Little House in the Jungle

The Little House in the Jungle is Back in Business (again)

2012-01-07T10:38:00.001-06:00

Folks, we had a truly fantastic holiday season. Tara, Ata, and Andre arrived on Christmas day after a long, exhausting flight from San Francisco, with many delays and no chance for rest. Bob and I also had a lousy Christmas Eve, thanks to a mistake made by the man who owns the B&B we'd booked our room in. (For those of you not in the know, our house is a long, stressful four-hour bus trip away from the Central Valley and the airport, so we went in the day ahead and rented a car, not trusting our ancient Jeep to make the trip). Anyway, the B&B owner had rented out his "rancho" an outdoor seating & dancing area, for 12 hours--from noon to midnight, for a party--he thought. Turned out it was from midnight to noon on Christmas Day, and it was a rave, complete with yowling drunks, boom-boom-BOOM-boom bass, and other such disturbances. He didn't charge us for the night, which was pretty decent of him.

The next day, we got to the airport in plenty of time to meet our kids' flight--only to find it had been delayed by a few hours. When it finally did arrive, the airline had lost one of their pieces of luggage--the most important one, of course, with fresh clothing and meds. Hence, two stressed out parents, a really laid-back baby, along with two tired grandparents spent a night in a hotel very near the airport where all slept quite well. I was too tired and not hungry enough to join the others when they went out for dinner. My Christmas dinner consited of cheese, crackers and wine accompanied by a good book. Can't think of a better one.

The day after Christmas,after the lost luggage finally turned up, we came home. Andre--what a great little trouper he is--slept part of the way and when awake, watched eagerly for horses. We had vegetable beef soup for dinner, since that was the quickest thing to thaw.

For Tara's birthday, Dec. 27, we went to an animal rehabilitation center where Tara had her heart's desire fulfilled--she got to hold a baby monkey. It loved her hair and grabbed a fistful, probably thinking it would find a mama monkey in there somewhere. That night, we finally got our planned "good" Christmas dinner, a lovely roast of pork loin marinated and cooked on the rotisserie, accompanied by all the usual stuff and followed up by sweet, yummy platanos (plantains, slowly cooked in butter), bad for us, but oh, so delicious.

Sometime during this period, Tara and Ata went on a zip-line tour, which Ata loved and Tara sort-of enjoyed, despite screaming a lot, or so it's reported. Granny and Grandpa sensibly stayed home with Andre, who loves to watch horse-shows--jumping and/or racing--on the computer, or the iPhone, or iPad. He's also fascinated by basketball (brought his own ball and hoop) and tennis, though since BB, tennis has begun to take a back seat.

This trip was Andre's introduction to surf. He wasn't very sure of it at first, but after his mama carried him out till it splashed her knees, and his sneaky granny splashed his feet, he began to relax, uncurl his toes, then his knees, then to laugh, then to beg for more until hypothermia became a real concern.

Tara, Ata and Andre went horseback riding on the beach, while Granny stayed home and tried to get caught up on some reading for work. Later, we went back to Cahuita, introduced the rest of our family to the owners of Kelly Creek Hotel--Shannon, Alan, Meghan and Sean had met them a number of years ago--then went to Black Beach for more swimming.

Ten days goes much too guickly when there's a lot of fun and a not-quite-two-year-old on hand. On New Years day, we drove back to our B&B in the hills near Alejuela (Ah-la-WHAY-lah), a beautiful place with a roaring waterfall, and lovely grounds filled with interesting plants and flowers, as well as perfectly bilingual little kids with brand new bikes, who were delighted to show off their riding skills.

We spent two nights there, the first with a picnic supper, having had a late and filling lunch after visiting the spectacular Zoo Ave (Ah-vay), where not only aves (birds) are rehabilitated, but many animals as well. Tara took lots of great photos, so you'll need to check out her FaceBook page for some of them. I stupidly left my camera in the trunk of the car.

And wouldn't you know it, Laurie Burns? We went to Ceviche del Rey in Alajuela for dinner, checked the menu first thing, saw Chocolate Mousse proudly listed, asked the waiter and he sadly shook his head. "No, we don't have that." We asked why all the C-d-Reys have it on the menu, but never on hand and he shrugged. Pura Vida. (I had flan).

The next day, we got the family to the airport, turned in our rental car, and because by then it was too late to catch a bus home, spent a night in San Jose in a very nice little boutique hotel not far from the bus terminal. It's one we'll visit again, I'm sure.

Wear a Poppy Today

2010-11-11T08:23:00.001-06:00

On November 11th in Canada we observe Remembrance Day and wear red poppies to commemorate the dead in our wars. The wearing of poppies stems from a beautiful, haunting poem, In Flanders Fields, written by Canadian military physician, Lt. Colonel John McCrae, MD, during WWI.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow / Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky/ The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago / We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: / To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high. / If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow / In Flanders fields.
What many of us don’t know, however, is the story of the equally evocative music known as “The Last Post” or “Taps” played on Remembrance Day and at military and other funerals throughout the year in both Canada and the US which, on this day, November 11th, also commemorates its war dead.
The Last Post reportedly came into being 1862 during the American Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia . The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land. During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain risked his life to bring the stricken man back for medical attention. Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment.
When he finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the man was dead. The captain lit a lantern and in the dim light he saw the soldier he had dragged back was his own son, who’d been studying music in the South when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy had enlisted in the Confederate Army.
The following morning the heartbroken father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial, despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. He’d wanted a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son but, since the soldier was a Confederate, Captain Ellicombe’s wish was denied. However, he was granted one musician and one instrument to be played while he laid his son to rest.
Captain Ellicombe chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform. The poignant melody, we now know as The Last Post was born.
Originally only an instrumental piece, there have been several version of words put to the music. The most familiar, though, because it is used by Guiding and Scouting organizations as the last song before bedtime is:

Day is done / Gone the sun / From the lakes / From the hills / From the sky.
All is well / Safely rest / God is nigh.

Fading light / Dims the sight / And a star / Gems the sky.
Gleaming bright / From afar / Drawing nigh / Falls the night.

The Little House in the Jungle is Back in Business

2010-10-24T10:20:00.016-06:00

That business being shooing out geckos, disposing of their poop, squashing, poisoning, sweeping up and in every way possible, eradicating ants. Millions of the little buggers. (Apologies to those who feel all creatures have as much right to live as do humans. I agree. Just not in my kitchen nor my computer, nor upon my person.)
The office where I work is a work of art—if one considers multiple wires dangling here and there, pieces of paper stuck in every little corner, the phone just out of reach from where I sit, and brand new speakers I can’t persuade to function, though I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. (When I do, Meghan, I’ll be on Skype, wanting to chat with you.) The wireless is finally working, thanks to a sweet young man named Christian, though we do need about 30 feet of cable to get the router out to the patio where our hammocks await. The connection speed out there is poor, possibly due to all the metal bars between the office and the patio, not to mention concrete-sheet walls.
Speaking of which, concrete that is, we are very lucky people who could easily have come back and found an enormous mess inside the concrete shell of our interior walls, and been forced to buy a tent to live in. One day, when our neighbor Colleen was here doing her thing with geckos and their poop, ants, spiders, and dust, she smelled something burning, took a look and discovered our electrical connection was on fire (probably because a gecko had climbed inside and shorted it out, according to Filipe, her husband and our part-time care-taker, full-time Godfather.) These electrical things are considerably different from what anyone in North America can picture, for that reason, here’s a picture of ours with all its plastic burned off. The only damage was a small section of melted fabric screening and some minor scorching on the painted wood of the outside wall. We shudder to think… If Colleen hadn’t been here… But she was.
The connector that feeds power to the house is now attached to our concrete block pump-house and the household wiring comes in from that point so if such a thing happens again, all will be well. You have to get a really hot fire to burn down a concrete block shed.
And hot it is here! I love it. I wallow in it! I wear almost no clothing and welcome any small breeze, but still relish being warm—sometimes too warm—and that’s when I turn on a fan. Come evening, though, if I’m in my office, the fan makes it too cool. Probably drops the temperature down to about 22 C. Brrr!
However, before I got home, I did spend a few other warm days near St. Petersburg, Florida, in a fantastically beautiful resort at St. Pete Beach, hanging out with old friends, meeting new ones, and learning an amazing amount of stuff I didn’t know I didn’t know about the state of the writers’ marketplace—and it wasn’t (as has so often been the case), all bad. Nor were the food, the drinks, the ambiance anything but good. In fact, if I didn’t live here, I could happily live there—in that resort, of course, so long as they’d let me do it for free. Novelists, Inc. got us a great deal on room rates, and any food or drink on the premises was 20% off for Ninc members. The resort also fed us two really wonderful dinners, included in our conference fees. Both were served on the beach, with the sun setting into the Gulf of Mexico. I took several photos, but none of them came out. Despite the lovely red glow in the sky silhouetting tall, black grasses, it was simply too dark. Tara, I know, would have made it happen.
Speaking of Tara, we spent four, much-too-short days with her, Ata, and André where we all went into hysterics watching that baby go into his own brand of hysterical laughter over Tikka chasing a bouncing ball. He’s funny, adorable, and I miss him. like all my family, like mad. This picture, however, of Grandpa and Daddy letting André lick the beer bottle may help explain why he's such a happy little boy, always laughing (well, nearly always). Should have heard him when they tried to take it away!
Back here, again, I found my mango tree, which had been little more than a slender trunk with a few spindly branches and leaves eight months ago, is now way taller than I am (Shannon and Alan, and especially Sean, stop snickering! I know that‘s not saying much.) I have no idea how long I have to wait for my first fresh-off-the-tree mango, but it’ll be the best mango I’ve ever eaten, I’m sure.
Veronika, another neighbor, welcomed us home with patees. How’s a person supposed to manage her weight with neighbors like her? I may have to learn to say no. But, gee, that’s hard.

Why I don't respond to some comments

2010-04-02T22:17:00.003-06:00

Readers please note:

"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."

My Little House in the Jungle blog is intended for family and friends. I do not, and will not, respond to or publish comments left in any language other than English, nor will I respond to or publish comments from people who do not have the courtesy to sign their names. Therefore, comments from posters who sign themselves as ??, or use symbols other than those comprising the quoted text above, using the English language letters from A to Z may as well quit sending their comments.

My blog is not meant to be a vehicle for your spam.

Thanks for your cooperation.

Judy (not in the jungle at the moment).

2010-02-16T16:37:00.008-06:00

Judy had to abandon both Bob & the Little House in the Jungle so she could head to Fremont, California, to await the arrival of Tara & Ata's little boy, due on Feb. 18th. That little guy chose, instead, to arrive on the same day as his granny--February 6th. He got got to Fremont at 11:03 AM, and I didn't arrive until 7:30 PM. I think he's forgiven me for being late, and his mommy is glad he was early.

This is Andre at 7:35 right after I got there.

In the past two weeks, he's grown a lot, coming close to filling out the legs and sleeves of his clothing, though when he curls up little then stretches, he sometimes get two feet down one leg slot, which we all find hilarious, but he considers a real imposition and lets everyone know. He's also of the opinion he be allowed to eat constantly. His mom disagrees, so already he's begun the pay-back I promised her years ago. He-he-he! That's a gleeful chuckle in case anyone was wondering.

His daddy is much impressed with this little boy, and with good reason. Andre looks very much like Tara, and since Ata loves Tara, he's pleased to have a small replica of her. Of course, things do change, and as the months and years pass, he'll probably grow to look like Ata as well.

January 2010

2010-01-05T11:19:00.024-06:00

The Little House in the Jungle had kids for Christmas! The younger one didn't seem very enthusiastic, except for a fascination with the tree ornaments, but the other two were really getting into the season. Not positive about their parents, who for reasons of their own, kept saying, "We want to sit and talk with Bob & Judy now. Play with your toys." I sort of got the impression this was a young couple almost starved for adult conversation. I remember those days all too well though where we lived, there were adults who spoke our language all around us. I don't like to think how it would have been in a foreign country, where we didn't speak the language very well and... Wait a minute! That's where we were. Yes, now I remember. Germany! At any rate we were happy to have Arp and Teisha and their family with us for Christmas dinner. And by the way, take note of the freshly painted wall, no longer a pukey yellow, but a nice soft green with bright green trim. Both bathrooms got the treatment, too. The smaller one is the same green as the patio wall, the other one is a lovely shade of blue.

And speaking of kids, we had a big fight yesterday. No, not the two of us, but about six baby howler monkeys, screeching, yelling, stamping feet, pulling hair and cussing each other out. Not sure what the battle was over, I mean, they only eat leaves for heaven's sake, and the tree had lots of those, so it wasn't as if they were fighting over candy, but there sure was some kind of, er, leaf of contention. It must have gone on for about ten minutes when suddenly the great, roaring bellow of an adult cut through the racket, or at least drowned it out, and when its echoes faded, there wasn't so much as a squeak or a puppy whimper from those babies. Either the adult scared them to death, or made them take it elsewhere, but believe me, that big grownup monkey was not using his or her indoor voice. Probably wanted the babies to take a nap as the adults do in the heat of the afternoon.

Christmas Eve, we went to the beach because it was really, really hot on our patio. There, we found that the beach had lost a good ten feet in width and maybe three or four in depth. Where we used to just stroll from the picnic tables to the water's edge, we now have to scramble down a sheer, sandy bank.
There are a number of coconut palms uprooted and and more ready to let loose in the next big wind. The erosion is terrible and while the parks people are trying to stop it by planting new palms, I'm afraid they're fighting a losing battle. I fought one, too, with a newly bared coral reef. The loss of the sand put it much closer to the surface, and as I swam out toward the breakers,
I smashed the top of my left foot right onto it. Ouch! Lesson learned--keep feet off coral. Luckily, I'd brought some potassium permanganate with me, which Dad used to use for cuts and gouges from fishing gear, fish spines, and fish teeth, I imagine. The stuff looks really pretty when mixed with water--bright purple. But I soaked my foot in it and turned brown. It sure is good medicine, though. The stinging went away almost at once, and I'm now pretty much healed

In October, shortly after we returned, I planted a row of Kentucky Wonder beans in our hard, clay-like soil, and watched in anxiety for results. Wow, did we get results! Within only a few days, the seeds had sprouted. To keep curious birds from pulling them up, I covered them with palm fronds. Soon, they poked their little heads and new leaves out through the shelter, so I jammed in some bamboo poles for them to climb. And climb they did. Up and up and up. Then came the flowers. I was thrilled. Today, I went out and harvested my crop. Here it is on the left.

