Weather Woes and Family Fun

         Well, Toto, we’re not in Costa Rica anymore! In fact, we’re huddled indoors in Portland, Oregon, in a cold rainstorm following a hurried drive across Mount Hood to miss the foot of snow in the forecast. After the balmy weather we’ve become accustomed to in beautiful Atenas, Alajuela Province, Costa Rica, the return to the United States has been a rough adjustment. Who would have thought, here in mid-May, that we’d need muck boots and down coats?

         Tomorrow, leaving Layne behind here in the frigid Northwest, I will fly to warmer climes in Texas. The mid-80’s forecast combined with typical Texas humidity should feel more like Costa Rican weather. From San Angelo in the west, my mom and I will drive to Austin in Central Texas for still more residency work. In the Capital city, I will take my birth certificate to the Secretary of State for certification in my home state. Next, we’ll drive on to Houston to deliver my now-certified birth certificate to the Costa Rican consulate there, which has jurisdiction over Arkansas, Colorado, Kansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Nebraska, New Mexico, Oklahoma as well as Texas. With $40 and a self-addressed, stamped envelope, I should obtain my authenticated document by mail within a few days. If all goes well at the consulate, Mother and I will continue on to Galveston for a short vacation at the beach.

         All of this comes on the heels of other residency adventures last week when Layne and I headed for the local Sheriff’s Department for what we thought would be a simple task: to obtain a “clearance letter” stating that we have a clean police record. Foolishly, we assumed it would be a matter of looking us up online and printing out a computerized report. But, no. If it’s not the bizarre and convoluted requirements of the Costa Rican Immigration Department we’re dealing with, it’s American bureaucratic idiocy we face. In this case, we arrived at the Sheriff’s office only to learn that we needed an appointment and that they were booking dates two weeks out. Not only that, but since the person who would be signing our letter was not a public official, such as the Sheriff himself, but only a “sheriff’s technician,” the signature must be notarized to meet Costa Rican immigration requirements. Therefore we must bring along to our appointment a Notary Public because the Sheriff’s office doesn’t have one on staff. Go figure. Undaunted, we made our appointment for after we return from this trip to Oregon and Texas and we even found a “mobile Notary” online who agreed to meet us there for a reasonable fee.

         Reasonable fee in that case but still the various fees are quickly adding up as we found on our next task, the trip to get our marriage certificate authenticated. The following day we headed up the High Sierras into Nevada where Layne and I were married. At the County Recorder’s office in Minden, we easily obtained a dated and embossed copy of our marriage certificate. Ka-ching, another $15. But the fee at the Secretary of State’s office was where we really faced sticker shock: either pay $95 for 24-hour expedited service or wait five weeks or more for the authenticated document. And if you actually need to obtain the document in one hour, get ready to pay $1000! And you thought slot machines were the only form of legalized highway robbery in Nevada.

         We are determined to get these documents pulled together, certified and authenticated and mailed off to our attorney Monika Valerio de Ford in Costa Rica by mid-June but it has been, and continues to be, a challenge with obstacles at every turn. Yet these confusions pale in comparison to the still-unsettled state of the new residency law in Costa Rica. Earlier this year, our attorney understood the new law to require applicants to join the Caja, the national medical insurance group, as part of the application process. But in a phone conversation with Monika a few days ago, we learned that the latest interpretation of the new regulations indicate that membership in Caja must wait until after residency is achieved. That information, however, was only in a La Nacion newspaper report so next week Monika plans to check with the officials at Caja and with Immigration to see if she can get a definitive answer. In the interim, Layne’s status is unclear since he joined Caja before we left Costa Rica! And to further complicate things, we find that Banco Nacional’s online payment system is not set up for payments by non-residents into Caja and yet Layne’s June payment will soon be due. Wurra, wurra.

         Still, when we look outside at the weather and we calculate the added expenses we face here in the States, our little chalet in Costa Rica looks very good indeed and we can hardly wait to return. Visits with family and friends are the delightful rewards for enduring the trials and tribulations of these frozen northlands! 

