Bleach is the number one favorite cleaner in Costa Rica. I’m pretty sure I do not need to take a poll on this.

Bleach is used to:

• clean mold off sidewalks
• wash whites
• soak whites
• clean floors
• clean toilets
• clean showers
• wipe down counters
• and clean every other thing that needs wiping down in your home, garden, and garage

I’ve watched my Gringa friends try to gently urge their maids to lighten up on the use of bleach. My attempts of the years usually failed. I wouldn’t buy it for awhile and then like a force pulling over to the dark side, I’d find myself back in the detergent isle, scanning brands. If I bought a brand my maid didn’t like, we’d then have lengthy discussions on the different qualities of bleach and what wonders one brand can do compared to another.

Now that I don’t have a maid, I use no bleach for cleaning. I keep one bottle hidden deep behind the junk of the garage. I think it was a left-over from when I moved into my new home over a year ago. I now refill a bottle of this Ajax cleaner (long since emptied) with vinegar and baking soda with a few drops of tea tree oil or pine scent. Since floors have to be mopped down about once a day to keep the ant population at bay, we go through a lot. Vinegar! Baking soda! Even cheaper than bleach! And as my son scoots across the floor, I don’t worry that a toxic chemical is being absorbed into his skin.

I do see the appeal of bleach - it kills everything in it’s path. And since hot water isn’t available readily, it’s the disinfectant of choice. I’ve heard of maids even sneaking bleach into the house where it’s been forbidden

How does one translate: Go easy on the bleach?

The on-line translator says: fácil ir a la lejía

Here, since all bleach is known as blanquita - a brand name - I would say: Por favor, puede usar menus blanquita?

As long as bleach is in the house, I am not sure it’s possible to use less. The only solution may be to go cold turkey.

The days change from chilly to warm and back again. So blows in December. The floors in my house get really chilly. Coco likes to put on five pairs of socks because she’s so cold. That’s when I like to tell of all the suffering I labored through in all that snow, that ice, that freezing cold.

She listens for a minute and then usually ignores me. This particular day she decided to put on a pair of shades even thought there was no sun. She gets her brother’s attention, and they play air guitar. And inevitably, it warms up. We shed the socks and sweaters and in a few short hours are warm again.

I was one of those people terrified by Jaws. In fact, it made me even a little nervous to swim in lakes! But last Saturday, as I sat flipping channels I came upon this documentary about sharks. When Costa Rica appeared in the film, I was enraged and saddened and felt so much shame for this beautiful land. At some point, we humans have got to realize doing “business” doesn’t mean we get to do whatever we want. When the sharks go, we’ll choke on our own juices.

Cocos Island is an island off the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. It’s a national park that perhaps has one of the biggest populations of sharks per cubic yard than anywhere else on the planet. A place that’s so threatened, sharks are dying by the thousands. And pretty soon, we won’t be able to breath. How are they dying? They are being slaughtered for a bowl of soup. Shark fin soup. A delicacy in China and Asia, the fins are eventually sold for hundreds of dollars per pound as the rest of the bodies are thrown back into the ocean.

I’m sad to say Costa Rica’s record is hideous on this issue. Evidence, including physical and film footage show our peaceful, eco-tourist land as instead a place where those who wish do as they will; kill as they please.

Sharks are the largest predator in the sea for a reason: they control the water ways and keep balance. We can not pluck what we wish for a tasteless bowl of soup. And this may sound far and distant, but there is something you can do.

• Never buy a bowl of shark fin soup. When you are traveling in Costa Rica, you may see this on the menu. Refuse, tell the owner why. We’ve got to start educating.
• Never buy any shark products: shark cartilage has not been proven in any way to benefit health. Plus, we’ve so poisoned our waters that the cartilage carries a very high amount of mercury.
• Never buy any other product made from sharks like shark tooth necklaces. The species is now so much danger, we can not afford to support anything that condones the killing.
• Get educated. Even a little helps. There’s Sharkwater and videos on-line and other documentaries to get us all educated on the importance of these creatures in our lives.

Yet at the end of the film as I sat in tears and watched the slaughter and I was about to give up hope, I saw the people of Costa Rica. The people of Costa Rica went to the streets and said no more!