Year before last, my sister Joyce and her husband Bob visited us and a housewarming gift, brought me one of the most valued items I own--a pulley clotheline so I can stand on the back porch and hang up laundry without having to try to avoid those evil little fire-ants who sting so viciously as to make a person dance and swear as loudly as baby monkeys.
I think the following might be connected. Joyce collects frogs--big frogs, little frogs, frogs reading books, frogs in water, frogs out of water. But this one, I dedicate to her. The clothesline frog, which I'm pretty sure she doesn't have. Here it is, all hung up to dry.
And a few minutes later, disgusted (as you can tell by its expression) by camera flashing repeatedly, it managed to get itself upright and into position to jump.

2009-12-18T14:49:00.005-06:00

The Little House in the Jungle and its inhabitants, including the geckos, wish everyone all the best for this holiday season.

And for a really interesting look at the Christmas star, go to http://www.bethlehemstar.com/

2009-12-04T10:35:00.003-06:00

Hooray! The Little House in the Jungle has now joined the 21st century. I have high-spped Internet which makes me very, very happy. So happy I might not get any work done for a couple of weeks while I surf the net and go to all those neat places I couldn't get to before because it was just...too...s-l-o-w.

That was the good news. The bad news is that Bob is now up on the roof replacing all the east side of it because last night it rained not only in my office, but it the bathroom. Interesting sensation, that, sitting on the john with rain splashing off my back. Sure hope this works. He's getting mighty frustrated. But he's my hero and like working on a float at Egmont, working on the roof here is better than having him worry about me. He finally has a hobby. Now, I get to worry about him. If I hear something slither along metal, then go PLOP in the yard, I'll be gone from this computer so fast no one will ever know I was here.

November 2009

2009-11-29T13:10:00.008-06:00

It came as a distinct shock the other day to realize we’ve been back nearly two months and I still hadn’t updated the Jungle blog. So, here goes.
The Little House in the Jungle survived quite nicely again without us, thanks to Filipe and Colleen, our neighbors, who kept the place well trimmed and neat. Our blue flowered vine grew beyond expectations, too, and affords us a lot of privacy.

A strange thing happened while we were away, though. Everyone’s aware of feral dogs, feral cats and feral horses, be we have a pair of feral hens. For some reason, a couple of pullets decided they like the area around our gate and fence. They’re pretty cute in a ragged, unkempt way.
We thought they were starving, maybe having been hen-pecked (or worse, rooster-pecked—right, Auntie O?) and kicked out of their flock. Feeling sorry for them, we began offering them bits of this and that, left-over left-overs. To understand left-over left-overs, you’d have to live in our house. When I cook rice for one dinner, there’s normally enough for at least another one meal, reheated in the microwave, or fried with veggies. When the rice doesn’t all get eaten the second time it’s served, it becomes left-over left-overs, and hence earns the right to be thrown out without having to have strange cultures growing on it first. (I am almost constituently unable to throw out good food, so I wait till it goes bad.) At any rate, the hens, Liza and Prudence, love left-over left-over rice. They’re also fond of celery trimmings, carrot peels, left-over cole-slaw (that never becomes a left-over left-over because the cabbage tastes yucky the next day), cut up broccoli stems, green beans, raw or cooked, and a wide variety of other left-over left-overs. Tomatoes with bad spots on them are another favorite, but they expect those tomatoes to be cut into small pieces. Even when they are, they squabble like siblings over one little chunk before moving on to the next one. “Taking turns” or “Finding your own” are not concepts they have caught onto yet. They are a lot of fun to watch. They do not, however, eat lettuce. It can sit out there in the ditch by the fence until it rots, and they will not touch it.
Because Bob gets up early, the hens have come to expect him to be at the gate the minute he rolls out of bed. If he’s not, they cluck disapprovingly and wait about as patiently as bluejays. Since they have come to rely on him, the other day when we went grocery shopping, he bought a bag of chicken feed. The second time he went out the gate to toss a handful to them, they were so anxious one of them pecked his hand. Well! That, he claimed, was that! They were not getting fed the next day. I suggested that chickens are pretty well bird-brained and might not make the connection between one of them “biting the hand etc.” and the lack of breakfast the following morning. Of course he forgave Prudence or Liza—they’re pretty hard to tell apart—again the next day. I suspect he likes them. At least, whenever we come home from somewhere, he greets them politely, saying “Hello, ladies,” or if he’s feeling less formal, “Hi, girls.”
Our neighbors to the south, Carlos and Veronica, are really great, too. Every couple of days Carlos shows up with a basket of nice, warm paties, (pronounced pah-TEES) which Veronica bakes. We love them and usually buy four, enough so we can each have one for breakfast or lunch until he comes back. Having one of Veronica’s paties every day is one of the best Caribbean experiences. If we’re hungry when he first gets here, we eat one each right away while it’s still warm from the oven, then refrigerate the others. The next day, a 30 second zap in the microwave is all it takes and breakfast is ready.
Yesterday, Carlos brought us a bunch of really sweet, juicy oranges, which we turned into the best orange juice I’ve ever had. Bob offered to buy them but he wouldn’t hear of it. They are a “regalo” (gift) because Bob loaned him twenty-five-hundred colones for something he needed and Veronica had gone away with all the household money. He also paid back the loan, which amounted to maybe four bucks. Today, Filipe brought us a huge bag of mandarin oranges. Having a big family, he doesn’t seem to get the idea that there are only so many pieces of fruit two people can eat before it rots. We’re doing our best, and he told us to go help ourselves when we want more, because there are “mucho” on the “arbol.” If I get back to BC in March looking slightly orange-colored, you’ll know why.
But back to the chickens—One day when Carlos was here he wondered aloud why two of his chickens have decided to live in our driveway. So much for our “feral” hens. We never let on that we save scraps for them and actually buy feed. After all, they ran away from home before we returned, so we’re not responsible for their being here. Bob tells Carlos that they just like us. This morning Carlos asked if they were laying yet. Oops! I guess we should start looking for eggs and taking them back where they belong if we find any. So far, though, we haven’t heard that distinctive “Look-look-look-what-I-did!” cackle, which is what my dad always claimed a hen was saying after she’d laid an egg. Being one of those people who have ovulated more than a time or two, I figure they’re saying “Glad, glad glad that that’s done!” I’m also glad I only had to ovulate once a month. Poor little hens, producing an egg a day. No wonder they holler. They may be saying something quite different from what either Dad or I imagined, but in Spanish. Roosters here don’t say the same thing as Canadian roosters, either, so maybe Pru and Liza are telling us they’ve laid eggs and we’re just not listening for the right clues.
While we were away, my new mango tree about doubled in size. I’m hoping for fruit next year. That would be such a treat!
Because our house is known locally as la casa amarillo, we sort of feel obliged to leave it as “the yellow house” so people can find us.
However, I really disliked lying in my hammock staring at an ugly yellow wall, yellow not being among my favorite colors. So now, that wall that’s inside our screened porch is pale green with lovely rich green trim and because no one can see through our screens from the outside, only those who come to visit are aware that la casa amarillo is only three-quarters yellow, and we’re not telling.
The beaches haven’t really made it back, especially at the Cahuita end of the park. Where we swim, though, it’s still okay, though much deeper much quicker, and the undertow is stronger. Believe me, I don’t go play in the big surf the way I used to. It’s much too dangerous, but I still swim and play when it’s not stormy. I’m thinking of getting myself a boogie board because I find my muscles aren’t quite as strong as they used to be and some extra floatation to get me back inside the surfline would like be a benefit.
Bob's big bicho

More from the Little House in the Jungle another day…

That Time of Year Again

2009-03-03T22:12:00.016-06:00

As we prepare to put the Little House in the Jungle to rest for another season, it's time to catch up on some of the things we've experienced and done. I've been incredibly busy now I'm once more gainfully employed--this time as an editor--and enjoying every minute of it.

I mentioned the earthquake last time, and now I have some photos of some of the devastation. These are not of the best quality as they're second hand, photographs of newspaper photographs (yes, I know, breaking multiple copyright laws), but they're worth looking at anyway. Thanks, L.B., dear sister in crime.

The one of the steep, littered hillside below is what's left of the Peace Lodge at the Waterfall Gardens. The owners plan to rebuild.

Others show the shock and disbelief on the faces of the people pulled out of the mud, and the ruins of dwellings and businesses. My favorite, though, is the baby in his red rubber boots who, despite everything, finds comfort in his bottle, as babies do no matter what.

The "north bound lane" out of Puerto Viejo lasted all of about two weeks before the surf destroyed it, though the temporary metal bridge appears to be holding--for the nonce. The storms pounding in across the Caribbean have been relentless this year--possibly the effect of climate change,but certainly not global warming--at least not here. We've managed to go swimming maybe three times since last October. It has just been too rough, too dangerous, and (I really hate to say this) too cold.

Nevertheless, we've had plenty of fun with couch surfers visiting, attending parties--one just before Christmas, a great potluck dinner with fantastic food, another New Year's Eve with more of the same, and yet a third for Valentine's Day. No, we don't party all the time--just a lot of it. Have to do something since we can't go swimming or even walking very much on the beaches--they're mostly all gone. The old-timers tell us they will come back, but they don't know when. I don't think it'll be any time soon. As I write this, I'm listening to the roar of surf pounding ashore. Who knows, before this is over, we could end up with waterfront property. I hope not, because that would mean our friends Filipe and Colleen would have had their house drowned out.

For the last week the temperatures have scarcely risen out of the low 70s F. and we are suffering. It's going to be wonderful to get to Egmont where at least there'll be a warm fire to sit beside. We'd seriously consider a furnace, but don't think such a thing exists in this country, and if it did, our house if far too porous to make it worth while.

Yes, I know, I have no right to gripe, considering what the rest of you have had to put up with this past winter. At any rate, I'm looking forward to daffodils, tulips and lilacs, instead of hibiscus, bougainvilla, and Queen Emma lilies, though the latter smell so sweet it almost makes me want to cry.

Aftermath of a Tropical Storm

2009-01-24T15:44:00.033-06:00

For those of you who remember my last blog in late November, when I wrote of the horrendous storm beating in from the Caribbean, dumping tons of rain onto the slopes to the west of us, I have some updated photos showing just a little of the damage done near us.
This is one of the narrow little bridges leading into Puerto Viejo de Talamanca--the new, narrow little bridge.
The old one was destroyed not by the flooding of the river, though that was severe,especially farther upstream, but by the storm surge, which ripped away its footings. In the long-shot photo you can see how little beach is left in that area. When I was taking the photo showing the car crossing the "temporary" north bound lane, which is protected from the surf by some huge logs, some rocks and probably a few prayers, the sea came rushing in and soaked me up to my knees. Note the deck of the old bridge tilted precariously and completely unusable.
It’s even worse in Cahuita, but unfortunately, when I was there, my camera was playing hide'n-seek with me. Some of you have seen the beach at Parque National de Cahuita and will remember the little building at the end of the foot-bridge, where visitors sign in. The waves were washing right into it, and the park trail must now be accessed by crossing the porch of the building, jumping down onto the ground, and circling away back. Otherwise, those hungry waves will get you. We were lucky as throughout most of that storm, we were visiting the Central Valley. Our house, and all others in our neighborhood went unscathed, though our friend Filipe and his family lived on an island for a few days.

Shortly after Christmas friend and I tried to go swimming and even though I was clinging to a big log that was jill-poked into the sand at about a forty-five degree angle right at the water's edge, I couldn’t fight the surge. It swept me off my feet, off my log and scared me half to death. It also carried away my water bottle and my sandals, all of which were returned in due time. We had to scamper and dance back from the surf to recover them. We'd felt were well out of reach of the waves. How wrong we were! We decided not to swim. By now, though, the sea has calmed and the surf is not quite so ferocious, but with so little beach left, swimming is not for the faint of heart.

And now, my adventures in dealing with a very limited number of kitchen appliances--or a lack thereof--most notably a range, and an overabundance of other things, such as a plethora of ants of many different sizes, but all extremely small. The first photo is of the very tiniest of our "hormigas". The others show different sizes, but they are all, at least this time of year, close to microscopic.

BUTTER TART SQUARES*
*This section of my blog is dedicated with love and gratitude to my niece, Tanya, who told me it was possible to make a butter tart substitute confection in a very small toaster oven that won’t hold a tart pan.

Preheat Oven to 350 F.
Bottom Part:
½ c. cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1” pieces
3 T white sugar
1/8 t. salt.
Put butter, sugar & salt in large bowl.
Mix with beater until fluffy.
STOP! SMASH ANTS!
1 c. all purpose flour.
Mix well until—MY GOD! THEY’RE COMING OUT OF THE WALLS—the dough holds—STOP! USE TEA TOWEL TO FLICK INVISIBLE BUT TANGIBLE ANTS OFF ARMS, SHOULDERS, AND BACK—together.
Squash dough evenly into bottom of 8x8 pan. Place in preheated oven 20 - 25 minutes.
SMASH ANTS. DECLARE "HORMIGA" A BAD WORD TO BE TAUGHT TO EVERY SMALL CHILD YOU MEET FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE,INSTRUCT THEM TO CALL THEIR MEAN FRIENDS "HORMIGAS" AND THEIR PARENTS WON’T EVEN KNOW THEY’RE CUSSING.
Begin making filling:
¼ c. unsalted butter, softened
1 c. lt. brown sugar
Mix with beaters until butter & sugar are soft and fluffy.
STOP! SQUASH ANTS! REPEAT TEA TOWEL ATTACK
Add two large eggs, one at a time, beating well—STOP! MOVE MIXING BOWL TO SAFE PLACE. GRAB BOTTLE OF BLEACH-WATER AND SPRAY WORKING SURFACE LIBERALLY TO KILL ANTS. WIPE UP ANY SUGARY SPLATTERS ALONG WITH DEAD ANTS. FLAP BACK AND ARMS FRANTICALLY WITH TEA TOWEL. PICK UP SODDEN SHEET OF PAPER, TRY TO READ REST OF RECIPE, GROAN, RUSH TO COMPUTER, LOG ON TO S-L-O-W DIAL-UP SYSTEM, CHECK “HISTORY” TO SEE WHERE THE $%%^%$# RECIPE CAME FROM IN THE FIRST PLACE. PRINT OUT ANOTHER COPY. PIN TO GARLIC BAG SO BLEACH SPRAY WON’T GET IT NEXT TIME. WIPE COUNTER WITH CLOTH DAMPENED IN PLAIN, NON-BLEACHY WATER.
½ t. vanilla (AT THIS POINT YOU MAY CONSIDER GUZZLING THE ENTIRE BOTTLE OF VANILLA EXCEPT IT HOLDS SOMETHING LIKE 2 OUNCES AND ISN’T THE REAL STUFF ANYWAY. FOR THAT, YOU HAVE TO GO TO MEXICO. I UNDERSTAND THEY HAVE ANTS THERE, TOO, BUT CAN'T BE SURE. I SUSPECT ANTS ARE MIGRATORY AND EVERY LAST ONE ENDS UP IN MY KITCHEN JUST PRIOR TO CHARISTMAS. ¼ c. Roger’s Golden Syrup. (Okay, if you must, you can follow the real recipe and use light corn syrup, but . . . well, yucch! If you don’t believe me, ask my sister.)
1 T all purpose flower
1/8 t salt
By this time, bottom layer should be cooked. Remove, cool on rack, then spread on 2/3 c. currants. STOP! BRAND NEW, UNOPENED BAG OF CURRANTS, SEALED INTO A ZIP-LOCK BAG AND STORED IN A TIGHTLY COVERED PLASTIC CONTAINER IS CRAWLING WITH ANTS! TOSS CURRANTS, BAGS, CONTAINER AND ALL INTO GARBAGE. DIG DESPERATELY THROUGH CUPBOARDS, KNOCKING OFF ANY SPIDERS THAT ARE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO TRY TO RAISE THEIR YOUNG IN THERE AMONG THE ANTS AND FIND . . . WHEW! RAISINS! NOT AS GOOD BUT WILL DO IN A PINCH. THEY’RE BIGGER THAN CURRANTS AND IF THERE ARE ANTS IN THEM, THEY’RE HIDING DOWN IN THE CREASES, SO WON’T SHOW UP IF THEY’RE THERE.
Sprinkle 2/3 c. currants (or raisins with or without ants), evenly over bottom crust. Pour filling over top. Place back in 350 F oven 20 - 25 minutes.
Remove when top is firmly set. Cool ½ hour out of reach of ants—like maybe in Tierra del Fuego—then cut into squares. Feed to husband. Decline offer of a bite or two, still unsure about how many itty-bitty ants might be in the raisin-wrinkles. Claim to be dieting. Hah! As if!
Next, make Rice Krispie Squares in the microwave. No muss, no splatters to attract hormigas. Douse entire kitchen with bleachy water, make BIG margarita and go lie down in hammock. Christmas baking done for another year. Life is good.