Back in the U.S.A.: Beauty and Bureaucracy

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May 15, 2010

         There are many beautiful places in the world. Costa Rica is one of them and I’m sitting in another one right now: Larkspur in Marin County, California. It’s sunny and warm in the late afternoon and I’m relaxing on the deck of a large, comfortable pier-and-post-house, perched along the shore of an estuary of the San Francisco Bay. Seagulls soar overhead and whole families of ducks and geese paddle along the quiet waters of the broad Corte Madera Creek. Later we can expect some boaters to row by, sculling along in their pointed narrow crafts, soundlessly cutting through the water with long, rhythmic oar strokes. Upscale apartments line the waterway on the opposite side from our row of semi-houseboats, all with patios overlooking the canal and piers leading out to docks with small rowboats or canoes. On our side homes range from ultra-modern, like the one we’re on, to the distinctly rustic with shingles and decks in disrepair. Mount Tamalpais in the distance, sometimes called the Sleeping Lady by locals, watches over all. It’s a muy tranquilo place.

         But our re-entry to the States was somewhat less tranquil, as we hit the culture shock of traffic and noise and high prices in Los Angeles. After a night at a hotel near the airport, it was a hectic first day of hurry, hurry, hurry. My goddaughter Tuesday and her husband Gino picked us up and took us for breakfast at The Serving Spoon, a well-known soul food restaurant, where we had some of the best fried catfish and grits I’ve ever tasted! Wowsa! After a quick stop to buy a used battery, Tuesday drove those frenetic LA freeways to the San Fernando Valley to collect our car where it had been stored at the home of my other goddaughter Lynne. After hugs and kisses all around, we were off for Northern California. Quite a change from the tranquilo pace of Costa Rica.

         During our first weeks here in the U.S., much of our time will be spent obtaining residency documents, a process which also occupied considerable time during our last weeks in Costa Rica. Before we left, we managed to get Layne’s Caja (Costa Rica’s national medical insurance group) membership in order; mine now awaits an authenticated copy of our marriage certificate in order for me to be on the plan as his dependent. Next, we managed to open a bank account and pay his May Caja bill. (We just love the fact that Banco Nacional has a special line for senior customers. And we find the “moving musical chair” waiting line to be totally civilized, so much better than standing up to wait.) Our fingerprints have been recorded and we have gotten the proof of our Social Security income from the U.S. Embassy. So far, so good.

         But the complete process is anything but easy, especially back here in the home country where many documents must be obtained, certified and authenticated, all within a six-month window. For anyone hoping to relocate to Costa Rica, I offer this ongoing chronicle of the steps we have had to take.

          Here in California, our first task was to get a certified copy of my legal name change, a procedure I completed some thirty years ago. Although I had tried to determine the location of those archives online from CR, it had proven impossible without looking at the official, purple-stamped copy of the decree, which was still here in California. So the first stop was at the large shed behind our leased home to pull that document out of storage. Thanks to the easy attitude of our tenants, that was quickly accomplished. Next stop, the Alameda County Superior Courthouse, deep in the basement of that imposing building, to pull those ancient records. 

         What a terrible place to work! No windows, not a speck of artwork on the walls, no music and -- no surprise -- grumpy, sour-faced bureaucrats in their little cubicles or gazing at computers behind glass barriers. At least there was no line so I was quickly called up for service. Using the case number off of my official decree, the clerk studied her computer screen, brow furrowed in effort. She couldn’t find me. She walked over to her floor supervisor and with some hand gestures explained her problem. The supervisor came over and I explained why I needed the document. She frowned as she looked at the screen, re-entering the case number and still finding no records in the computer. Long minutes passed as they tried first one approach, then another, all of this, of course, without explaining to me what they were doing. Finally the “big” supervisor came on the scene - and in fact, she was big! A tall, hulking woman with a perpetual scowl on her face and precious little conversation, if any, for me, the troublemaker. She too plugged numbers and letters into the computer keyboard, frowning at the screen and shaking her head in consternation.