That doesn’t mean it’s far from over. Shark finning is BIG money second only to drug money. But change always starts with the individual. Our consumer choices do make a difference. Our willingness to say NO, even just once to the injustices will have a ripple effect. For you never know when the scales will tip. Our choice is on which side to stand. I may never dive or even see a shark, but I’ve learned to swim with the sharks, for you know, they really are the air we breath.

Pretty soon the view of the sunset will be blocked by the new walls of the mall. Just imagine the fun we’ll all have browsing, dawdling, and walking around in our newly constructed neighborhood. Since we don’t go downtown anymore, and we don’t really have sidewalks to go to the corner coffee shop, we go to the mall.

Photo taken yesterday:

Photo taken in August 2008:

The construction has seemed to continue despite the worried U.S. money world. Though, I do think a highly-touted development down the way has ceased to continue. I walked by on what should have been muchachos bubbling about and bulldozers buzzing around to silence - a big, empty lot 1/2 dug out.

So it looks a bit split on the question of “how’s the economy here?” As always, and no matter, it really depends on how you look at it. I’m hearing that this year, people are making home-made gifts and staying closer to home. I wonder? Perhaps we all needed a little kick in the keester to remember what Christmas, life, is all about. There’s just so much more to IT than Cabbage Patch Dolls and Nintendo.* Our mall won’t be open by Christmas, so I guess I’m off to finish that cross-stitch and start baking.

*Did I just completely date myself with that Cabbage Patch Dolls thing?
Remember the terror of not having one way back when??!! 

Shedding our cultural customs is like trying to leave behind a limb while it’s still attached. Firecrackers start going off in Costa Rica around Christmas time. I don’t get excited. Tell me about a well-basted turkey and pumpkin pie? Now we’re talking.

Since I don’t see the ads on television promoting the perfect holiday gathering, and my kids don’t make turkey crafts, the holiday wanes from my thoughts. And, I could probably skip the whole thing. Yet when a group of friends pool a few colones together to buy a turkey, I find myself mashing potatoes and looking forward to a holiday dinner.

Thanksgiving is a nice holiday since it’s about gratitude - one of my favorite subjects. And I like when kids get a chance to hang out while parents mill around and chat. That reminds of my home.

So, all over Costa Rica odds and ends of ex-pats try to duplicate a little bit of home by making stuffing and turkey and pumpkin pie. We’ve got to create a new network of aunts and uncles and cousins as we’re usually so far away from family.

And as our group sat around the table sharing the good things that happened over the year, it felt just like home. Plus, our turkey was probably the best I’d ever tasted! A welcome tradition!

Addison walks.

It didn’t really happen out of the blue, though it is still a big surprise.

One foot follows the other and then all those days of standing and falling and waiting and trying come together, brewed to an off-beat perfection.

Addison walks. Amen to all that.

If you’d like to see footage of the amazing event, go here.

Now, we’ve got to run…I’ve got this toddler getting into everything!

The power went out on my mini-DVD player while I sat in the car trying to finish the last of In The Wild. Coco was in her ballet class. I figured it was a good way to kill an hour.

I’d started the movie the other night, and got a 1/4 of the way through it. This is the only way I can watch movies with kids - a bit at a time. I watched about 35 minutes in the car, when the machine gave me a warning that I was about to loose power.

Even without kids, movie watching is a challenge. When I first moved here, seeing documentaries or anything slightly “non”-Hollywood was almost impossible. DVD shops began to spring up, when it was clear VHS was going by the wayside. But many of those DVDs turn out to be pirate copies. If they do work in your DVD player, then you have to decide if the quality bothers you.*

A few times I’ve rented a movie and could actually hear the audience chuckling in the background. If it is a “higher” quality pirate that has been recorded from machine to machine, I’ve excitedly sat down at the end of the film to watch those delicious extras I so love, and they won’t work. Lots of those copied DVDs skip, jump, and will freeze up. However, if this is your only choice to pop some popcorn and relax in front of a film, don’t hesitate. Most people I know get their movie fix this way.**

A few years ago between children, I had a bit more time to watch films. I got brave and tried NetFlix. What a great idea! Oh, the documentaries available made me drool. The first three arrived, and since we had no limit on when to return them, slipped them back in the mail to then wait for our next batch. Unfortunately, a few went missing. One arrived cracked. NetFilx is quite forgiving, but after too many un-returned videos, I can’t blame them for cutting me off.