We're Back in the Warm!

2008-10-13T21:53:00.006-06:00

We arrived back in CR on the night of Oct. 2nd, and hung out with our friends, Laurie and Gene, in the valley while we tried unsuccessfully to get a windshield for our ancient Jeep. Had a great visit with them, as well as with Jackie and Joe who almost got to BC this summer, but didn't quite make it. It was great to see them all again.

Not quite as unsuccessful as the windshield thing, I had a little luck at Migration (pronounced mee-grácion) and actually got an appointment to (maybe) receive my Permanent Residency card on Nov. 25. In a practical sense, all that means is that I don't have to prove to the CR government that I have exchanged X number of dollars to Colones each year and can use the residents’ line at the airport instead of lining up with a gaggle of tourists. When I get my card, it may take a little longer to get things right, because the agreement to my change in residency status has me listed as a citizen of the Estados Unitos. Not that I have anything against those good people, I would like all my documents to show the same citizenship. Another concern is that they have completely ignored Bob’s similar request for change in residency status, made at the same time and in the same way as mine was. In fact, six of us, good friends, all applied on the same day, and were told to wait a week or two for faxea giving us details of how to proceed. Out of the six, so far, I'm the only one who got the fax. It didn't come until long after we were back in the boating phase of our life and friends, Jon & Emma, paid the fee for me without even waiting for my check to reach them. Thanks again, J & E.

The Little House in the Jungle Survives!

After a few days fun, frustration and plenty of good company, not to mention food, we returned to learn that our house had been well cared-for. Not only did it survive, it thrived! It was also cleaner—way cleaner—when we got back than when we left. Our neighbors, Filipe and Colleen, took such good care of things I feel ashamed of having left the house so, well, grubby. What I thought were stains on the walls were simply good old-fashioned grime and Colleen somehow managed to scrub it all off, leaving everything absolutely gleaming. I’m going to have to get her advice as to what she used other than sheer elbow-grease because nothing I’ve ever used worked as well. The windows glitter, the floors shine, there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Outside. the grass was cut, some of the shrubs were pruned but thank goodness, Filipe didn’t touch my bamboo!

How that stuff grows! You’d think we lived in a jungle or something. I’m not sure if it was to save my marriage or my house (which was in serious danger of being overtaken) but I let Bob take out about half the clump. Luckily, there are 4 more big stalks growing so it won’t be long until my bamboo stand is back to normal, just maybe a tad shorter.
From the stalks that had to go, we have plans for making napkin rings, candle holders, water-pipes and maybe even enormous pea-shooters if we can find some enormous peas. What makes a real improvement, though, is that with that bamboo clump being so dense, we are now able to get rid, completely, of a volunteer jungle plant with huge green leaves that I really liked, except for its being so untidy, with one or two of those broad leaves dropping off and rotting daily into slime, needing to be raked up and disposed of. We kept it because it provided a certain measure of privacy for when I come back from the beach all covered with sand and want to sluice off outside. Speaking of that, I had my first swim of October, 08 the other day in water that totally lacked challenging surf. It was nice, but not terribly exciting, and certainly didn’t provide the work-out I wanted. But October and November are usually like that.

A couple of months before we left, I planted a sickly little bush that needed a stick to prop it upright. It’s sometimes called “pink mimosa” and others call it “Shaving Brush Bush” because of the shape of its flowers. When we got back, we could only stare at it in awe! It had grown so much and so fast, it had pulled its propping stick out of the ground and left it dangling three feet up above the grass. Where there had once been a couple of skinny little stems, there are now about four good-sized trunks and even I had to agree to cutting it back because it was poking its branches right out over the driveway.
One thing we’re not cutting back is the flowering vine that grows along the fence between us and the road. Two years ago, we planted five, spindly little vines that we had to tie to the fence and we doubted they'd live. Boy, were we wrong! We now have a whole fence full of sky blue flowers and it’s spectacular!

While most of our in-yard jungle grew magnificently, sadly, our really old poinsettia bush died, as did our upright heliconia. While the Pacific and the Central Valley were being soaked with more rain than they thought possible, there’s been a real drought out here on the Caribbean coast. However, there’ll soon be a turn-around. When the Trade Winds start to blow in December, the clouds they carry will pile up against the eastern side of mountains that encircle the Central Valley (which isn’t a valley, but a bowl), and dump their loads of moisture on us instead, causing rivers on the Caribbean slope to overflow and giving us, here on the lowlands, a good soaking whether we want it or not. Right now, we do. 20 minutes of rain in the early evening helps a bit, but it’s still so dry the ground is cracking. Bring on those December storms! I want surf!

At any rate, I have a lot of gardening to do, and Bob a lot of pruning, cutting back and even destroying. Funny, but he gets a lot more done than I do. I have a sneaking hunch it has something to do with his getting up when the birds and the howler-monkeys start their daybreak racket. I wake up, see that there's no sun shining on the bedroom window, roll over and usually go back to sleep until that big, bright ball of fire makes its way over the tops of the trees and shines in my eyes. Or the coffee pot gurgles. Whichever comes first.

Though we miss our family, it's great to be back, wonderful to be warm, and to smell the gyuabita fruit as it ripens in the tree. The coconuts are just right, the pineapple fresh and sweet, and the watermelon unbelievable. Our bananas aren't ripe yet, but come early December, the will be. Life is good.

January to Mid March

2008-04-08T18:06:00.008-06:00

January, February and March became a blur of friendly faces, and fun, and travels. In mid-January, our friends from near Trail, Hans & Ede (pr. Edie) made their second trip back to Cahuita. Last year, I “found” them in a grocery store and soon after, went out to lunch with them and another ex-pat couple and their visitor. A firm friendship formed very quickly. We all found lots to talk about. Hans & Ede were only in the area for a month this year, and celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary with us. We also went picnicking with them, and swimming more than a couple of times. One time, I got to the beach, draped my cotton cover-up over a branch, my towel over another branch, then stuffed it back into the bag, afraid it would blow away as it wasn’t very secure on that little twig. We all rushed into that beautiful, warm salt water, keeping a careful watch on where we’d left our bags and water bottles and towels. Eventually, even this inveterate waterbaby got tired so we waded ashore. MY TOWEL WAS GONE! I was really choked about that, as I had dry clothing with me in my beach bag and wanted very much to get out of my wet stuff and rinse off the clinging sand. Bob, my hero, walked back into the village and bought me a new towel.

When we got home, I went to hang up the new, wet one and discovered that the sneaky little thieves (we’d seen a whole gaggle of them hovering around our stuff on the beach and kept an eagle eye one them) had not only taken my towel from the beach, they’d brought it back to our house, climbed the fence, managed to get through a locked door and hung that darned towel, which I “knew” I had put in my bag, right back on the other end of the line opposite where I was hanging the new, wet one. Pretty nice thieves, or pretty forgetful Judy. One or the other. You can guess which. Looking back on it, I realized it had been my dry wrap-around I’d been afraid would blow away and not, after all, my towel.

We met for the first time someone I'd only been in touch with via an e-mail group and found in Tim and Kathy Gadler another great couple we hope will return, as we do the Lazlos, who vacationed in Cahuita as well a little earlier.

Only a few days after Hans & Ede left, cousin Kathy and her husband Bob arrived by cruise ship in the Port of Limón, where we picked them up. Bob S. had a big, heavy red bag with him. Poor guy! He'd dragged that bag kitty cornered across the Canada & the US, from Powell River to Ft. Lauderdale, onto his cruise ship, off the ship, into a coffee shop while they waited for us to arrive (not my fault! I seem to have girl cousins who don't compute time-zones well. The big, red bag was hauled down the street to our car, bounced around in the back with the other luggage, and he manfully lugged it all the way into our house. With undisguised glee, I dove right into that gag, dragging out the books he had so kind brought. Sadly, the picture I took of him with that big, heavy red bag didn't come out! No, he didn't break the camera, but for some unknown reason, it never showed up.

Believe me, though, our rainy day together only diminished his golfer's tan a small bit. We, who seek shade all the time, being only 9 and a bit degrees off the equator, looked pale beside him. At the our house, we were expecting to pack up a picnic lunch and take them to our favorite beach for the afternoon. Didn’t happen! What did happen was rain, and lots of it. We managed to find a few dry breaks to show them around our yard and introduce them to a lot of tropical plants. Then, in another cloud-burst, we hustled back to the shelter of the patio where we feasted on snacks of fresh, soft coconut meat from from the groves surrounding us, nibbled on mangoes and drank some of the coconut juice, which is altogether different from coconut milk, which, as far as I'm concerned, comes out of a can. We sipped cas juice, and ate other delicacies while lunch cooked in the kitchen. To the thundrous roar of tropical rain on a tin roof, we dined on corbinetta, a white fish, poached in coconut milk, pepper and fresh grated ginger. With that, we had a big salad and real Caribbean beans and rice.

To make Beans and Rice: Rinse 1 cup of small red beans a few times, soak for 24 hours, then drain and cook in about 5 cups of fresh water in the crockpot for 12 hours with a small bag (made out of a coffee filter stapled shut), containing one onion, quartered, three crushed cloves of garlic, and about a tablespoon of salt. When the beans are soft to bite, toss out the coffee filter, cool and drain the beans. (They can stay in the fridge, cooked for about 4 days if need be.) Then, make a 1 cup batch of white Basmati rice with two cups of coconut milk (adding an ounce or two of water if there’s not enough coconut milk in the can). Before cooking the rice, add the beans, stir and cover. When done, it all gets stirred together and is truly delicious.

After waiting in vain for the rain to stop completely, we finally gave up and as the sky brightened just a tad, we quickly scrambled into our swimsuits and headed off for Cahuita Village to shop and explore, still with the hope the drizzle would stop. It did! The sun came out. We toured all one street of the village center, Bob & Kath met our friends Marie-Claude & Andreas, their dogs, Dora and Ruby, and the noisy parrot, Verde, who hates men. Roberto, the Caiman, didn't come up to the side of the creek tha day, but we enjoyed visiting at Kelly Creek Hotel, then decided since the sun was still out, we’d go for the swim we’d promised. There was a lot of really big, dangerous surf coming in that day, so we walked along the park trail looking for the green flags that would tell us it was safe to swim. We were only a few hundred meters along the trail when the sky turned black in almost an instant, and the rain came down so hard we were soaked to the skin in mere moments. It’s a good thing, too, especially for Kathy, because when a howler monkey cut loose with a roar not a meter over her head, scaring her half to death, no one knew if it was rain water on her pants or . . . something else. Howler monkeys are strange beasts. They're hardly bigger than cats, but bellow like wounded bulls when they're annoyed. Rain seems to do that. Either that, or they're cheering it on. We've never been able to figure out which. But they sure do respond to it! Since we were wet anyway, when Bob S. found a green flag, we stripped off the soaked clothes that we’d worn over our bathing suits and, battling the stinging rain, the raging wind and surf, Bob S., Kath, & I went swimming. Bob G. stayed ashore to take shelter under a tree, which provided none at all. We went home to shower sand out of various “orifices” as Bob S. put it.

When we took Bob & Kath back to their ship to resume their cruise, we spent a half hour or so in the dock-head market looking for a special shirt since the cruise ship theme for dinner that day was “Caribbean Nights” and Bob S. had not come prepared. I sure hope he wears it to our family reunion in June so everyone can see how truly Caribbean he can look when he tries hard enough. I’m also glad he didn’t get the orange one.

Somewhere in between family visitors, we managed to entertain two Couch Surfers on two different occasions. Costa Rica is becoming a very popular destination for people of all ages, but for us, famly takes precedence, so if you plan to visit us, let us know in plenty of time so we can chase away the Surfers, or at least tell them our spare room is unavailable.

My sister Joyce and her husband, Bob Wilson, arrived on the 19th of Feb. We picked them up at the airport and drove directly back to the coast, a journey of 186 Kilometers that takes 4 hours if traffic isn't too heavy and there've been few "desrumbles" (landslides) along the road as it winds through the hills that surround the Central Valley. They kept insisting they weren’t tired, but I think the photos taken moments after they arrived tell a different tale.