         Eventually she and the clerk went to the back of the offices where huge stacks of files could be seen, holding row after row of the records of the courts in Alameda County. Soon they returned, only to head to the microfiche station, still locked behind glass doors. As I paced the floor, looking in on them from time to time, the head supervisor scrolled through endless shadowy green images of documents, slowing now and then to check a date or a name. But clearly, they were having no success in the search. Meanwhile, the mid-level supervisor came back to the window and questioned why I needed a new official copy when I already had one. She basically “scolded” me for wasting money on a new one, which cost $25, when the old one should be fine. Oh, if only she understood the Costa Rican immigration department!

         After perhaps an hour and a half of what was slow torture for me, the big boss finally returned to the glass window holding a Xerox copy of my purple-stamped original and proceeded to insert it in the embosser, clunk down the handle, and sign and date it: a certified copy of my decree. It’s not quite what we had expected but let’s hope it works!

         Afterwards, Layne and I drove out to Marin County and enjoyed an evening with our friend Chris, whose veggie stir-fry and Tanqueray and tonics helped the day’s travails evaporate amidst stimulating conversation and those stunning visuals from the deck.

         Next stop: the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department for our “police records” and then on to the California Secretary of State’s office for certification of the name change decree and the law enforcement record. Poco a poco, as we say in Costa Rica! 

Mojitos and Mujeres at a Jaco Bar

May 7, 2010

(Click on photos to enlarge)

         With only a few days remaining here in Costa Rica, we managed a quick trip to the beach this week. During our three-month “trial run” of life in CR, we have done very little in typical tourist activities, such as visiting museums, national parks or beaches. Only when friends from the U.S. were here in April did we venture out to Finca Luna Nueva Lodge and later that week to Jaco Beach. But I do love the ocean, the sunshine, playing in the waves, so with some creative thinking, we made our way to Jaco.

         Since we had to go one final time into San Jose to pick up our forwarded mail at the Association of Residents of Costa Rica (ARCR), Layne suggested that we could hop on the San Jose bus to Jaco. Banking on my travel writer credentials, I quickly emailed our favorite Jaco hotel asking about free rooms and sure enough, the manager offered us a complimentary room and breakfast for the next night.

         So on Wednesday, after an hour-long ride into San Jose and a two-block walk to the ARCR office, we took a taxi to the main bus terminal, known as the Coca-Cola station for historical reasons no longer apparent. There is no Coca-Cola bottling company there these days, just a big bustling station with numerous slots for the buses coming and going. Arriving just after 9 a.m. we were dismayed to learn that the Jaco bus had departed only moments before and the next one was not until 11 a.m. A two-hour wait! Enterprising taxi drivers immediately offered us rides but at $90 for the trip, that was not an option. But the Orotina bus was about to leave and since that town is only a short distance from Jaco, we thought we could ride that far and then taxi the rest of the way. Wrong! When we arrived in Orotina we found that taxi ride was still too expensive. Hauling our bags along behind us, we wandered around the central park and soon learned there was a bus about to leave for Jaco, so with only minutes to spare, we jumped onboard.

         Does the term “local” mean anything to you? This bus took an hour and a half to make a 30-mile trip! It stopped for every waving hand along the road, but eventually we arrived on the busy main drag and made our way to the Hotel Cocal and Casino, an historic property located right on Playa Jaco. My first trip to Hotel Cocal was in 2006 when I came to Costa Rica for a dental implant. My darling son Damian insisted on coming along to look after me following the dental surgery until Layne’s arrival a few days later. I was touched by his concern but soon realized that he also had an ulterior motive when we headed straight to Jaco, the best surfing beach in Costa Rica, for my recuperation and his favorite activity! He generously paid for a beachfront room, however, and entertained me with his daily surfing runs while I sucked down Papaya con Leche (a sort of papaya milkshake) to pamper my tender mouth.