Now, my choice is Video Centro. First the chain had a few locations, and it was very hard for me to drive to and return a film in one or two days. They have opened in many places throughout San José, and they say they rent only original films. And to this day, I’ve never had a film freeze up, and I always get to watch the extras. There selection is beginning to include more documentaries and independent films.***

I had to return Into the Wild in the morning. After two days of “pause” and “play” I was determined to see this film to the finish. (I didn’t know it was a true story, so imagine my surprise at the ending!) I gathered up all the wires, the min-DVD player and the case and trudged into the waiting area for parents. I plugged it in and watched another 30 minutes.

I finally finished the film at home and zipped out to the video store while on errands the next morning. When I handed the young man my videos, he told me I was at the wrong store. In a way, this was an odd bit of good news because it meant there was another store just down the way.

Our little Costa Rica is growing up.

*VHS tapes here get moldy. If you bring them, be ready to toss them when you see green
spores sprout atop the celluloid.

** Of course you can watch movies on cable. I have basic service and it’s, well, basic.
I suppose downloading will be the way to go, but I’m waiting for it to become a little less frustrating
to twiddle with the Internet - call me an optimist!

***Most adult English language films are in English with Spanish subtitles.
Children’s films in the theater are often dubbed in Spanish. On DVD, you usually have a
choice to watch in English or Spanish. 

All I wanted was a glass of water. A five gallon bottle still sat in the back of the car. I’d avoided hauling it in, well, because it’s heavy.

Perhaps I should have waited until after breakfast when I might have had little more energy. Instead I lifted the blue jug out of the car; peeled off the top; and hefted the thing onto the dispenser. Like I said, perhaps I should have eaten first.

The water splashed out into the container and somehow, the entire jug slipped out of my hands. Water flowed onto the counter and all over the floor. I lost grip and it slammed onto the floor, water still “glugging” out of the neck. I reached down to set it upright and for a second I couldn’t understand why water was still pouring out of the bottle. The jug had cracked!

I lifted the bottle into the pila and watched it drain out. After all the jostling and tossing, I wasn’t sure if the water was clean anymore, so I just stood there and watched it pour down the drain. The floor in the pantry has a slight slant, so the water drained behind the refrigerator and under a cabinet where I am sure we nurture and provide a safe home for cockroaches.

The kids ate breakfast and never noticed a thing. The didn’t even pause when a few words spat rather quickly out of my mouth that are better not to repeat here. I gathered towels and sopped up what I could. I’ll run a fan non-stop today to dry it out. In Costa Rica, it is imperative everything that’s wet gets dry. Or it smells.

Funny, I just dried out a small carpet I have in the living room because Addison wanted to play his favorite game of “up down” and pushed aside the large vase a little to far. The nanny caught quite a bruise diving to save the vase but the rug got all wet.

I poured a small glass of water. And cried just a little bit because it was funny and sad all at the same time. I know we’re not supposed to cry over spilt milk, but it’s sad to watch so much life and effort wash right down the drain. I set the cracked bottle back in the car and got busy sweeping out those dead cockroaches hiding behind the fridge. On the bright side, my pantry is really, really clean.

A reader, who’s on her way to moving to Costa Rica, wrote me about the terror of being without books. I know the feeling. A few days ago, I posted a story about how wonderful it is to have those books piling on tables and sitting about as they are real food for the soul. But in Costa Rica, getting that food can be quite the journey.

I’ve run more books through the xray machines at the airport than anything else. Once, I had a small suitcase so stuffed with books, the woman made me open it up because it was so darned heavy. Once she saw the books, she yawned and said: Next! That was before so many weight restrictions, and when I could bring two suitcases per person as “check-ons.” However, hauling my literature over the border is still the most reliable form of replenishing my stocks.

Once and awhile, I’ll ship books to an address. Many ex-pats get courier mail services such as Jet Box or Aerocasillas. I’ve had good and bad luck with both services. And there are several other services as well. You’ll have to research which one suits you best. Some services charge monthly; most charge extra according to weight limitations per month. The benefit? It’s usually much more expensive to ship over seas; you’ve got a U.S. mailing address; supposedly it’s more secure. The disadvantages? It costs, and even though it should be more reliable than the Costa Rican mail (in theory), I can’t say it is.

The Costa Rican mail service is another option. The trick is getting a P.O. box is often impossible. The “mail carrier” should deliver right to you porton or patio. I mail almost everything outgoing through the Costa Rican mail service. I find it inexpensive and everything has arrived at the other end. With the courier service and the mail service, incoming stuff gets lost. I think it either gets sucked up in the mysterious world of customs up on the hill by the airport, or perhaps it drops into the sea on the tiny plane over the trip over from Miami, or I think it even gets lost behind someone’s desk.