The day after their arrival, we “did” Cahuita and swam, playing in the surf, which had gone down considerably, but was a lot safer. It managed to up-end me a time or two and that day was the first time I've ever body-surfed on my back--not through any great talent, but because when a big wave flipped me over, I didn't know which way was up until the back of my head bumped into the sand. We also went to Puerto Viejo, a few klicks south, looked in all the touristy shops, and let Bob take a rest on a concrete turtle. They look cute together, don't they? Mostly, though, we just lolled around a lot at the Little House in the Jungle, read, talked, laughed, drank too much wine and just enjoyed each other’s company. Then, with time flashing by all too quickly, we decided (Okay, I decided), on the spur of the moment, that if we were going to Panama, which was the plan, we had to do it really soon or we’d never get there.

So, on a Thursday night, Joyce & I announced to the Bobs that we were leaving Friday morning. We left the car home, took a bus to Cahuita, got on another bus that took us to Sixaola, the very small pueblo on the border. There, we walked across a truly astounding bridge with a sign in the middle reading Costa Rica – Panama.

We cleared customs and took a taxi (a crew-cab pickup truck) to Changuinola on the Caribbean coast of Panama. After a few hours wait, fending off begging children, some of whom were really persistent and aggressive, but none of whom looked undernourished or poorly dressed, we finally got aboard a water taxi that was to take us to the town of Bocas del Toro on the island of Colón. What a beautiful trip! The whole lagoon where we waited at the water taxi dock was covered by brilliant green floating plants, much of it water hyacinth. Canoes cut through it easily, but when our water taxi arrived, the operator frequently had to stop and rev up the outboard in reverse to release tangles of weeds. We traversed a long, winding canal between low banks, where the water was so still it made a perfect mirror. Each time we neared a canoe (dugouts, much like the ones used by the natives on this coast, the operator slowed right down so as to minimize his wash. Wish boaters in this country were as polite! The narrow canal led finally to the sea, where we left most of the floating greenery behind.

Once out there, it was a little choppy, but extremely shallow. Panamanian Aids to Navigation would appall any CPS member, as most of them were long sticks stuck in sand bars to warn boat operators away. We traveled past a hotel I intend to visit one day. It was a series of five or six little cabinas, each on its own float, with a kayak outside each front door. They were linked to a much larger building, the restaurant, we assumed, by wooden walkways. Unfortunately, we hadn’t known about that one, so there was no chance of getting in there. In fact, its being a Friday and the beginning of high season in Bocas, there were no hotel rooms available in the town! Our Costa Rican high season was just over, so we were surprised at this information. Finally, after checking several places, when we were about to consider sleeping on the beach, assuming we could find one that no one had built a hotel over top of, we got news that a hotel farther up the island could take us for one night, in a room with two queen sized beds. We said a heartfelt yes! If we could stay only one night in Panama, so be it. There were buses and taxis heading back to Costa Rica the next day. Then we waited an hour for the taxi sent by the hotel “La Coralina” to get us.

Tired and hungry, we got into another crew-cab little truck and set out, with our luggage bounding around in the back. We drove and drove and drove. We forded creeks, splashed through puddles, then small ponds, then lakes, each of which seemed to get larger and deeper than the last one. There were few habitations. It was very dark. We had no idea how long this trip would take as we jounced and bounced and watched in awe as the truck’s bow-wave sloshed up on the sides of the “road”. When we got to La Coralina we were met by a charming young woman from Minnesota who showed us to our huge room with a great bathroom, then told us they had kept the kitchen open for us. Downstairs we enjoyed an exquisite meal that couldn’t have been bettered anywhere in North America or Europe. We also learned that the hotel had just received an unexpected cancellation and we could stay there for three more nights if we wanted to. It was tempting, because not only was the breakfast as appetizing as the dinner, and included in the price of the room, but there was a darling baby monkey one of the groundskeepers had found. The hotel is raising him, feeding him milk from a bowl and whatever fruit he could cadge from guests. However, we really did want to see Bocas which was an hour’s drive, and another twenty dollars away. Seeing that road in daylight left us wide-eyed and glad we hadn’t been able to see it the night before. In places, it was nothing but ruts along the beach and those puddles really had been creeks, ponds, and small lakes!

Bocas del Toro was an interesting town with lots of activity going on. In one of the hotels we’d tried the previous evening, they’d said they “might” be able to fit us in if we were there at check-out time on the Saturday. There, we were able to get nice rooms for each couple and were informed we could have them pretty well as long as we wanted. Seemed strange for a place that had been so totally booked the night before, to find it so open the next day with a number of “vacancy” signs farther back from the waterfront. We could have, but didn’t, go snorkeling, content to hang out in the hotel’s pool and wander around town, shopping and exploring. The only swimmable beach we saw was, as luck would have it, right out in front of La Coralina where, because we were in a hurry to get back to town and the possibility of that hotel which “might” have rooms available, we didn’t take time to swim. All the rest of the beaches appeared to be on other islands, or covered by hotels and restaurants who’d built their dining decks right out over the water.

We dined in one of those restaurants, my Bob with his back to the water. I knocked over a glass of Club Soda and since he’s easily startled by spilling liquids, he flung himself away, nearly knocking himself and his chair into the bay because there was no railing behind him. I laughed so hard I ached, and really do wish –okay, nobody ever accused me of being “nice”—that he had fallen in. It would have made the night for me and for a whole lot of other diners. However, neither the Club Soda nor the bay got him and I was punished for laughing so hard. That night, I was sick, and lay shivering in bed all the next day and the following night too. Joyce and the 2 Bobs went out for dinner, apparently had a good time, but I knew nothing about it. After a full day and 2 nights in bed, I was ready to eat a small bowl of chicken soup, and was glad when it was time to catch the water taxi back to Changuinola.

Obligingly, because I had sat on the port-side seat on the way out and was able to get some great photos, I suggested Joyce take that place on the way back. Before long, it was pouring again! Joyce took the brunt of it; her blouse got soaked and rain, combined with the speed of the water taxi smashed into her face like pellets. I'm such a kind, generous sister! Amazingly, the same driver who had taken us from Sixaola was there and drove us back to the bridge and Customs. Note to anyone who is not a documented resident of Costa Rica: If you take that trip, be sure to carry a photocopy of your return ticket to Canada or wherever, so they’ll let you back into CR. We thought for a little while Joyce and Bob might end up becoming permanent residents of Panama!

A few days before they were to fly out of Costa Rica, we drove back to the Central Valley where we toured the Britt Coffee Plantation and went to Zoo Ave. (Ah-vay), which is a haven for rare and injured birds. They also take in mammals and reptiles to be rehabilitated and returned to the wild. We visited our friends, Laurie & Gene (Laurie's blog, edgeclingerandthetallguy.blogspot.com can be accessed at the bottom of this page. Then, muct too soon, it was time for Joyce and Bob to go. Poor Joyce has yet to get to the Butterfly Gardens. Next trip, I promise!

First Christmas in our Expanded Little House

2008-01-15T14:20:00.000-06:00

We have been busy! Just in time, Bob got the patio fully screened so we could dine outside and not worry about bugs. After all the frantic preparation, the Christmas Season sort of rushed by and the turkey we cooked on the barbecue was really, really good!

After it thawed, we brined it for 24 hours in our picnic cooler, with enough water to cover it, and about a cup of salt per gallon (4 L. of water) and a couple of bags of icing sugar so it wouldn’t taste salty. The brining procedure is meant to make it moist enough to cook without drying. Because it’s fairly warm here, we also added two bags of ice to the cooler. Seems all the instructions for this operation are aimed at people who live where the December temperatures are within the freezing range. We did have a lot of rain, and the temp dropped to the low seventies (22, 23 C), we felt the need if not exactly to bundle up, but at least to wear more clothes than usual.

Anyway, back to the bird. We were advised not to stuff it, but next time, I think we will. Stove Top Stuffing just doesn’t cut it, despite my putting in some extra turkey broth made from the neck and giblets, and some rendered turkey fat with diced onions fried in it, along with extra seasoning. Nobody complained, but I wasn’t happy with it.

We put it in a big pan to catch the juices, on top of the griddle plate, turned on the two side burners and set the turkey in the middle, out of range of the direct heat. We soon realized the temperature was too hot, and turned off all but the right hand burner, shoving the bird to the far left just before the skin got a tad too crisp and brown. At that point, we covered it with foil, kept testing it with the thermometer, and right when it was supposed to be done, up popped that little red thingy it came with. Not that we didn’t trust that little red guy, but since this was a trial and error exercise, we wanted to cover all bases.

It dripped beautiful gravy-making juices, nicely browned and full of flavor. With Laurie’s special creamed onions, which I love, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, broccoli, carrots, cranberry sauce and probably a few other things I’ve forgotten, we feasted! Christmas tree lights, a string of red lights lining one side of the patio, six luminaries (no idea how to spell that!), which are candles stabbed into sand in paper bags and glow beautifully, along with lots of candles, we dined without the blazing electric light bulbs Bob was sure we’d need so people could see what they were eating. Unfortunately, the two girls from Norway whom we had invited couldn’t make it—both of them had ear infections—but there were 6 of us around the table. Barry & Nanci from Pto. Viejo joined us, as did Laurie and Gene. It was a particularly happy time for me, our first Christmas in our new home. But then, all our times with Gene and Laurie are happy.

Early this month, we hosted another Couch Surfer, a delightful woman with the intriguing name of Tuolovme, a name she chose for herself from a park in California. Tuolovme is incredibly well-traveled and very entertaining with the stories of places she’s been. Other guests come and go, as do we, though to date we haven’t surfed anyone’s couches—well, except for those belonging to family, and we didn’t have to join Couch Surfing for that.

We’re eagerly anticipating cousin Kathy’s visit, along with her husband, Bob, early next month then, shortly after that, we’ll be off to the Valley to pick up my sister Joyce and her husband Bob to bring them out here and let them get some of the great hydrotherapy we offer. Yeah, Bobs abound in our family!

As promised, I managed to find some pretty examples of Tico Christmas trees, and got photos. People seem pleased when what they consider a “tourist” wants to capture the mood of their celebration.

New Years Eve we had dinner at our favorite Cahuita Restaurant, listened to a preacher in the park across the road, then a woman singing, very well and very loud. Cahuita knows how to party, as do most people here. All night long, as it has been Christmas Eve, too, fireworks went off with frequent loud bangs, though not always pretty colors. Sometimes, it seems, the noise is all that's required.

Christmas In Costa Rica

2007-12-18T09:40:00.000-06:00

Christmas in Costa Rica

Christmas starts (at least in stores) around the time of Canada’s Thanksgiving. What really gets it underway, though, is when the rainy season begins to dry up in the Central Valley and the Trade Winds from the Caribbean blow in over the mountains. The temperature often drops, the sky clears, and the winds blow incessantly. Costa Rican friends (Ticos) have told us that even as adults, they get a tremor of excitement deep inside when the winds begin in late November or early December, because as children they knew it meant Christmas was coming.

A major facet of Christmas in Costa Rica is the manger scene, or “portal”. The scene represents the birth of Jesus, with the figures of Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the ox and the mule all playing a part. The most impressive manger scene is at the National Theater in San José, the capital city, built to full scale and filled with detailed figures carved by Costa Rican artists. When we lived in the Valley, we saw manger scenes outside almost every house. Some were small, home-made out of bits and pieces of wood and twigs, populated with small or large clay, china or wooden figures. A tradition in this country is for the bride’s family to give the new couple their first Baby Jesus for their manger scene. Other figures are often received as gifts, too, for a newly-wed couple to get them started on their portal. Some manger scenes take up the entire front yard and have such fascinating creatures as Tweetie Bird, The Little Mermaid, Bugs Bunny and Donald Duck visiting the manger, a pretty sure indication there are little kids in the house. Someone once told us “the bigger the manger scene, the more pious the family.” Not sure this is true, but in some areas, neighbors seem to try to outdo each other with their manger scenes, much the way some Canadians try to make a big statement with the number and variety of lights on and around their houses.

The most important figure in the diorama is the Baby Jesus; which is placed in the manger early in the morning of the 25th. In Costa Rica Santa Claus doesn't bring the Christmas gifts to the children, though his figure abounds in stores, his picture in windows of houses, and his booming “Ho-ho-ho!” is broadcast everywhere. Nevertheless, the Baby Jesus brings the gifts during “la Noche Buena” (The Good Night) while the kids sleep after their big, traditional dinner of tamales.

This Christmas Eve dinner is when the whole family, often several generations, gather together and eat tamales. Corn having been cultivated in the Americas by the Indios long before the arrival of the Spanish, this tradition goes back a very long way. The basic ingredient is a stiff corn flour dough, stuffed with shredded chicken or pork, with vegetables, even hardboiled egg slices added. Laid on neat rectangles of specially treated plantain leaves, wrapped and tied together in pairs with straw, the tamales are then boiled and served hot. Unwrapping a tamale is like unwrapping a gift. They are delicious, some more than others as each family has its own recipe, and the flavor and quality varies considerably. I’ve never had one I really disliked, but the ones my former landlady made were the absolute best. Making tamales is a tradition that requires lots of family hands as it is a slow and painstaking operation. Family recipes are handed down from grandmother to mother to daughter. Often, there is a big pork leg baking in the oven, as well, so there is plenty of food left over for Christmas Day, so no one has to spend hours in the kitchen cooking. On Christmas morning, many families gather around their Christmas trees and offer prayers of thanks for a good year and the gifts they have received from the Baby Jesus.

Any tree can be decorated but Ticos prefer cypress trees because of their pungent, evergreen aroma. We’d probably call them pencil cedars. When trimmed with lights, bows, garlands and other decoration, they’re truly beautiful though to Canadian eyes, somewhat frozen-looking as the shape is a tight, completely regular cone, with no space between branches. Many people put trees outside on their patios, possibly to cheer passersby, or perhaps because they don’t have room in their houses. I know we sure don’t, in ours. Probably the largest Christmas tree in Costa Rica is at the National Hospital for children. It symbolizes hope and gratitude and has been at the hospital for decades.

Out here on the Caribbean, many people string lights in their fruit and/or flowering trees, or just on bushes, making an evening walk a delight. Most houses have icicle type lights hanging from the eaves, though very few Ticos have ever seen an icicle for real. So far, I haven’t seen a single manger scene in this neighborhood. I surmise it’s a Spanish thing, and since many people here are of Jamaican ancestry, perhaps it hasn’t caught on. Still, they love the season and make it gleam.

As we try to.

Merry Christmas, Everyone, and a Spectacularly Happy New Year!