         Each time Layne and I have stayed at the Hotel Cocal, we have ended up having a rollicking good time at the poolside bar where we always seem to meet interesting people and enjoy stimulating conversations while we sip exotic cocktails. Plus, with prostitution legal here in Costa Rica, there are usually extremely beautiful “working girls” present as well. Their coquettish advances to male guests can make for amusing visuals, as they try to convey their passions through flashing dark eyes beneath thick lashes or a pink tongue roaming over pouty lips.

         This trip was no exception. After an afternoon on the beach, frolicking in the incredibly warm ocean waters, fighting the current and jumping the waves, then relaxing in the Hotel Cocal’s beachside lounge chairs, Layne and I showered and headed for the bar. Since this is the rainy season, there were few guests around. Plus, Hotel Cocal is in the midst of a major renovation with workers hammering, welding, pouring concrete and resurfacing the swimming pools. Still, the small poolside bar was open with only a couple of customers perched on stools, including one stunning woman in a sexy black sweater notable for the crescent- shaped cutouts on the sides of her full breasts. Her name was Erica and she and I, along with the lovely Nicaraguan bartender Claudia, chatted some in Spanish. Claudia even complimented me on my budding language skills, which seemed somewhat enhanced by the Mojitos I was drinking.

         We were soon joined by a jovial fifty-something Gringo with a ruddy, sun-tanned face and short blond hair named Marc. “That’s Marc with a C,” he informed us. With tongue-in-cheek humor, he sat down by Erica and introduced her as his “wife.” Clearly, they were… uh, previously acquainted, shall we say. His sardonic style got big laughs from all of us and a roll of her pretty eyes from Erica. In the ensuing conversation, we learned that Marc had spent many years working as an aeronautical engineer for NASA at the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida, including during the dramatic days of Apollo 13. We inferred that he has since retired from that profession and had been working to help out at his brother’s company. Three weeks before, Marc had tired of the carping of his mid-manager supervisor and had essentially said: Take this job and shove it! He bought a one-way ticket to San Jose, Costa Rica, and didn’t seem to know - or care - when he might go back.

         Marc had just come from dinner and he raved at length about the Peppercorn Filet Mignon served in the hotel restaurant. Now Layne and I have not been overly impressed with local beef here in Costa Rica. Often it is less flavorful and tender than the well-marbled free-range meat we get in California, but Layne determined to try it. When we went in for our dinner a little later, we had to agree: That steak was fantastic! Fork tender with a peppery sauce that really rocked. Since I tend more to seafood when I can get it fresh, I chose the Blackened Mahi-mahi and it was delicious as well. Accompanied by creamy mashed potatoes, sautéed veggies, fresh warm bread and a glass of red wine, we were satiated. As we sipped the last of our wine and looked out at the glowing tropical sunset, we once again realized just how very lucky we are. Pura Vida, indeed! 

Falling Rain, Falling Mangos

May 2, 2010

(Click on photos to enlarge)

         Happy Birthday to both of my grandsons - Kai Josef is 12 today and Orion is 9! I look forward to seeing them both this summer. In fact, the prospect of some extended visits with family members is one of the redeeming features of leaving Costa Rica in only a week.

         The other positive aspect of our pending departure is the onslaught of the rainy season here. And what a dramatic change it has been! Not only is there predictable rain every afternoon and into the evening, but we’ve also learned something about our lovely mountain locale: There is a lot of fog up here and considerably more rain than down in the town of Atenas, some 500-600 feet below us.