If you are going to move here you must accept this: The mail life you’ve known of reliable, rain, sleet, snow, and all that shall end. Your electric and light bill may get stuck in the fence and hopefully you’ll find it before the wind or rain sweeps it away. There are no addresses here with a nice, orderly system. We live on physical descriptions. (After all these years I am still amazed that this actually works - plus! - I understand how to do it!!)

I no longer have anyone ship boxes to me as I’ve gotten nailed with ridiculous taxes on everything from books to baby clothes to strollers. I ship one, maybe two books, if they’re not the War and Peace size, to either a P.O. box or the Miami courier. Stick with envelopes. For some reason, customs doesn’t get as interested in them.

Going to live way out in the thick of paradise? Far away from civilization like you’ve always dreamed? The mail service gets trickier. The first thing I would do is grap a Gringo and ask them what they do. Friends I know that live full-time on the beach have a P.O. box and no courier service. They even have packages sent on the bus. For a small price, one could have a friend get a package in San Jose and drop it off at the bus station. People I know have had good luck with this. It doesn’t hurt to get really friendly with your nearest post office. Eye to eye contact and friendships go along way in keeping your life stocked with the next good read.

Within Costa Rica, there’s a few options I’ve mentioned before such as Libreria International, where you can also get a nice cup of coffee and get a “sort of” Barnes and Noble cafe feel. The English selection is limited. But I’ve been surprised at some of the authors I’ve seen such as Doris Lessing, John Irving, and David Sedaris. They do have a fun kid’s section. I often find myself there buying gifts for kids or grabbing a new challenge for my daughter’s pallet. There are other book stores such as Libro Max, yet their English selection is more limited. As for exchanges, as I mentioned a few posts ago, readers bond and share. Bagelman’s has a small swap as do other cafes and small restaurants like Big Mike’s. There’s also Lexicon Library and the Mark Twain Library at the North American Cultural Center in Los Yoses.

Once the books are here be prepared to keep them clean. If you are out there in the thick of paradise, know that the tropics eats books. For the few books I hauled to my beach home, the pages always seemed wet. Dehumidfiers? Air conditioned rooms? Again, grab that nearby Gringo for some good advise. Here in San Jose, I have my collection in book shelves with doors (that don’t actually shut because they’re warped). It at least keeps the mounds of dust off them, though I still have to get in there and clean them about once a year. If you have lots of hardback books such as “coffee table books” be sure to open them once or even twice a a year and wipe the inside and back covers off. I use alcohol as it kills the mold and dries quickly.

Moving to Costa Rica has slowed my book purchasing power down. Perhaps it’s a good thing as i can actually read all those I haven’t read. My friend the other day didn’t have such a bad idea in charging his visitors a “six book” fee when they come down. However you manage your book life after you move to Costa Rica, if you are an avid reader like me, you’ll find a way. We just have to because I can only read the back of a cereal box so many times!

A rat, hiding in the long grass, scurried in the opposite direction as I ran by. And for a minute, I forgot how much my knees hurt. A few days earlier I explained to my friends - a handsome couple that runs marathons - that my knees hurt. Robert pursed his lips lightly as if he’d just read my chart and understood my entire situation. “It’s your shoes,” he said, as his wife Anne nodded in agreement. “What kind do you have?”

“Adidas,” I said, knowing they were a good brand but not a “real” runner’s shoe.

“Those are good shoes,” he said with a touch of sympathy in his voice.

“You should go to my friend’s shop. She sells Brooks,” said Anne.  I knew this would eventually start: the purchase of stuff. And not just any stuff; the good stuff. Back when hiking and canoeing was my passion (before kids),  I would go to outfitters just to take in the smell.  Rubber and plastic gadgets hung on the wall, promising me adventure and fitness if I’d just throw them in my cart. The hottest clothes in the trendiest blends hung on racks, assuring me that urban yet wilderness look. Even the socks were cool. Over the years, I’ve bought enough items to furnish a second home: a miniature espresso machine; a flashlight I could wear on my forehead; a solar shower; water filters; laminated maps; and backpacks full of things I could collapse and reassemble while sitting outside my tent swatting away the mosquitoes and beam in glorious pride: Look! It’s just like the real thing, but tiny. And it weighs nothing!