How things grow in the jungle

2007-11-27T22:29:00.000-06:00

Less than a year ago, we spotted a sprig of bamboo in the park, and snipped a little bit. That’s a big no-no, of course, but, well, we like bamboo. It was pretty, and leafy and tempting. It was only a little tiny bit, not more than five inches long. We stabbed it into the ground and by the time we left here last March, it had expanded to a couple more sprigs and a few more leaves, reaching up to just below my knees. When we came back in early October, it had grown amazingly, lots of nice, limber stems, lots of pretty, delicate leaves, about as tall as the porch roof. I tied it to the fence to keep it growing straight. Beside grew a volunteer big-leaf jungle plant, sort of like skunk cabbage on steroids, but without the smell and the poisonous yellow flowers. Filipe told us it was a weed, but we liked it, so we are keeping it. It makes a nice accompaniment to the lattice of bamboo between the patio and our fence.

Last Friday, Bob was chopping off some dead leave of the jungle plant because when they die, they fall to the ground and turn slimy. While doing so, he noticed a strange, large stalk growing up between them and the bamboo. The next day, it was appreciably larger. He measured it. It was 4 inches around at the base, and five-foot two in height. It looked very much like a gigantic stalk of asparagus recently sprung from some alien vegetable patch. He measure it again on Sunday. It was five-foot-eight. At six this morning, it was six feet tall and five inches around at the base. When I told him I was doing a blog on it, he went out and measured it again at 4:30 this afternoon. It was 6 foot 3! We have the beginnings of a golden tree bamboo plantation that would make cousin Karen sick with envy. For a while. If it’s anything like its parent plant in the park, the stalks will continue to pop out of the ground, grow to 30 feet in height, and spread like a plague. We may come to regret our impulsive little theft, but what a kick it is to see it growing like that!

I’m currently researching how to make bamboo furniture, bamboo scaffolding, in case we need to add second and third floors to our house to see over it, bamboo chopsticks, so we can use the new shoots in our stir-fries, bamboo fence posts, bamboo drums, bamboo wind chimes. . . the imagination goes on and on. Any suggestions will be appreciated.

In addition, when we got back, we made a hill of dirt and planted 18 spaghetti squash seeds. Two of the germinated properly, though about 10 of them sprouted in water. The two that are growing have put on about 4 feet of growth and are now climbing the fense and showing blossoms. We're wondering if they'll be mature enough to eat before we leave again in March. Anyone have any idea? We used to grow long English cucumbers in our clear-roofed laundery room in Sta. Lucia de Barva, but these are right outside, getting rained on almost daily now that the Trade Winds have started and are brininging in damper, mercifully cooler weather. At least on some days.

Here are some photos of the bamboo and its big-leaf companion, as well as a couple of shots of our last trip to the beach. Enjoy!

Check out my Slide Show!

2007-11-21T09:52:00.001-06:00

Check out my Slide Show!

2007-11-20T16:25:00.001-06:00

Noah! Where are you?

2007-11-11T16:53:00.000-06:00

This has been a busy month so far and destined to get busier, so I figured I’d better get something together to post so nobody thinks I’ve just been sitting on my butt soaking up the warmth and swimming in the Caribbean. Actually, I have been doing more than just a bit of both of those things, but the past 4 days have had little warmth to soak up, and I could have swum to Cahuita in the flooded ditches! According to Google Earth, the whole lower end of the isthmus, which includes us, is sitting under an apparently immovable, wet cloud that has dropped tons of rain on us. The house has been cold and damp and I’ve been wrapped up in a blanket more than once! Such is life in the tropics. Either wet with sweat or wet with rain.

Earlier in the month, though, we finally met up with fellow Costa Rica Living member Arp Laszlo, his wife Trish, and their two little kids. A planned dinner with them fell apart when the restaurant we’d chosen turned out to be closed. By the time they discovered that and called us at home, we were already on the way. We waited for them in a nearby place, they waited for us in another one, and we ended up in different restaurants. Again, such is life here where we, at least, don’t have a cell phone. We did meet for lunch a few days later and Bob & I both ended up with an intestinal parasite that made us pretty sick and called for a trip to the emergency doctor in Puerto Viejo. He fixed us up and Bob seems completely well, but I’m taking a little longer to shake it. Today, I feel human again. Those cool, wet days didn’t help much, either. Lesson learned: Even after 5 years when you think you’ve adapted to everything, don’t eat salad you didn’t make yourself!

We’re working on the patio again, walling in the bottom third so we can build screen doors and wrap screen around the top two-thirds. I hope everyone realizes I use the term “we” quite loosely, but supervision counts, doesn’t it? And I do aim to do whatever painting is required.

At the end of the week we’re heading into the Central Valley for shopping, visiting, and haircuts. I’m beginning to look like a sheepdog and Bob’s hair is curling on the back of his neck. Oh yes, there is a hair-dresser/barber in Puerto Viejo, but the last time we went to her we ended up with scabies! Never, ever again, thank you very much! I’d rather let my hair grow down to my butt than sit in that woman’s chair and let her wrap a dirth smock around my neck.

Some of the photos accompanying this blog are pretty much self-explanatory, thanks to our new camera that enables me to print captions right on the pix. What I now need to do is learn how to take off captions I don't like, aren't visible enough, etc. Yeah, Tara, I know! Make a copy first. Or two. Or three.

Our first CouchSurfer

2007-10-25T11:35:00.000-06:00

The Little House in the Jungle enjoyed its first official CouchSurfing guest in the past couple of days. Phillipe Gringaz, from near Montreal joined us for 2 nights, occupying our official Couch, sharing it with E.T., who enjoyed his company, as did we.

Phil is a young (25-year-old) social worker who helps troubled teens from a variety of family situations. He’s interesting to talk to, and is a really good photographer in addition to his other talents. With his and our minimal Spanish, his so-so English, and our total lack of French, we seemed to get along quite well, and even managed to communicate, learning a lot about each other’s family and cultures. His dad works with handicapped kids, and his mother is a bookkeeper. He’s the youngest of three children in his family.

Before he arrived here, he called us from Tamarindo on the Pacific side, asking if he could possibly come early because he was sick of being soaked with rain, which had gone on for his entire stay out there. We welcomed him but wouldn’t you know it? He brought that darned rain with him! At least for the first night. The next day was wonderful and Phil went in Cahuita where he met a number of friendly folks who welcomed him to the community. He went to visit our friends, Marie-Claude and Andreas at Kelly Creek Hotel, http://www.kellycreekhotel.com/ who were kind enough to let him leave his camera bag there while he went swimming and exploring.

The next day, he went snorkeling on the reef where my sister Joyce and I, along with three good friends, went a few years ago. He was delighted with what he saw. Now, he has moved on South to Puerto Viejo and Cocles, and possibly Manzanillo, where the surfing is reported to be good.

As for us, we’re still waiting for our car to be made road-worthy enough to pass inspection. Meanwhile, we’re traveling by bus and taxi. I took the bus to Puerto Viejo on Monday to pick up my new bank card and buy some groceries, returning home in the car of one of the owners of the Old Harbor Market. When I finished unpacking, I realized I had left the folder containing much of my banking information either in Kenneth’s car or in the store. Hopped a bus back to PV, found my folder set carefully aside for me under a counter, rushed out and saw a bus apparently heading my way. I asked the driver if he was going to Home Creek. He said yes. I paid my fare, but at Home Creek corner, where I expected him to continue north, he instead turned west and took me to Bribri. There, he looked at me in confusion and asked where I was going. I told him again, “Home Creek.” He slapped his forehead in the universal symbol of “Ohmygod!” and informed me he was actually going to Sixaola on the Panama border. I wouldn’t have minded that one bit, having never been there, but he made me get off and catch another bus—which took me back to Home Creek corner, turned south and returned to Puerto Viejo before making the loop and finally bringing me home. I had a great trip, saw a lot of countryside, but still feel cheated out of that trip to the Panama border!

Oh, yes—CouchSurfing. If you’re unfamiliar with the project, please check it out. http://www.couchsurfing.com/ It’s a really worthwhile means whereby people can find free, safe, friendly places to stay all over the world. Our Couch can be found by entering the site, going to Places>Costa Rica>The Caribbean Coast of Costa Rica. There, you’ll find our profile, a photo of our Couch, and some others of our area.

I still plan to do one of those “what I did last summer” things like we used to do during the first month of school, but that’s going to have to happen later.

We've had some strange and wonderful visitors, no, not Phillipe! Some things float in on the breeze, like the gossamer winged seeds pictured on this page, and the emeral basilisk who has taken up residence in some of the new jungle growth withing our fence. Bob got a great shot of him.

We're Home!

2007-10-15T09:19:00.000-06:00

Wake up, Little House, we’re home!

While we were away having a lot of boating fun, the Little House sat here, mostly all by itself, except for our friend and neighbor, Filipe, who cut the grass and changed lightbulbs and kept the place looking lived in to discourage thieves. While all alone, the Little House got—well—dirty. Very, very dirty! Filthy, you might say. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

After arriving back in Costa Rica, we spent a week in Heredia, meeting up with old friends, and making new ones. One of Bob’s new friends is the mechanic who spent much of that week trying to get the %&*^$ Jeep to run. Finally, he succeeded, and we were on our way, out of the cold and rain of the Central Valley--okay, by the standards of most people, having to put on a sweater in the evening isn't cold, but it is to us--through the tunnel, into the National Park, and down the long, winding road back that takes us through the Caribbean Slope and finally, finally, back down here to Paradise, the Caribbean Lowlands, the turquoise sea and “mucho calor!” as people say in greeting, wiping sweat off their brows with the ever-present washcloth or handkerchief.

It is, indeed, very hot! Apart from the night we got home and sat on our porch through a thunder & lightning storm, and a heaven-opening downpour, there has been no rain for a month. Since then, there has been no more, either. I think it was sent to welcome us home because we were beginning to be greatly concerned about the depth of water (or lack thereof) in our well. The howler monkeys might have been welcoming us home, too, as they bellowed and shrieked in the trees just beyond the fence, or they might have been thanking Mother Nature for wet leaves to satisfy their thirst. The squirrels seemed pretty excited, too, spiralling up and down trees, jumping from branch to branch like little red flowers unsure of where they belong.

All that aside, the major task of the past week has been vacuuming, scrubbing, dusting, and laundering. Luckily, we had the foresight to cover as much of the furniture as possible with sheets, so upholstery cleaning wasn’t required. What we had to get rid of was gecko crap, mounds and mounds of it, along with gecko eggs. We found both in cupboards, inside dishes with lids, even inside the coffee maker basket. Then there were the spiderwebs. It got to the point that whenever I needed something from in a cupboard or a drawer, I waved my handy little sheepskin duster on a stick (a much appreciated gift from my friend Diane, back in BC, who’s never guessed its subsequent importance in my life), around inside because I hate touching webs. With the floors, walls, dishes and cupboards clean, it was time for the windows, which are an entirely different proposition here. Instead of simply spraying on Windex and wiping a whole big flat surface, one has to clean dozens and dozens of little glass louvers. Not fun, I tell you, not fun at all!

Bob has once again been beating back the jungle, which crept closer and closer to the house in our 6 months away. I’ve decreed that some of the bigger, broad-leafed “weeds” as Filipe calls them, be spared. They’re pretty. The lizards like them. The little sprig of purloined tree- bamboo that followed us home from the park one day and was at knee height when we left, is now up to the porch roof and has a lot more stems and branches. I think it likes it here. The birds are happy, too. There are two nest-builders in the Norfolk pine, one a hummingbird, the other a sparrow, and in the Queen Emma nearest the patio (porch, terrace, verandah—we’re not sure because people here seem to each call it something different), there’s another sparrow nest. Other critters like to nest near or on our house, too, including the big bee nest that was outside a bedroom window. It’s no longer there. Another was growing under the kitchen floor, visible from where I now sit on the patio. It, too, disappeared, I hope along with its inhabitants. Critters are fine. They’re part of this world we all share, but there are surely other places they can build their homes. This one’s taken. It’s ours.

Goodbye, Little House

2007-03-20T16:40:00.000-06:00

This morning, we walked out of the house and locked the doors. I'm happy to be going back to BC for our annual visit, but terribly torn about leaving my doll house. We do have friends who'll be there quite often, and another friend who lives next door and will be regularly (as in daily)checking on it, but it still feels like I'm abandoning the place, the flowers, the birds and the monkeys. When we return the trees will be twice the size they are now if former growth patterns are anything to go by, some of our flowers will be dead, many of the orchids will have bloomed, but others will be waiting to greet us with their color and perfume, At least, they were last time we went away.

A few weeks ago we were given some cuttings of a plant similar to clematis in that it climbs and has beautiful blue flowers. A couple of the cuttings had little buds on them, one had an actual group of leaves, and some had no sign of life at all. Within a week, most of them were happily climbing the fence between us and the road, some were way over my head and putting out multiple shoots. I'll be sure to take photos when we get back, because by then I expect those vines to be spectacular.

So, for the next while, I'm putting the Little House in the Jungle Blog to rest, but I'm opening a brand new one, or will be in a week or two, reporting on my trip upcountry with my sister, Joyce, and granddaughter, Meghan, to visit Joyce's and my brother David and his family. After that, I'll do one on our boating adventures, seafood catches and favorite anchorages.

Birds, birds, birds!

2007-03-07T12:38:00.000-06:00

Okay, it seems we have both gone soft in the head from an overabundance of heat and sunshine or maybe it’s simply that it’s March and the birds are all mating and nesting and singing their little hearts out. We have babies. And we’re both as protective of them as we were our own babies. These, though, have wings and beaks, and every time we see a Jesus lizard—the kind that walks on water and also climbs trees and bushes—in the shrub where our current nesting hummingbird mama lives, we chase it away. We did the same with the last nest, baby hummingbirds who have since hatched, fledged and flown and are now acting like idiots because they can’t (apparently) tell the difference between the concrete pillars of our water tower and the flowers on the Heliconia under it.

We had one nest last year, in our newly planted Norfolk pine. This year, we feel honored to have five mamas raising their broods under our protection. Two hummingbirds, one tiny wren who lives under the house and collects ants and other little bugs for her children, one black-striped sparrow whose nest is a messy tangle of dried grass leaves and fine grass in a big clump of tall, ornamental grass, and a clay-colored robin who finally took the hint Bob was giving her by knocking down her nest once a day, and decided inside our pump house was probably not the best district in which to raise her children. She has since moved out and has now taken up residence under the eaves outside the pump house. We didn’t want her inside there because we’ll be leaving soon and it would have been horrible to have had to lock the door and trap her and her babies in there to die.

