What are those important questions to ask when considering a move to Costa Rica? Location? Schools? Climate? Hospitals? Prices? How about: Where in the world am I going to shop?

Grocery shopping is about as fun as laying down roofing. But if it’s not done, we’re going to suffer the consequences. Yesterday I was down to miso soup mix, chocolate chips, and vinegar in my cupboards. I put off that inevitable trip to the grocery store because I was too tired from a few restless nights with my son who I’ve decided either has the world’s longest cold or is allergic to the entire planet. Anyway….

I get asked a lot where do I shop for _________?? fill in the blank. Organic food, imported food (which means usually brands from the U.S. or Europe), meat….and on to other items such as clothes for kids, linen, caulk, sink strainers, laundry hoses, rugs, and socks. (I’m having trouble with that one myself since almost every kid in the country needs a certain color of socks to go with the uniform.) So, I’m starting a new section - find under Catergory - SHOPPING in COSTA RICA.

When I moved here ten years ago, I never walked into a “real” grocery store. In my travels around the country prior to my immigrating to Costa Rica, I stopped in pulperias - sodas - and didn’t know where I could find black olives, feta cheese, or those chocolate chips my daughter eats with every meal. I was so terrified I’d be without the basic products I’d grown so accustomed to, I even hauled down toilet paper, bathroom cleaner, and mops.* Fear no more! It’s almost all here. And over time, I’ve been lugging less back to Costa Rica in my suitcase when I make trips to visit the family back in the homeland.

The miso/chocolate/vinegar soup was not appealing, so I trudged on over to Auto Mercado. This is the store I choose the most often to shop. Why?

1). It’s close to my home.

2). It usually has the most variety of what I want, and it saves me running around time, which is invaluable for me as a single parent.

3). I save money in gas.

Since I live so close to an Auto Mercado it’s laughable that I drive, but I knew my load would be bigger than sixteen bread baskets so I parked and ran in during the hour Addison was at gym class. Once there, it’s not so bad. I focus and do short breathing exercises and then begin the ritual of walking up and down the isles while checking my list and trying to remember all the items I’ve forgotten on the list. Auto Mercado has more imported goods than most stores. If an item by item tough price comparison was done, Auto Mercado might be a bit higher on some things, especially the imported stuff. But I do not buy large quantities and believe I get the same or equal value to other stores.

I like their fruits and vegetables section. It’s laboriously attended to, clean, and even has a small organic section. The bread has improved a lot over the years in Costa Rica. When I first came here, it was heartbreaking to buy a loaf of bread, which looked fabulous in the store until I got home to find chunks of Numar (a widely used margarine) throughout the bread - whole and undissolved! There’s finally more varieties such as whole wheat, and I’ve even seen olive pesto bread.

And I kid you not: the clerks working at Auto Mercado are always nice and attend calmly and efficiently to their job. Not one person has ever cracked their gum and basically ignored that I was human being, not to mention a paying customer, while I’ve checked out. Of course there’s a few exceptions over the ten years of frequenting this store throughout the entire city of San Jose - San Pedro, Los Yoses, downtown San Jose, Rohmoser, Escazu, and Santa Ana - but I can always count on a buenos dias and gracias while I pay. And though I’ve never used the service, they deliver too. In a few days ago, I discovered they’re even making a little effort in “thinking green.”

So take comfort in knowing that most of your shopping needs will be met. If not in Auto Mercado, you can try Mas por Menos, Pricesmart, Pali, or Fresh Market. This is a boom town, and I have a feeling even more is on the way. And when all is unpacked and put in the cupboards I can move on to those other important things like getting that roof done.

*I still search for that perfect mop as I can not quite get used to washing out the mechas - white string like mop head - by hand like the Ticas do.

In a western Suburb of San Jose, another organic market has sprouted up. Every Wednesday from 8 a.m. until 11 a.m. (mas or menus - it is Latin America after all!) this gorgeous food market is open at the Cruz Rojo. It was a beautiful sunny morning and the place was busy. I hope it stays that way. I filled my orange cart up with a bounty. The celery was taller than my son. The woman running the market says she’s been working with farmers for 14 years. They didn’t believe her when she asked them to plant some of these odd things like bok choy and red cabbage.

Who’s going to eat that? they said.