         Last night we had occasion to go into Atenas for dinner with our duplex neighbors, Caroline and Cy, to try out a new restaurant, Antano’s, which had been touted as having good Mexican food. We drove out in a substantial shower but as we dropped down the hill, the rain began to slack off and had completely stopped by the time we reached downtown about five miles away. Perhaps it was that micro-climate of minimal rain even during the rainy season that prompted National Geographic to christen Atenas as having “the best climate in the world,” a motto emblazoned on every Atenas bus, an obvious public relations boon for the local community. In our experience here during the dry season, however, Layne and I found downtown Atenas to be too hot and occasionally too humid for our taste, lacking the refreshing ocean breezes that we enjoy at our chalet. Until these daily rains started, we felt that we had found the best spot here in Alto del Monte on the side of the mountain overlooking the Pacific. Now we wonder, particularly since most of these tropical storms include dramatic lightening bolts and massive booming thunder. But experiencing the rains reinforces our plan to become “snowbirds,” or perhaps more aptly “rainbirds,” as we expect to head north to the States when the euphemistically named “green season” arrives here in Costa Rica.

         This inevitable reversal of weather conditions is one reason Costa Ricans refer to the rainy season as invierno or winter, and verano, the dry season, as summer. Winter here spans the months of May through October while summer starts in November and runs through April. And indeed, local temperatures have dropped considerably since the rains began. Most mornings start out sunny and beautiful as always with clouds just visible on the ocean horizon but by early afternoon the fog rolls in off the Pacific like a grey wind, a palpable mist that quickly envelops the landscape and chills the air. It is so reliable here in Alto del Monte that a road sign just down the hill warns: Area de Neblina, i.e., area of fog. Now we know!

         Driving past that road sign last night we continued on through the fog and drizzle to El Mirador de Cafetal, the restaurant-cum-discotheque recently opened by our friend Ligia Cortes. A recent Latin dance class had added a few new steps to Layne’s and my repertoire and we enjoyed practicing our moves to the hot salsa music. The crowd at El Mirador is sociable and fun, including our vivacious waitress Rosie, who at one point dragged me to the dance floor to serve as partner for her sexy moves.

         But the sunny mornings still offer us a chance for our almost-daily walks down the side road into our local Tico community, a chain of houses along the ridgeline with kids playing soccer, riding bikes or climbing trees, dogs barking, clothes hanging on fences to dry and the local goat grazing by the roadside. Today as we came around the first big curve, we noticed that work had been done to prevent a mudslide, which could wash out part of the road. Although there is a large culvert that crosses underneath the road there, still the torrential rainfalls had already cut away part of the dirt slope dangerously close to the asphalt. Earlier efforts at retaining walls were evident, black plastic sheeting and big truck tires, but both had failed to contain the steady erosion. Now a concrete ridge had been installed at the edge of the road leading down to the new concrete drainage gutter. The gutter looks rather small to us but we hope that it does the trick. As we headed back up the hill to our house, we heard someone calling to us and turned to find a Tico hurrying to offer us a big bag of bananas from his yard. What a friendly community we live in!

         But with only a week remaining in Costa Rica, we are rushing to get some important tasks accomplished on our residency. Last Wednesday, our attorney Monika picked us up from the bus stop in La Garita and drove us to her office in Grecia to get some papers we need to open a bank account. We need the bank account so that we can pay for the Caja medical insurance online; we need the Caja membership in order to proceed with residency. Step one leads to step two leads to step three, et cetera, which we hope will eventually lead to legal status. When we walked out of Monika’s office, we found a friend from Atenas sitting in the reception area waiting to see Monika as well. Small world! After his brief meeting, Marc, Layne and I wandered around the central park of Grecia, gazing up at the unusual Gothic-style metal Catholic Church, then settled on a park bench to chat and nibble a cookie. Just as we were relaxing there, thinking we could hardly be in a safer place, a huge mango fell from the tree above us, flying by only inches from our heads, and splattered at Marc’s feet, splashing his pants and prompting us to move to a bench nearby without a mango tree above it. Which just goes to show, even tropical fruit can be dangerous!

         Only a few more days of our Costa Rican paradise before we return to the hustle and bustle of the States but at least we’ll get to see those two precious grandsons!