The black-striped sparrow is a pretty little creature with an olive-colored back. She’s laid two white eggs, smaller than a robin’s egg, but much larger than hummingbird eggs. They haven’t hatched yet, but we check them every day. This little sparrow is amazing. She starts out at dawn, saying “tweet, tweet, tweet,” a dozen or more times, each “tweet” separated by a second’s pause, then all at once she gets faster and faster, more and more high-pitched until she sounds like a helicopter winding up. It makes us laugh. Yesterday, in her search for food, she got too close to the bush where our last mama hummingbird lives and to our amusement, that itty-bitty lady came screaming off her nest and chased the sparrow away. Crazy little thing, taking on something four times her size.

Another little bird, smaller than a nut-hatch, more slender, and possibly a titmouse, though we haven’t yet gotten a solid identity on her, makes the rounds of the rafters of our patio roof, hour after hour, gobbling up ants, and occasionally fluttering off with some in her beak. We suspect she’s feeding babies, but don’t know where.

Also yesterday, Bob came in the house to get me because the sky was literally filled with birds, way up high. I couldn’t see them without binoculars, but there were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, all heading North at many different altitudes. Some eventually came low enough even I could see them without magnification, but most stayed way up, just under the overcast and appeared to be spilling down through the clouds as if some celestial hand was pouring them through a crack. We suspect they are Swainson’s hawks on their way back to BC for the summer. Sensible birds, whatever they are. We’re eternally grateful to Tara for having given us the book, Birds of Costa Rica.

The Bathroom Beast

2007-03-04T20:00:00.001-06:00

Last night I stepped out of the shower and there, not three feet away was a tarantula on the bathroom wall. Now, there are two schools of thought about tarantulas here on the Caribbean side: Some say they’re pretty harmless. Others say they are anything but. So, discretion being the better part of valor, I yelled “BOBBBB!” He doesn’t do toilets. I don’t do monsters. A fair division of labor, in my opinion. He tried to whack it with a magazine—it ran inside a cabinet. A cabinet in MY bathroom. That could not be allowed. I stood dripping, holding a big towel as if it were a shield, and watched him as he sprayed inside the cabinet with something that smells awful but seems to work pretty well on fire ants and termites. I wasn’t too sure about its efficacy on something the size of a saucer, but what other options were there? I really didn’t expect him to climb inside the cabinet on a search and destroy mission with a magazine that had already proved ineffective as a weapon. “There,” he said, closing the cupboard door and turning to leave the bathroom. “It’s dead.”

I wanted proof, but there was no way I was going to open that cabinet and check to see. I wanted him to do it, but he was certain there was no need.

Suddenly, it came reeling drunkenly out from under the cabinet and I hollered again. “It’s still alive!”

“It’s going to die,” my protector assured me upon his swift return. “Look at it. It’s hardly alive. It’s staggering.” Sure. Like a wounded bear is hardly alive. Just then, this supposedly nearly dead creature made a frantic dash toward me. I jumped back into the shower and slid the door closed leaving him to deal with the beast. I peeked out as he picked up one of my sandals and beat the living daylights out of it then dumped it into the toilet.

I did my part. I flushed. Just to be sure.

And no, I don't have a photo of it. I mean, really! Would you?

Growing House = Growing Sloth?

2007-02-28T13:52:00.000-06:00

A couple of months ago I started this blog with the announcement that the Little House was growing. I kept you updated during the process of growth, but then, when the construction of our lovely, covered patio was completed to the state where I could sit in the shade and enjoy the breezes, laziness struck me a stunning blow.

But now, with an electrical hookup as well as a telephone line, I’ve learned I can sit on the patio, still enjoying the breeze and the shade, and put my laptop to use, so here I am, back again. I don’t promise every day, but hopefully more often than during the past few weeks.

We just had a delightful visit with friends from the Central Valley. Laurie and Gene, Emma and Jon arrived Friday afternoon. We sat and nibbled on snacks and sipped wine until it was far too late for dinner, which none of us really wanted anyway. The next day, we all met here for dinner, along with Hans and Ede, our new friends who hail from Trail, BC. This was a chance for our four visitors to meet them and, unfortunately, for us to say aufwiedersehn to Ede and Hans, who are by now back to their mountain-side home in the southern interior of BC. We hope to see them again next January. They’ve assured us they plan to return. We may also visit them when wer're back in BC for the summer, assuming we can drag ourselves away from the boat.

Laurie, Gene, Bob & I went to the Jaguar Hotel in the afternoon to visit Emma & Jon and enjoy the surf on Black Beach, only a few hundred feet from the door of their hotel room. Black Beach is exactly that—soft, powdery sand formed from the collapsing of old, black coral. The waves kick up enormous amounts of silt from the bottom, but the water is lovely—cool and refreshing. The bigger waves break up on the reef a half-mile or so off-shore, but enough comes over the reef and through the gaps to make swimming there at times a tad challenging. Jon and I both went farther out beyond the breakers on the beach, and even then got caught and tumbled and tossed. Such fun!

Following that, the six of us went for dinner in a lovely restaurant, Cha Cha Cha, small but packed. Our waitress, Sarah, from Kent, England, without any assistance, served us and the other five or six tables with grace and efficiency we found amazing. With people all around the room requiring attention, she never broke a sweat, always wore a smile, and moved like a slender ballerina, bearing plates, trays, drinks and whatever else was demanded of her. A truly impressive young woman. We can certainly recommend Cha Cha Cha to visitors in Cahuita.

The next day, for lunch, we made a new discovery, and what a discovery it was! Not far from our house—walking distance if one were so inclined (at least inclined to hike up inclines)—there’s a place on the hill above the highway between Cahuita and Puerto Viejo. We’d always seen the sign, but never investigated it because its owners bill it as a “resort hotel”. To us, coming from North America, that meant big, brash, and expensive. On a chance that we might find an interesting lunch, we drove up their very steep, winding road, gouged out of the hillside, past the sign that says “4 Wheel Drive Only” and discovered that the owners’ idea of a resort hotel differs greatly from what we’d expected.

The View Point Resort Hotel consists of a small, three-table dining area, outside by the kitchen, which is an airy, mostly open to the breeze delight in itself, and four small cabins. The owners, she from Cameroon in West Africa, and he from Switzerland, are a charming couple with three young children. Madelaine cooked us a truly wonderful lunch, with the aromas wafting from her kitchen tantalizing us, piquing our appetites almost unbearably. Three of us ordered her ragout with chicken, vegetables, and potatoes, which is sautéed boneless chicken breast pieces in a delicious sauce, served beside real Swiss “rosti” potatoes, similar to what we’d call hashbrowns but a whole lot tastier. Those potatoes had never been near a deepfreeze! One had a steak, which she said was fork tender (a difficult find in Costa Rica), one had a grilled chicken breast with rice and vegetables, another had pasta croquettes, a unique dish none of us had ever seen before. It consisted of cooked pasta mixed with something, we never knew quite what, then pressed into a pan and cut into rectangles. Those rectangles are then breaded and deep-fried, similar to potato croquettes and served with salad. She enjoyed it very much.

The mini-resort has beautifully landscaped grounds planted with all manner of things that have ceased to be exotic to us, but which we still enjoy, a great view out over the Caribbean and the jungle canopy, as well as a small swimming pool for the use of hotel guests. They are easy to find on the internet by Googling View Point Hotel Costa Rica, where you’ll find both their website, email address, and phone/fax numbers. Highly recommended for a delightful meal and perhaps a few days stay.

Sad to report, in a few months Madelaine is taking her expertise in the kitchen, along with her husband and children, to Switzerland and better educational opportunities for their children, the eldest of whom is about to enter his teens. His two little sisters are not far behind. We can only hope the new owners, Hungarians, we understand, do as well in the kitchen as Madelaine.

You might think from the above that all we do here is eat and drink and swim. Well, you probably wouldn’t be too far off in making that assumption.

This is retirement in the Little House in the Jungle with its big, party-place addition drawing me all too frequently away from my keyboard. Oh, wait one! It's Bob who's retired. Not me! I guess I'll have to try and remember that.

Flowers, flowers, flowers!

2007-02-11T12:04:00.000-06:00

Not much to write about today, except to say that the weather is spectacular, hot and sunny with a few wispy clouds as a reminded of last night's rain. That was the first rain to fall on our new roof, and we were delighted to find only two minor, easily repaired leaks. The material we use requires a special kind of nail, and if the head gets broken or cracked, water can be driven in under it. Bob was up top again this AM fixing those two problem areas. Now, we have to wait for the next shower to see if all's well on the rooftop.

The sea is very calm today. We can scarcely hear the whisper of the surf. It would be a perfect swimming day, except I have a sore throat and an earache so am not going into the water in case a sneaky big wave should come and knock me over, filling my sinuses and ears with water. I wish I'd never grown up to be so darned sensible! I'd much rather be swimming than sitting here.

I've been photographing like mad, trying to get as much of this beautiful country in digital format as I can. Just for Heather, I really made a good attempt at getting shots of some of the howler monkeys. Unfortunately, they look like nothing more than little black blobs in the shadows of the leaves, way up in the trees. Not what you might call a photogenic animal. So, here at least, are more posies.

What we call the "String Mop Palm" may not even be a palm, but it certainly is interesting. It shoots up tall branches right out of the ground, spreading leaves similar to broad-leaf maples, which shade its roots. Then, there appear other shoots that look like bullrushes. These sort of just hang out or poke up for a couple of weeks, until, overnight as a rule, they burst open and produce long, pale cream strings that look for all the world like mops. They're usually eight to twelve inches long, and the strings maybe six to eight. Over a couple of days the strings grow longer, then begin to drop off, leaving what looks something like a chewed corn cob. Out of this, right at the very end, grows a circlet of red, maybe petals, maybe not. We're not sure which is the flower and which is the seed, but they fascinate us as they repeat this cycle over and over.

There are probably dozens of varieties of Heliconias. We have two in our yard--the kind whose blossoms stand upright, and the kind that hang down. We like them both and are planning on getting a few more different species from the Botanical Gardens a quarter mile down the road. The place is named Cacao Trails, and has wondrous trails where tropical plants abound, and where the visitor can watch and even participate in the making of chocolate, straight from the cocoa beans that also grow there.

We Have Coverage

2007-02-09T21:12:00.001-06:00

Here I am back after a week’s absence. We’ve been building and the Little House now has a big porch, patio, party-room, whatever you want to call it, all covered over with a nice, corrugated metal roof. The difference in temperature between under the roof and not is about 10 degrees F. What a treat! When we get back from our BC travels we’ll screen the whole place to keep out the mosquitoes (and moths, which no one but me believes are dangerous predators determined to scare certain people to death. This, not having to kill with fang and claw, makes for easier devouring of the victim. Why won’t anyone believe me?)

It’s amusing that nearly all our Tico friends, acquaintances, and neighbors are appalled that Bob did all this building just to give his wife shade. They were certain he was building a huge garage for his car, caros taking far greater priority than mere esposas.

Here’s a picture of the first roof panel in position. Now, multiply this by about fifty, and you’ll know how much positioning, measuring, repositioning, hammering and nailing Bob the Builder had to do. First, to get the panels, each 12 feet long by 30 inches wide, up where they needed to be, he stood on the cement pad, slid them up as high as he could reach, then gave each one in turn an almighty shove to launch it. Up the sheet sailed to come to rest on first, just rafters and stringers, then later on the already positioned roof panels. Never, not even once, did a panel come sliding back down, though this was my fear. I pictured him being decapitated each time, but luck was with us, or his skill, or something.

My contribution to this entire effort was worry, passing of objects needed “up there”, and propping the ladder when it had to go into precarious positions, which it appeared to every single time. My shoulders still ache from this little chore, so I can imagine how Bob’s entire body must feel doing all that reaching, stretching, heaving and pounding. Good thing he’s tough.

It’s also very, very hot up there! The first time he had to spread himself over the roof to reach a new section, the tin burned him. After that, he used a floor mat for minor protection. He needed sunglasses to cut the glare bouncing off the shiny tin, otherwise he couldn’t see the nail heads. Some of the panels had to be cut to size. For this, he used a cutting blade on his little hand-held grinder, throwing our great, glorious gouts of sparks. He said they didn’t burn, but they sure looked hot to me. I tested them with a plastic bag, and not one melt-mark showed up, so I guess he was right—at least his skin appears intact—except for various scrapes and cuts from the sharp edges of the tin.

Because the pad itself is not a rectangle, merely a quadrilateral, the rafters and stringers make some pretty odd shapes up there. We have several trapezoids and one triangle, but somehow it all fits together and is very strong and secure. It would probably withstand a hurricane, which we don’t get here anyway. But somehow, we've gone from the first post to the last nail in less than two months which, in this country of "manana" is pretty darned good. We're happy and satisfied, as well as tired. The plan for this afternoon was to head for the beach, but we both sat around reading our books and then it was too late to make a move. Instead, naps seemed appropriate.

Yesterday, we did our first entertaining under our new roof. Friends showed up in the afternoon and since I was already planning a crock-pot full of clam chowder, which is always way too much for us, I invited them to stay and we had a really great time. As a former member of the RCAF, Hans is very capable of sharing “war stories” with Bob. I enjoy listening to his. Ede, his wife, has probably heard them all before, just as I’ve heard Bob’s, but we were both entertained by each other’s husband’s tales. Hans and Ede are going back to Trail at the end of this month. We’ll miss them, but they promise to come back next year for a month or two.

I’ll resume my Sunday flower blog this weekend, but my Saturday writing blog is moving over to AuthorsDen where readers and writers hang out. For anyone who’s interested, there is a link at the top of this page for the Den. Once there, you can find me by clicking on “G” in the author list and finding Judy Gill.

Groundhog Day in Costa Rica

2007-02-02T21:31:00.000-06:00

Luckily, we don't have an appreciable winter here, so Groundhog Day means absolutely zip! We had a wonderful, hot, sunny day again today and enjoyed it to the fullest. Bob stared putting up the roof joists or rafters or whatever they are, and I got to help. I steadied the ladder, climbed the stepladder and held things still while he positioned beams and did all the intricate stuff. As of this afternoon, we are one-third of the way towards having a roof! This, I really appreciate because, despite 45 power sunblock and a blouse, I still got burned on my front, back, and shoulders just from the few minutes I spent in the sun.

When I came in for a while, had a fun, 6-way Instant Messaging conversation with Laurie, Gene, Jon, Emma, Dale, and me, all "talking" at once, stepping over each other, creating a very confusing but amusing bunch of sentences. I only wish I could stay online longer without running up an enormous phone bill.

Oh, and remember that thing about bananas? Here's a photo of one of the tiny, sweet, delcious mini-bananas we have growing just outside our fence.