Just trust me she told them. They’ll eat it. And there I was sticking a bunch into bag. I’ll be back. And if we tell a few friends, they’ll keep planting and we’ll all be the ones growing stronger in the end.

In Costa Rica, the grocery stores range from those that cater mostly to the Ticos, and there are those that stock their shelves with more imported goods for the ex-pats and the Costa Ricans looking for more goods such as blueberries or garlic stuffed olives or imported chocolate. Every Saturday, I get an organic food delivery to my home from NaturaStyle. The food is fabulous. It’s comes from happy cows eating grass; coconuts swinging in the breeze; vegetables harvested without pesticides. Coco was assigned a project based on a book photographed and written by Peter Menzel and writer Faith D’Aluisio: Hungry Planet: What the World Eats.

As National Pubic Radio reported: “The husband-and-wife team wanted to see how globalization, migration and rising affluence are affecting the diets of communities around the globe. Each chapter of their book features a portrait of a family, photographed alongside a week’s worth of groceries. There’s also a detailed list of all the food and the total cost.”

Most of the food we get on Saturday is also in less packaging. The milk comes in a big milk can (the one Coco’s leaning on) like in the old days. I transfer it to glass I’ve recycled. The vegetables don’t come in plastic bags. The vendor crates them in boxes, sets them on my counter and takes the crates back for another use, and another and…It’s a lot of work. On Saturday, I can spend up to four hours cleaning, condensing, and getting all this stuff to fit into my refrigerator for the week. When I’m done, I set the containers to the side and the organic company picks them up next week.

Most of the time, I’d rather have someone else cook for me. When I face yet another load of food, I’d rather go out to eat. But it’s not just budget concerns that keep me thinking about what I eat and HOW it gets to my table. It’s this planet. It’s the planet - you know that thing we walk on - get air from, the water….that planet. I do have to go out and shop once a week to get those other things that doesn’t come on Saturday. But even there, as I’ll write about tomorrow, I can try to reuse, reduza & recycle.

Possibly a paradigm shift will save us from choking on all the plastic and toxic bits and parts we produce. Instead of a disposable society where we have to figure out how to burn, bury, or dump or old stuff, why not make it so it all rots and we eat, breath, and drink it all over again? That could be the ultimate paradise.

Only in paradise do I get to say:

Today, while chopping open coconuts, I splattered my brand new white t-shirt the first time I wore it. And I don’t mind a bit.

The mango trees in the Central Valley hang heavy with fruit. Clusters pull the branches down as each one ripens and sweetens. Green mangos - not yet ripe - could be much more popular with Ticos than the sweet, finished orange fruit.

Vendors sell slices of green mangos in bags with lime and salt. I’ve tried it. I don’t like it. Tasting other culture’s food takes a really open mind. I mean have you tried the Norwegian delicacy of white bread soaked in sugar and milk? Lutifisk? Lye-soaked cod? Marmite? Green mangos are mild in comparison.

But, I’ll give almost (I said almost) anything a try once. Octopus - can’t get over the texture part. Peeps - better art than sweets. The thing about green mangos is, well, they are a lot of work, a lot of chewing, and a LOT of puckering for almost no taste. The lime and salt are actually the flavor. I’m guessing they are actually pretty good for you as the sugar content in the fruit is still quite low.

Some foods you’ve just got to grow up liking. My mother liked to put salt on her apples, and she always told me some salt in the beer lessened the alcohol effect. I don’t put salt on my apples or pinch it into my beer. There is some imancipation that must happen to all of us as the world becomes a big stew of flavors and tastes. I’ll leave the green mangos to the Ticos so they can have more. Since leaving in a Latin American country, I can leave my worries behind about smelling or eating stinky cod. And, I’ll never have to pretend to swallow or enjoy that soggy white bread ever again.

The International Art Festival has hit town. Costa Rica is flooded with theater, exhibitions, dance, and music for the month of April. Right on the heels of the Cow Parade Inauguration, Costa Rica hits the arts with a splash. One great event for the family is in la sabana - Costa Rica’s mini-mini Central Park.

I love this park. For a few years, I lived quite close to it and walked with my daughter on my back every day through the trails and around the lake. For the International Art Festival, vendors set up booths and food is served. There’s a theater for children, concerts performed on a huge stage in the middle of the lake, rides, and lots of crafts fashioned by the locals from paintings to sculpture to jewelry. This year, there are special exhibits put on featuring Chinese art and culture.

