ant poison on the nugget before leaving them on their journey. Such a shame, but it’s a jungle out here. Que lastima!

Later in the afternoon I drive the quad over to visit Emi and Nico. Nico is in San Jose having some prints made for a client who likes his artwork. Nico creates images using photographs and programs on his Mac computer, including Photoshop and I’m not sure what else. They are quite striking and impressive, and he did well at a special exhibit at the Harmony Hotel last summer.

Emi and I speak in Spanish for a bit, both because I tell her it’s important for me to practice, but also because she has kidded me a bit in the past regarding my slow progress. But when we start to talk about the gasoline station she is ready to switch to English because it’s a complicated topic. Basically my suspicions are confirmed. It appears that the owner of the bomba has likely brought in the inspectors to close down the two small operations, to impress upon everyone the need for his big station. Emi says that some people are blaming him for the situation, and his need to show off his power, and others are blaming the Nosara Civic Association for precipitating the situation. We discuss a lot of topics, including their three week stay at a spiritual retreat, which was very profound for them. Our discussion also covers whether or not there is a conspiracy by the Bilderberger cabal, the crisis financiero and nature of reality. Returning home on my quad as dusk approached, a distance less than a mile, the engine began sputtering and finally gave out, near a convenient driveway to get it out of the road. Kate had warned me that there was little gas left, but my visual inspection of the tank, since there is no gauge, had been deceiving.

Fortunately I had picked up a five gallon gas can in Nicoya and filled it on my way back Saturday, and walked back to retrieve it.

Monday Nov. 3 - A Day in the Life

2008-11-05T20:03:00.000-06:00

I wake up after some nice dreaming, involving a connection with a horse and my Reiki power of healing. It suggests that there may be a horse in my future, although my sensitive back has been telling me otherwise. Juan had arranged a horseback ride for me for my birthday in early September, and my back was sensitive for a few days afterward. It was a beautiful ride on the beach and up into the hills near Garza, with spectacular views, and I did a lot of galloping on the beach with Silvietta, his sister-in-law, who came with us.

After a couple of cups of coffee and some conversation with Jason, my gardener, I felt charged up enough to get my longboard out of the bodega and down to the beach. The waves were decent, meaning not too big, and I took a few rides. I need more strength, and after a year of living here, I’m less strong than when I started. But I still feel good about starting the day in the water.

I checked in with Mark on my smoker, and while not much had been done in my absence, he had at least procured a piece of angle iron that he thought would be sufficient to weld the trailer hitch on my Pathfinder. It did occur to me Saturday night that ‘Fritz’s Barbecue Joint’ might be the right name if I have my own steady location.

Jorgelina came over later to do a little more work on my bbq sign, as I continue to struggle a little with my signage issues. Things need a little more time to come into focus.

I check in with Dominique at La Banana, and he says it’s still slow and we decide to wait another week to see if there are enough people to make it worthwhile for me to sell my barbecue at their Thursday reggae night.

Agnes also stopped by and delivered a big box that had been sent to me from Paula, Patrick’s girlfriend, in appreciation for their visit here. It has some great kitchen items and spices, all very usable.

Nov 4 Possible Combo of bbq and raw foods

2008-11-05T20:02:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, November 4

I got a call this morning from JP, a young chef who specializes in raw foods, who wondered if I would be interested in investing in the carry out food business he has been trying to launch since July. I was somewhat familiar with his efforts, since he had been working with Nico and Zac to launch the enterprise, sharing a cabina at Kaya Sol with Ashley, who does astrological readings and sells some related merchandise. Jane has been particularly interested in having me pursue the raw foods angle, and we have discussed studying with JP to learn that style of food preparation.

He needs money for equipment and some back rent, and others interested in getting involved have not been able to come up with the capital. I tell him I’m interested in discussing it, especially ways that we can work together for our mutual benefit. He travels down from San Juanillo for further discussion.

He needs about $850 for back rent, which runs $500 a month, half of which is paid by Ashley. The location is prime, close to the Frog Pad video store, internet café, a surf shop, mini-super and Guilded Iguana hotel and restaurant. He needs a glass door refrigerator, two-burner propane stovetop, food processor and smaller items. There will need to be some construction work to finish out the cabina, but JP thinks he can do much of it himself.

He already has a bottle collection for the purpose of using recycled bottles for drinks and salad dressings, and has suppliers lined up for organic salads and vegetables. He also plans to sell nuts and some other items in bulk, and has suppliers lined up, and has had some discussions about an alternative to plastic or Styrofoam food containers.

JP is open to being a retail outlet for my barbecue, and I suggest that we can keep the organic theme intact by using the pork, lamb and rabbit raised by the organic German farmers Siggy and Toni, who sell their products at the Saturday organic market.

I already have plans, hatched with Siggi and Toni, to bring my smoker to the organic market and smoke their sausages and meats on Saturdays.

Zac plans to help out by providing Quickbooks and training to keep track of all the finances. JP will not pay himself a salary. As the investor, I would get a 30 to 40% share of the profits, depending on how much of the money would be a loan to be paid back, and how much would be a contribution.

JP is completely bilingual and has been living in the area for five years, cooking in various venues, so I am quickly on board, in principal, with being his investor and collaborating in ways to promote both our businesses.

JP left for a meeting with Zac, who was going to help him get his laptop debugged, and we would meet after to take a look at the cabina. I finally tried plugging in the Vonage internet phone, and got a great signal when I called Jane. She had just voted and was very excited about the investment idea and eager to return to Nosara a week from today.

Checking out the space later with JP, I was impressed with the amount of working area. A separate door needs to be built where a window is, and plumbing work is needed for the sink. There’s plenty of work, but I think JP will jump into it now and I’ll help as well.

I stopped at the Mini-Super to say high to Helder, and there saw Doris, an old friend who found out she had breast cancer about a year ago, and recently spent several months in her home country of Austria for chemo treatments. She works in the office of the Nosara Yoga Institute and I haven’t seen her all year. I also saw Analee, a woman from Uruguay who was a good friend of Tigre and Katherinna. Helder said I should join him and Yeshim for dinner tonight at an Italian couple’s place, Salvio and Lily. Yeshim recently returned from Canada and is a chef who does a lot of cooking for yoga retreats. I met the Italian couple through Juan, who had hit it off because Juan and of course his Italian wife Lara and sister-in-law Silvietta communicate in Italian, while Salvio and Lily don’t speak English and little Spanish either. After leaving the Mini I stop by to see them, so that I don’t arrive unexpected. They and their family have a great property about as close to the beach as you can get in Nosara, built with a restaurant and bar, living quarters, and two rental units in back that each have at least two cabins. There’s too much work to be done for them to open this season, but it will be a nice family run operation when they get everything together. I use my new Spanish to communicate with them, and will show up around 7:30 with some red wine.

As I leave I run into Zac with his surfboard heading to the beach, and he lets me know how happy he is that I’ll be working with JP. They’ll be having their potluck Monday night again.

I stop to chat briefly with another Tico friend, Marlo, on the way back to my house. Minutes after I arrive, up the steps comes Eleanor, who I did not know was back in town already, but had arrived last night.

That’s how it is in Nosara, you are always running into your friends.