...but the wheel fell off

2007-01-31T15:43:00.000-06:00

You know that old saying or joke or whatever it was, where one person says to another, "I have a ... (whatever)..."? And the second person says, "Yeah, I had one too, but the wheel fell off." Well, that applies to our Jeep, as of today. There we were, after having enjoyed a very nice brunch at a restaurant named "Bread & Chocolate" with friends Hans & Ede, driving out of Pto. Viejo, and with a clanking, rattling, ugly noise, we realized something was wrong. Something a lot worse than the chewed-up, potholed road we were on. Bob pulled over and there was the back right tire, sort of hanging at an odd angle. It appeared all the bolts had sheered off.

They hadn't as it turned out, but the nuts had come off, letting the tire and rim fall down go boom. This is thanks to the "llantas reparaturan" (llantas being tires) shop where Bob had gone to buy a used rim to replace a cracked one. The men who did the work didn't do it right. Fortunately, no one was hurt, the car wasn't irreparably damaged, and it didn't happen on one of the many single-lane bridges. If it had we'd have tied traffic up in both directions for the better part of an hour. Bob, Hans, and a helpful guy from across the road finally got it fixed, while Ede and I sat in the shade enjoying the ocean breeze and wishing we'd brought our bathing suits and towels.

Still, we had a good meal, some great conversation, and not a bad day at all.

Sunday Disappears in Fog of Fun

2007-01-29T12:12:00.000-06:00

Oops! Missed my Sunday post of flower pictures. Only excuse was we were having too much fun. We had guests for a barbecue lunch, then later, other friends dropped by and the afternoon just got completely away from us. But here are your Sunday flowers on Monday.

INSPIRATION: THE STUFF STORIES ARE MADE OF

2007-01-27T10:41:00.000-06:00

The old saw about writing being 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration may have some truth in it, but for me, inspiration is the key to writing happily and productively. Many things inspire me: Song lyrics, music that sets a mood, things I read in magazines and newspapers, things that make me want to turn a situation around and ask, “but what if ‘A’, instead of ‘B’ were true, or even “C’ or ‘D’?”

People inspire me. The way they walk, the way they talk. The way they respond to different stimuli. An old person with a seamed face makes me ask myself what kind of life did that person live? Was it happy, sad, a mixture of both interspersed with times of quiet boredom or desperation? A fresh, dewy young person is equally inspiring as I wonder where they’ll go, how they’ll make the journey through life. Are they strong, weak? And babies! The possibilities I see in babies and toddlers are endless, filled with what ifs and whys and whens. I’m an inveterate and unapologetic snoop. I listen to conversations in stores, on buses, in restaurants. I confess that there have been times I’ve even waited for an appropriate moment and said, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing. I hope you don’t mind my asking a couple of questions about what your job entails,” if the conversation has had to do with a different or unique type of employment. This way, I got a female protagonist who was a head-hunter for executives. Another overheard conversation garnered me a male protagonist who worked for a foundation that endowed certain scientific endeavors or studies. I managed to get two books out of my discussions with him. For the most part, I’ve found that if I’m polite and show genuine interest, and tell them why I want to know, people are more than willing to talk about what they do and how they do it, as well as sometimes, why they do it, what motivated them. This is a big help in developing characters.

Another source of inspiration is, believe this, other people’s books. In every book I read, there seems to be an “a-hah!” moment, when I think I’ve got it, am sure I’ve figured out what’s going on, why it’s turning out the way it is, and who-dunit, if it’s a mystery. (By the way, I think most books are, in a way, mysteries, in that the reader, who might know how the story will turn out—the protagonists will get together if it’s a romance, the criminal will get caught if it’s a murder, the enemy will be vanquished if it’s a thriller. That’s the point in reading—to learn what happens next.) Often, I’m wrong, but in reading other people’s books, I’ve learned a lot about how to keep a story moving, how to use cliff-hangers, and how to keep the reader entertained. I feel that if another author’s book entertains me, he or she has elements in the story that make me ask questions, make me want to know who, what, where, why and when—as well as, very often, how. Their characters inspire me, their different styles inspire me, their successes inspire me, and their hard work (the perspiration part), though it’s usually invisible to the recreational reader, really inspires me. Reading is my second favorite upright pastime. Writing is the other.

This is what I try to include in my novels, enough questions that require answers—answers I don’t give until it’s necessary, solutions to problems the reader may think he or she has solved before the resolution is revealed. As with me reading other people’s books and being wrong in my assumptions, often I’ve heard from readers things like “Well, I never guessed that was coming!” I have to smile because, as often as not, neither did I! I write by the seat of my pants, or wherever interface between fingers, keyboard and brain leads me. Very frequently, I have no idea why a character had said or done a certain thing, but more often than not, when I’m eight or nine chapters beyond that point, I, too, get that “a-hah!” moment in my own work and can say, “Oh, now it all makes sense.”

I’d have to say that while all the above is true when it comes to sources of inspiration, my characters are the major factor in making a book work. They inspire me. They make me ask questions of them. They keep me on my toes by throwing me for a loop every second page. Try as I might to control them, it’s never worked. They say what they want, do what pleases them, shock me all too often and make me wonder why I didn’t think of that. The fact that, obviously, I did think of it, at least on a subconscious level, seems redundant. The part of my brain that has become that character has inspired my fingertips and keyboard to react in such a manner that those particular words or actions have happened. Much of the time, I feel I had very little to do with it.

I hope these strange people in my head continue to inspire me for a long, long time.

In Praise of Bananas

2007-01-25T18:11:00.000-06:00

We have bananas, the little, sweet ones, about as big as Mohammad Ali's thumb, and normal, large ones, growing just outside out fence. When they're almost ripe, we go out and pick them and hang them from our back porch so the birds can't get at them so easily. Along the highway between here and Limon, there are acres and acres and acres of banana plantations where the fruit hangs in big blue plastic bags to protect it from predators. So, since bananas provide such a large part of Costa Rica's export crops, and since we love them, here are some interesting facts for you on this Thursday.

BANANAS, BEAUTIFUL BANANAS

After reading this, you'll never look at a banana the same way again.

Never, put your banana in the refrigerator.

Bananas contain three natural sugars - sucrose, fructose and glucose combined with fiber. A banana gives an instant, sustained and substantial boost of energy.

Research has proven that just two bananas provide enough energy for a strenuous 90-minute workout. No wonder the banana is the number one fruit with the world's leading athletes.

But energy isn't the only way a banana can help us keep fit. The banana can also help overcome or prevent a substantial number of illnesses and conditions, making it a must to add to our daily diet.

Anemia: High in iron, bananas can stimulate the production of hemoglobin in the blood and so helps in cases of anemia.

Blood Pressure: This unique tropical fruit is extremely high in potassium yet low in salt, making it perfect to beat blood pressure, so much so, the Food and Drug Administration has just allowed the banana industry to make official claims for the fruit's ability to reduce the risk of blood pressure and stroke.

Brain Power: 200 students at a Twickenham (Middlesex, England) school were helped through their exams this year by eating bananas at breakfast, break, and lunch in a bid to boost their brain power. Research has shown that the potassium-packed fruit can assist learning by making pupils more alert.

Constipation: High in fiber, including bananas in the diet can help restore normal bowel action, helping to overcome the problem without resorting to laxatives.

Depression: According to a recent survey undertaken by MIND among people suffering from depression, many felt much better after eating a banana. This is because bananas contain tryptophan, a type of protein that the body converts into serotonin, known to make you relax, improve your mood and generally make you feel happier.

Hangovers: One of the quickest ways of curing a hangover is to make a banana milkshake, sweetened with honey. The banana calms the stomach and, with the help of the honey, builds up depleted blood sugar levels, while the milk soothes and rehydrates your system.

Heartburn: Bananas have a natural antacid effect in the body, so if you suffer from heartburn, try eating a banana for soothing relief.

Morning Sickness: Snacking on bananas between meals helps to keep blood sugar levels up and avoid morning sickness.

Mosquito bites: Before reaching for the insect bite cream, try rubbing the affected area with the inside of a banana skin. Many people find it amazingly successful at reducing swelling and irritation.

Nerves: Bananas are high in B vitamins that help calm the nervous system.

Overweight and at work? Studies at the Institute of Psychology in Austria found pressure at work leads to gorging on comfort food like chocolate. Looking at 5,000 hospital patients, researchers found the most obese were more likely to be in high-pressure jobs. The report concluded that, to avoid panic-induced food cravings, we need to control our blood sugar levels by snacking on high carbohydrate foods every two hours to keep levels steady.

PMS: Forget the pills - eat a banana. The vitamin B6 it contains regulates blood glucose levels, which can affect your mood.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD): Bananas can help SAD sufferers because they contain the natural mood enhancer tryptophan.

Smoking & Tobacco Use: Bananas can also help people trying to give up smoking. The B6, B12 they contain, as well as the potassium and magnesium found in them, help the body recover from the effects of nicotine withdrawal.

Stress: Potassium is a vital mineral, which helps normalize the heartbeat, sends oxygen to the brain and regulates your body's water balance. When we are stressed, our metabolic rate rises, thereby reducing our potassium levels. These can be rebalanced with the help of a high-potassium banana snack.

Strokes: According to research in The New England Journal of Medicine, eating bananas as part of a regular diet can cut the risk of death by strokes by as much as 40%!

Temperature control: Many other cultures see bananas as a "cooling" fruit that can lower both the physical and emotional temperature of expectant mothers. In Thailand , for example, pregnant women eat bananas to ensure their baby is born with a cool temperature.

Ulcers: The banana is used as a dietary food against intestinal disorders because of its soft texture and smoothness. It is the only raw fruit that can be eaten without distress in many cases; it also neutralizes over-acidity and reduces irritation by coating the lining of the stomach.

Warts: Those keen on natural alternatives swear that if you want to kill off a wart, take a piece of banana skin and place it on the wart, with the yellow side out. Carefully hold the skin in place with a piece of adhesive tape.

So, a banana really is a natural remedy for many ills. When you compare it to an apple, it has four times the protein, twice the carbohydrate, three times the phosphorus, five times the vitamin A and iron, and twice the other vitamins and minerals. It is also rich in potassium and is one of the best value foods around So maybe its time to change that well-known phrase so that we say, “A banana a day keeps the doctor away!”

One more tid-bit: Out of shoe polish? Take the inside of the banana skin, and rub directly on the shoe then polish with dry cloth.

What an amazing fruit!

Spectacular Monday on the Caribe

2007-01-22T20:22:00.000-06:00

What a wonderful, splendiforous day we had! As arranged during our Sunday lunch with Hans & Ede, David and Charlotte, and Melissa, we met today in Cahuita National Park for a swim and a picnic lunch. Since, as residents of CR, we only have to pay C600.00 each to enter the park at the Puerto Vargas end, Bob & I made the lunch, and the others walked in from the Cahuita end, where it’s only required that they make a small donation. If they had driven through the gate with us, it would have cost them US $6.00 each! To avoid that, the five of them walked all the way along the beach trail and met us. We had sandwiches, drinks, and fruit ready on ice and waiting, and they appeared grateful—as well as hungry after what turned out to be almost a 3 hour hike, though they did stop and admire the spiders, lizards, monkeys and other scenery along the way.

Hans and I took to the water almost immediately on their arrival. I confess I’d been in already, battling the wonderful breakers, but it was nice to have company. Melissa is also a real water baby, who, coincidentally, shares a birthdate with me (though not the year.) Charlotte, also a Pisces, has her birthday on March 12 a day after Melissa and I.

We swam, got rolled around in the wash-cycle of the Caribe, and had a wonderful time, ate, drank one bottle of wine (which Hans and Ede brought) between the 7 of us—poor planning, I realize, chased off the raccoons and the buzzards, who wanted desperately to share our lunch, then Bob and David drove Hans and Ede back to Cahuita, where David & Charlotte’s car was parked, and where Hans and Ede are staying. Melissa, Charlotte and I walked to Puerta Vargas to meet the cars which picked us up on their way back from Cahuita. We three gals saw one white-faced monkey and a whole troop of howlers. When we reached the gates, the guys and the cars were waiting us, and the 5 of us (minus Hans and Ede, sadly) came back here to The Little House where we toured the property, initiated David and Char as to how everything works in the house and outside, drank a little more wine, and enjoyed each other’s company. We’re hoping David and Char will enjoy our house when we’re back in BC and help keep it looking lived-in once in a while.

All in all, a really great day for Bob and Judyinthejungle.

Sunday, sweet Sunday

2007-01-21T10:11:00.000-06:00

Sunday, sweet Sunday, and it really is. Woke up to one of the most beautiful mornings we’ve seen yet. Not a single cloud, not booming from the surf, so swimming might be possible after all. There’s a warm, gentle breeze lightly perfumed from something--don’t know what—in the jungle. I checked, and it’s not our lemon tree, but it’s probably some other citrus in bloom down toward the shore.

This being flower day, here are a couple of the showiest in our garden. The first, Ixora, looks like a red ball about 5 inches across, composed of hundred of little florets. The bush is about 12 feeth high and maybe the same across and produces this big, splashy blooms all year round. The Heliconia is one of the two we have out of dozens of possibles. We'd need acres of land to grow all the heliconias there are. This one grows upright, while the other hangs down. It’s in bud today, and as soon as it blooms, I’ll get a shot or two of it. Both plants have leaves that stand way taller than I do. There are broad (about 8 inches) at the widest and shaped something like pointed paddle blades, growing up to six feet long, not counting the stem.

Saturday in the Jungle

2007-01-20T11:50:00.000-06:00

It's been a busy week in the Little House in the Jungle, writing, chatting with friends, making new friends, clearing out weeds, pruning, house (ugh) work, necessary but tedious, keeping the crud off the floors. It's also been very windy and somewhere in the area is a kapok tree (the kind of stuff lifejackets used to be made of--the lifejackets that got all soggy, soaking up water, grew heavier and heavier and drowned a lot of sailors during WWII). Anyway, when the kapok beans open, all that fluff comes flying out and sticks to our screens, comes in open doors and litters the floors, which are a beautiful, glowing golden brown wood. It looks terrible with crud on it, so mopping it up is a constant battle on windy days.

We've also have more than our fair share of rain, but for the past two days, it's turned right around and become gloriously sunny again, though we can still hear the surf booming like jet engines starting up. Too rough for swimming. Just right for surfing. Maybe I'll have to learn how.

What a nice surprise! I just got an e-mail from a lady in BC who tried to post the following comment to my blog, but because she's on a very slow system, it didn't work. I post it here with great pleasure because it's always great to hear good thingss.