After a good run through the park as vendors set up tents, I retrieved my daughter from her gym class. We sniffed out the food right away. Then, we mingled among the tents to browse the wares and find a suitable treat to satiate Coco’s sweet tooth. She passed on the huge ice cream sundaes and decided on Chorros - these fried grease sticks sprinkled with sugar. They are kind of the Latin mini-donut.

We walked across the park back to our car. We’ve decided to return next week when I remember some money. I’ve eyed a cute bracelet, and Coco’s long overdue to spend some of her allowance. Now these Chorros are batter blobs. I mentioned deep fried? I’m kind of allergic to wheat, but I can sneak a tidbit here and there. Deep friend grease sticks with sugar? Refuse this? I reached for one, and Coco screamed.

You’re actually going to deny your mother a Chorro?

She chomped the tops of the sticks off, “nubbing” them down one by one. I ate one and reached for another.

Hey! she screamed.

Hey! I screamed back.

I’m just trying to stop you from eating wheat mommy!

Gee thanks, I said, still eyeing the bag. She was going to eat them all!

As we drove home, Coco took a slug of water. She started to choke and up came the last Chorro, chunks of sugar, water, and wheat poured onto my just-cleaned car and her brand new pants (less than 24 hours old).

I remembered a painting back at the festival. It was a surreal face, mouth open wide. Perhaps the figure had just thrown up too. So which comes first the life or the art? Next week, we’ll be back, and we’re brining her brother. I’m a glutton for punishment.

*The Festival Internaciona de las Artes Costa Rica runs April 11 until April 20, 2008.

To pay electricity, phone, and water bills, I go to the grocery store. After ringing up a pretty large order of foos because I hadn’t shopped in awhile and could no longer pass off eggs as dinner, I pulled out my bills.

As I watched all my food items ring up, I saw a lady with very few things come up in line behind me. I knew she’d get a little upset at me. My friend says she always goes to the pharmacy two stores down and pays her bills. She feels it’s a service to not make people have to wait in line. The times I try to pay bills at the pharmacy the computer service is usually down, and I end up back at the grocery store anyway.

I could see the woman’s face contort as the clerk punched in my numbers. The system was working, but it was slow. The woman fidgeted with her bread and package of cookies, rolled her eyes at the woman behind her, and then she sighed. You know that sigh. We all do it. The sigh that says: oh my gosh, how can we tolerate such inconsiderate, silly, hideous people that dare to do such things. The gall! The effrontery! (Ok, so I looked that one up but it’s a great word….anyway…..)

I’ve done it. As computer systems get faster and our society gets more and more accustomed to speed, we have very little patience for anything. I snip at the Browser when it’s taking too long to load a page; I get steamy when the guys decides at the last minute to check his oil at the gas station; I possibly may even say a few bad words under my breath when that lady picked the ONLY shirt on the shelf without a price tag.

What if we turned out thinking upside down? Maybe I am doing a service for the woman behind me. She gets a chance to practice patience - a virtue sorely missed today. Even though I feel a little guilty for making people wait, I will continue to bring my bills to the grocery store. It’s a service offered to us, “the public” and I shouldn’t feel guilty for using it. I look at it as a win/win situation. The lady behind me learns a little patience, and I get rid of some guilt.

So instead of turning my liver upside down when the lady’s credit card in front of me doesn’t work and she has to remove about 1/2 her groceries ( which are already in bags) because she only brought so much cash, I wait. And I remember that one day this could happen to me.

There are these graces that come with Down Syndrome that are kind of a benefit of a slower paced life. For example, since Addison doesn’t yet walk I can take him places and know exactly where he is at all times. We all know restaurants are actually large rooms with lots of chairs and tables disguised as torture chambers. Ever get a child to eat all that expensive food you just ordered? Or not spill? Or not run around and slap other customers? Or not crawl under the table to eat that French Fry that just fell on the dirty carpet beneath your feet?

On the other hand, my little guy is pretty easy at restaurants. I still avoid them, but having someone cook for me is an "extra" I need once and awhile in this single parenting orb. There never seems to be a moment when it all stops spinning. But at a restaurant - as long as there’s a play area for my older child - the world stops spinning for an hour or so. If we can find a high chair that Addison won’t slip out of, I can nice men and women bring me things for a change.¹

I bring along some sort of green mush that is Addison’s food. He’s got so many allergies and such a tender tummy, we don’t risk letting him eating strange and exotic things like pasta or crispy tortilla chips. He’s content with his mush and the other day we ventured into the wild side by letting him eat creme bruleé.