One of the reasons I chose running was because all it required was a pair of shoes. I can toss them in the car, drop the kids off to a class, and run. I can travel and run. Visit relatives and escape for a run. I can run anywhere. I don’t have to go to a gym, and if I walk quickly past the Nike and Puma store, I save money.

The Adidas I purchased one afternoon in a hurry while my daughter griped by my side at how long it was taking to get the ice cream I promised her. Yet I knew if I didn’t buy a pair of shoes now, it would be another week  before I could get back to the mall. I entered the store and asked a man who was younger than my car for a pair of running shoes. He walked to the front desk and got a key. He opened the case and pulled out a pair of white tennis with those three stripes down each side. I slipped them on.

“When are we going for ice cream?” my daughter asked again as she flipped upside down on the bench next to me. I told the sales person I’d take the shoes. The next morning I was on the road. I ran on for two months and faced only sore calf muscles and an aching gluteus maximus, which I knew was normal when beginning any sport. Then one day I noticed a pain in the left knee. A few days later, it began in the right knee. Both joints ached in exactly the same spot. Even I knew, without the help of my good friends, it was the shoes.

The Brooks shop was high up on a cement wall above all the other stores around it. I buzzed the doorbell and entered. It smelled like the inside of a new car. I looked around at all the things I could buy. But I promised myself the old t-shirts in the closet were fine. The shorts too. I was here for shoes. I told the sales person I was a friend of Anne’s.

“You’re going to want to talk to Michelle,” she said. The store was small and round racks  separated the space into men’s and women’s. Boxes of shoes lined the wall. Michelle appeared from a back room. She wore a faded red running shirt and black running tights that stopped at her knees. A pony tail bounced behind her as she walked.

Michelle is one of those really passionate, really good runners. We exchanged brief stories: kids, divorces, careers, and running. After forty minutes, we got to the shoes. I wore the Adidas on my feet because Anne said Michelle liked to look at the tread. I pointed to the floor. “Those are court shoes,” said Michelle. “They’re for walking.” I felt like I’d just discovered my skirt was bundled up in my underwear for the last half hour and no one told me. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she had forty minutes ago. “It’s a good shoe. It’s just not a running shoe.”  Michelle began scanning the boxes for a size eight and one-half or a nine. There weren’t any. She began talking to her associate about getting a distributor to send a pair over. The next shipment of shoes for her store wasn’t coming for six weeks, and she wanted to get me on the road.

Brooks shoes have all these benefits like they are somehow eco-friendly, and there’s a little bag of water in the soul to absorb my shock. They look flashy too. Michelle gave me a pair of Saucony’s to wear. She said she was going to give them to me for free. She seemed truly disappointed as if her team just lost in the finals. The Saucony’s fit, and I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between these and the Adidas.

As I walked around the racks of designer shirts and shorts, Michelle’s sales associate remembered that Anne bought a half size smaller in Brooks.  Michelle’s face lit up. She was back in the game. The associate found an eight. I put them on, but was weary. Even the slightest tightness around my left toes can cause unbelievable pain in my foot. I stepped up on the treadmill and began walking. “You are going to feel like you are running on cushions. This will be so different for you. You wait and see,” she said as I began to sweat. “You just wait. This will make all the difference in the world.” To my surprise, the Brooks fit. The free pair of Saucony’s were a distant memory as I placed my money on the counter. Michelle asked me if I needed any clothes. I shook my head. “Aren’t these great?” she said pulling a purple shirt from the rack. “Every thing is only ten dollars on this rack.”

“Ten dollars? I said taking a few steps towards the display. “Well I could use some shorts.”

“You definitely wear a small,” Michelle said, putting the purple shirt back and showing me a green one. As I put more money on the counter, I eyed the water belt in the glass case. This would be great for those long runs. I began justifying the purchase and quickly deciding where I could cut out a few things to be able to afford this like eating out less, reading by candlelight, foregoing the hairdryer, and cutting paper towels in half.

I took two days off as Michelle suggested. After a week of slowly getting back into the game, the pain in my knees lessened and after a month, eventually disappeared. The Brooks haven’t made me any faster though, and I don’t feel like I am running on air. Perhaps I jump a little higher when a rat rustles past, but nothing changes the fact that it’s me and the road taking it one step at a time.