“Judy
When we met in Costa Rica (Nov.06) you graciously gave me two copies of your novels. I was thrilled to receive them because they came straight from the author herself. I knew I would read them even though they weren’t normally the kind of books I would buy. I have never been a “romance” type reader or ever picked up a copy of anything dubbed “futuristic”.
Well, I actually read them both with in 2 weeks of getting home to Canada…and enjoyed them thoroughly. As soon as I finished “Whispers on the Wind” I could hardly wait to read “Hidden Embers”. I loved your characters & it was exciting to recognize so many of the place names from around B.C. Canada.
I’ll keep my eyes open for more of your novels in the future.
Your new “part-time” neighbor in Bordon de Limon, CR & fellow British Columbian.
Sherry L.

Thank you for that, Sherry. I'm grateful to you for taking the time to write.

Since Saturday is the day I'm supposed to focus on writing-related things, here goes: As I said last week, I, and many others, are downloading to and reading books on our PDAs, on other electronic reading devices, and even on our laptop screens. Downloaded books are usually cheaper than “real” books, and contain the full text as the paper and glue kind. They also allow a few more trees to live a little longer. What? Did I hear someone say “But I can’t take an electronic reader into the bath with me!” Well friend, I did it all the time when I had my nice, big Jacuzzi tub. I popped it into a Ziploc, sealed it up and ready happily and safely for as long as I wanted to or until the water got too cold and the tank was depleted of hot. Whichever came first.

On my HP iPAQ (my particular breed of PDA) I have about 10 books stored at any given time, all readable on a free download software, MicrosoftReader. I buy the books from a variety of web-sites. I also have the original Rocket e-Book, a larger device dedicated to reading books, as well as the newer version, the REB 1100. I store lots of books on both those devices, and even more on my computer so I can cross-load them whenever I want, to any of the three readers. The backlit screens on all of them makes reading in bed possible, without having to keep a light on to disturb Bob.

Again, people commenting on wanting the “feel” of a glue and paper book have said they could never read on an electronic screen. I believe those who say that, haven’t tried it because I one thought that way, too. But, traveling a lot meant carrying too many books. Boats have little storage room, so e-reading devices helped in my need to have a wide selection on tap at all times. One day, while reading on my first Rocket Book, I wanted a bit of information about where the plot was going, and without thinking about it, I flipped it over to read the “blurb” on the outside back cover! Of course it wasn’t there, but I had completely forgotten I wasn’t reading a paperback.

Sony has come out with a new electronic reading device, but so far as I’ve heard, many reports are negative, the lack of backlight being just one complaint, and the thinness of the machine another. I haven’t seen or held one, so I can’t comment personally. In the meantime, I’m happy with my current devices and the price and quality of books I can get for them.

Hope everyone has a great weekend. Ours promises to be good. Tomorrow, we're having lunch in Cahuita with the new friends we met this week, and some "older" friends we met two weeks ago. Then, time and ocean permitting, perhaps I'll get back into the surf and get tumbled around.

Tomorrow being Sunday, there'll be more pictures of tropical flowers. I'm thinking of dedicating one day to critters, as well, and another to birds.

Tropical Gardening

2007-01-14T11:39:00.000-06:00

It's tropical flower day! Tropical gardening is similar to gardening on the south coast of BC--it never really ends. In other parts of Canada, plants go to sleep for the winter and require nothing but blankets of straw and snow, but as it is in BC, there's always something here that needs pruning or trimming or transplanting. I was pruning the poinsettia bush (yes, bush) this morning and jammed some cuttings into the ground in other parts of the garden. In a few weeks, they'll be well rooted and growing. Don't know how long it will take for their red leaves to appear around the little yellow blob that is their real flower, but the plant I took them from is very old, so I'm afraid it might curl up and die one day. I want to be prepared with a bunch of its "hijas", daughters, to take its place.

This morning we walked down to Cacao Trails, a wildlife area and botanical garden where our young freind, Leah, originally from Colorado, works. She's the director and very, very generous with plant cuttings. She's going to have the gardener get me six rooted slips of a beautiful blue-flowered vine that looks something like clamatis, but grows like crazy. We'll start it out on the fence between us and the road, then as it gets established, will move pieces to the other sections of fence. Eventally, we be surrounded by a wall of periwinkle blue flowers. It appears to bloom year round.

Today, I have another orchid for you, and a lovely plant I've never been able to identify, but it might be one of the many gingers that grow here so well.

My Saturday Writing Blurb

2007-01-13T12:17:00.000-06:00

Saturday . . .hmm . . .oh, yes, this is the day I get to talk about writing. So, in between moments of mopping up Bob the Builder’s blood, applying bandages to injured body parts, and Witch Hazel to bruises, I did write. I’m revamping one of my all-time favorite titles, BAD BILLY CULVER, updating it and getting it ready for electronic publishing at www.belgravehouse.com .

Other writers have asked “Is there any money in electronic publishing?” I have to say that right now, there is only a small return, compared to paper published books, but since I already wrote the book, got a pretty nice advance on it, followed by royalties, whatever little bit I make on the e-sales is gravy. Thin gravy, but gravy still.

That’s pretty much the way of the industry right now for most authors, mighty thin gravy. What with Amazon and other giants selling the same title new and used—on the same page of their website!—book sales and royalties are way, way down for a large portion of us. Still, what would you do if you saw you could get a $10.00 book for $3.00? You’re human. You’d go for the bargain. We all would. What I’d ask, is that every once in a while, you’d buy a new book or six or a dozen, just so the authors gets some credit and the publisher won’t erase them from the slate of published authors they want to acquire books from again. You see, used book sales aren’t reported to anyone and neither the author not the publisher gets a dime. The used book guy, though, he gets pure profit from someone else’s hard work and brain child. But if every reader buys a new book now and then, we’ll all survive and your favorite authors might just be able to keep writing what first drew you, the reader, to them. Otherwise, they might have to resort to flipping burgers for a living. I do joke, of course. It’s not that bad, but frankly, it may come to that in time, which is why I’m getting in on the bottom rung of the electronic market, hoping it will soon begin to soar.

More on that next week. See you then . . . If you only visit the Little House in the Jungle on Saturdays.

2007-01-12T10:05:00.000-06:00

Today feels like January, a fact I never expected to encounter here in my jungle. Nevertheless, a cold, wet wind blowing up from Panama has brought a chill. I have visions of all our poor little lizards and geckos hiding out under rocks, in the crawlspace, maybe even in the attic, wearing their woollies, huddled, shivering, crying out for warmth. I know, by some lights, this would be seen as downright balmy. It’s 72 degrees F, about 21 C. Still when bodies have become acclimatized to temperatures twenty degrees higher, they suffer from such a sudden change. And shiver. And huddle. And go rushing around in search of blankets. At least, this body does!

Yesterday, a considerably nicer day temperature-wise, saw the Raising of the Wall, which is a major accomplishment because now, that outer wall just needs to be connected to the house at two or three points and soon after that, we’ll have a roof! I can hardly believe it. Dreams do come true. It’s pretty nice to have attainable dreams. I’m not one of those people with pipe dreams, such as retiring in the tropics. No way. Not me. I just want a roof over my patio to keep the sun from burning me and the rain from soaking me. Eventually, though, my next dream will be all-round screens to keep the bugs from biting my poor husband. Mostly, they leave me alone, but him, they love!

The temperature, since I started today’s post, had risen to 75 F and the sun has come out. Just like BC, I guess. If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.

East is East & Bob Went West

2007-01-11T08:42:00.000-06:00

Work on the Little House in the Jungle came to an abrupt halt on Monday afternoon when Bob The Builder climbed to the top of a stepladder and descended more rapidly than he'd planned. (No, he didn't get onto that thing that says in big, bold letters, NOT A STEP, but he might as well have). He'd just arrived on the last safe step and reached up to the top of The First Post, to see if he'd need a bigger ladder when it comes time to place the top cross pieces onto the structure, after all the uprights are cemented in, when the ladder went East, and Bob went West. He landed on his back, with a terrible thud that made the very air vibrate. Or maye that was me, shaking with fear. By the time I'd struggled out of my laid-back, supervisor-chair, he was getting to his feet. He had a gouge on the inside of one elbow, a scrape on the back of one knee, and a lot of bruises.

It took a little time to convince him he needed to stop working and come inside so I could apply Polysporin and bandages, but after a few pointed words from me, he complied with my wishes--especially when he tried to pick up his saw to put it away and discovered how badly sprained his right hand was. I think he finds it difficult to remember that 67 is not the same as 27. I warned him that he'd feel worse on the second day, and he learned that sometimes I'm right! As a dear friend of ours says "amazamentay!" (Hi Laurie!)

We took it very easy all day Tuesday, then yesterday, went into Pto. Viejo and met David and Charlottote Lovelady, who live in Heredia but are visiting out here for a few weeks. We had a great lunch and a couple of hours conversation, and feel we have two more friends. We hope they'll find just the house they're looking for and move out here.

Today, Thursday, Bob The Builder is back in action, perhaps a little slower, but off to buy more screws and bolts and other oddments builders need.

Oh, and a short PS: The ladder landed in the grassy East, not the solid concrete West, as Bob did, and lost only its little front shelf where nails sit and hammers hang. I'm just glad The First Post didn't turn into The Last Post, in either sense of the term.

The First Post

2007-01-08T10:37:00.000-06:00

No, I'm not starting posting all over again. This is about a different post. You know how some people get all misty when they hear "The Last Post"? Well, I got that way when I went outside this morning and discovered that the first post to support our new patio roof was in place. What a thrill! Soon, soon, soon, I will be protected from both sun and rain whenever I choose to be.

The pale-barked, crooked limbed tree in the background is a breadfruit tree. We have tried the fruit in a variety of ways and turned thumbs down on it because the only way we can make it palatable is with so much sugar and butter we'd be just as well off eating cinnamon rolls.

Have a good Monday, everyone. I'm off to work now in my back porch office which will, I hope, eventually be moved to more spacious quareters out there on the breezy, shady patio.

Sunday, a day of rest

2007-01-07T11:42:00.000-06:00

Today, and every Sunday I am able to do so, I'll post a couple of photos of flowers. Right now, our chocolate orchid, which smells like chocolate, is in full bloom. No one blossom is larger than a quarter, but oh, what a lovely scent it makes.

The next picture is the Queen Emma lily, which is, as you'll see, considerably taller than I am. I know, I know, not a difficult feat! But it's also one of the few truly aromatic flowers here. We like to pick one of those big blossom heads and put it in water in the house. It perfumes the whole place.

Saturday, my favorite day!

2007-01-06T10:50:00.000-06:00

Well, here it is, Saturday already and Saturday's the day I get to talk about my favorite subject: Writing. I write something (even if if just a short post for this blog) almost every day. It keeps my fingers limber and my brain active. Today, I'm happy to announce two books of mine that are now available online for people with almost any kind of electronic reading device from a PDA right up to the computer screen.

The first, THE DREAMING, is a never-before-published futuristic romance set on Earth following the Bio-Organic War. During this war, genetically enhanced disease organisms were lobbed across oceans and continents, more than decimating the world's population. Some people survived in small enclaves. In one of those, known as The Territory, women who'd been infected but survived, began giving birth to children with a variety of extra sensory powers. Hated and hunted by the State Authority for Protection and Purity (SAPPS), these talented children are protected by talented adults in hidden encampments known as Folds. Serena, a Sensitive who can detect telepathic communications from newly awakening Talents, finds a small child of emense talent on her doorstep. Within minutes, the SAPPS are there, determined to dispose of the child, and of Serena. She escapes through a bolt-hole built by her grandfather years before, but as she emerges, expecting to be safe, she's met by Andrew, a man who was once her lover, but betrayed her and her family, causing the death of her beloved brother. As much as she loathes and fears him, he provides the only way out for her and the fourteen-month-old girl she knows she must save.

The second book, SIREN SONG, formerly published in paperback by Bantam Books, is the story of an Orca researcher, a woman who dares to fly in the face of conventional wisdom because she's desperate to protect her ailing father and promote, and if possible, prove, his personal beliefs about Orcas and their interaction with humans. Into this comes the man she tried, as a precocious teenager, to seduce. Her only hope of getting rid of him before he learns of her father's illness and makes it public, thereby leaving him open to ridicule, is to try again to seduce him. She expects that, as a man of honor, he'll run right back to his wife. Only he doesn't have a wife any longer, and he's not running anywhere.

Both these books are available at www.belgravehouse.com If you're interested, scroll down to the "Authors" link and click on Judy Gill. Another click will bring up my books and their covers, and yet another will take you to a photo. Yup, that's me under the hat and, believe it or not (my kids don't) that's iced coffee in my cup.

For those of you who are also writers, especially if you use a laptop and take it places, like for walks, or out for coffee, or visiting friends, or on long flights, please take note of my wonderful invention pictured above. A regular Martha, I am, I am, but plan to stay on the fair side of the law, or at least not get caught. Have a great weekend!

Sunshine!

2007-01-05T12:01:00.000-06:00

Now, this is better! The downpour that started about 5 hours ago has quit, the sky is blue between the clouds, which are rapidly blowing east out to the Caribbean Islanders who probably need the water anyway, and building can recommence as soon as Bob the Builder gets back with the nuts, bolts, screws, nails, drill bits etc. he needs from the hardware store. As well as more wine for me, The Supervisor, of course.

Rain Storm Halts Building

2007-01-04T17:00:00.000-06:00

The growth of the Little House has come to an abrupt and soggy end for the moment. We're experiencing a tropical deluge and all our new wood is getting wet. Bob The Builder has taken refuge inside. When I figure out how, I plan to post pictures of progress, as well as some of the plants we're growing, beautiful flowers, itty-bitty coconut trees that are overshadowed by the huge ones growing all around three sides of our house, outside the fence. I love to watch them waving in the breeze, and hope ours grow fast because I want that nice, deep shade the provide.

The little house is growing

2007-01-04T11:10:00.000-06:00

After a year of living here (except for the months we were boating in BC) we knew we had to build on. Now, we have a huge cement slab, half the size of the house. It'll soon be roofed and screened, and will become our favorite sitting and dining area, enabling us to do our second favorite thing--have parties with friends.

Also, years ago I decided that some day I would have a greenhouse where I could grow orchids. Well, we're growing orchids, all right, but with no need of a greenhouse. Of course, we're also growing a lot of tall, unfamiliar weeds that Bob has to cut down regularly while I'm lolly-gagging around putting words on my laptop screen. The upside of this is that some of these weeds turn out to be spectacular flowers. Tropical flowers, far better than the ones I used to buy in plant nurseries and keep in a sunny window in what I fondly called my "jungle". Wow! Was I wrong about what a jungle really is.