I ate three. We both asked for more.²

<sup>1. High chairs in restaurants will often be wooden and made by a guy with a workshop down the road in Costa Rica. You can even buy them on the side of the road. Beware when using them, they are tricky little buggers.
2. The last photo is sign language for: more. The sign is actually those chubby little fingers coming together and touching tips. He was a bit off here, but we knew what he meant. MORE!</sup>

I’ve dabbled in cooking, but it’s been awhile since I’ve created anything more than dinners with yogurt, lunch with tortillas and dinner with tortillas. I had this romantic image when I was pregnant with my first child that I’d transfer all that culinary experience I had into delicious, savory meals for my daughter. She’d grow up eating sautéed gold squash, clean her little dish when I served her pesto artichokes, and giggle in delight when I again served our her favorite Indian curry for the second time that week.

Ha! laughed the gods of parenting. Ha! Ha! Ha!

I made that squash, froze it; and threw it out. One time when friends came to visit Costa Rica, they had two children. Touring is a challenge with kids. Even in a car; even with DVDs; even with Nintendo; even with the scenery. Kids get hungry. ALL THE TIME. The gods of parenting forget to tell us that basically kids are hungry ALL THE TIME and that they will prefer sugar - in any form - over any other type of food. I struggle with my daughter when I travel, and I live here. This mother valiantly braved the switch-backs, Spanish, and hot weather with her two children. We received our lunch at a coffee plantation we’d stop to take a tour of, and the youngest child didn’t like the sandwich. Plain old white bread sandwiches are tough to find here. And this one came with mayonnaise. Mayonnaise! Imagine the horror! The sandwich was returned, and about 15 minutes later, the slab of carbohydrates (notice it’s sugar) came back to the child. He snubbed his nose at it. Everyone else was restless and had finished eating.

The mother promptly reached over the table, opened a pack of sugar, and poured it onto the child’s tongue. Then, she opened the sandwich and put it on the meat. The boy took a couple of bites. You bet I was judgmental then. Sure, my attempts at sautéed squash failed, but this? I was above that. Oh, how I learned.

My two children drop me to my knees about an average of once a day with another lesson in parenting. On a long road trip, I might not carry white packets of sugar, but you can bet I’ll pack a few candy bars or lollipops. At home, I continually shrug my shoulders at the bag of candy Coco - and now Addison - will come home with. I fight it. I give in. I fight it. I give in. (Repeat until thoroughly confused and blended).

So, the opportunity to cook for a few friends was a joy. The ingredients in Costa Rica are so fresh and bountiful. I sautéed the curry chicken and inhaled the smell as it mingled with the figs. The marinated Italian vegetables snapped with color. The Parmesan crisps filled my house with the aroma of a Pizzeria. All the while, I listened to the radio (one of my favorite pastimes) and felt this subtle joy that I was creating something with a snippet of spirit and a touch of arty flare.

I could have been mistaken for someone on the Food Network up until that last hour. I kept slipping in oil that I’d spilled on the floor; burnt a pan of Parmesan crisps; and I forgot to put the Feta in the dip. (I always forget the Feta!). The meal was delicious, and I think I ate more than anyone else. Good food serves the soul and appeases the gods all at the same time.

The networks should be calling any day.

My daughter and I battle over food. She loves to eat at everyone’s house except mine. She once told me to go over to her friend’s house and get the recipe from the mother. Now I know if I cooked the exact same thing in my kitchen, she’d snub her nose at it.

I’ve completely lost it over this issue. And, at times it wasn’t pretty. If someone could show me a video of it (like in Albert Brook’s Defending Your Life) these blow-ups could cost me heaven. Although I do dabble in the style of Bon Appetite, I keep it simple when it comes to my kids. Tonight, I made yogurt, lightly fried plantains (a staple here), cucumbers, and a cold mint tea. The plate was clean. As she left the house to go back to her friends to play, I said:

Wow! You ate the whole thing.

Just before the door slammed she said:

Yeah. And it was actually good.

Heaven can wait.