Author Archives: txherper@gmail.com

Feeling Rather Under the Weather

November 30, 2011 – 2:28 am

At 4:30 I awoke sweating and terribly dehydrated. I walked out of my cabin and in the absolute darkness attempted to walk the wet rail-less elevated walkways, failing miserably. Twice I fell off and rolled down the hill. I walked back up and crawled on the walkway with my right hand clasped over the edge to the house. Arriving at the house I fumbled with the monkey proof latch and made my way into the kitchen. It was profoundly dark. I felt my way over to the refrigerator and felt for the monkey proof hasp, reaching inside I couldn’t find anything but food. I couldn’t find the sink. I went outside and looked for the dogs water bowl, felt in and it was empty.
Finally the dogs entered the house and made enough noise to wake Michelle who came down turned on the light and gave me a couple of liters of water. Ok, I’m not trying to make my way back to the cabin, I’ll just hang out in the hammock. I lay there, chilled from the cool air that rolls down off the mountain across the small expanse of sea between here and the mainland.
Finally, dawn broke and people started appearing. Time to feed my dog, who was tied up on the boat dock to prevent him from attacking the monkey again. Down to the dock, feeling ill. Back up 187 steps I was sweating profusely and stumbling. Michelle saw me and cried out for someone to come help me down the stairs into the house and placed me back in the hammock. I was shaking and so weak I couldn’t lift my arms. She plied me with juices and spoon feed me peanut butter then wiped me down with cool wet rags. Another volunteer took over the job. More juice, more juice.
Michelle came out with a blood pressure tester and her diabetic equipment. She took my blood pressure with a very concerned look on her face and then took my blood sugar readings and ran out of the room. Time passed, I don’t know how much. “Jim, we have to get you to a hospital can you walk?” “Not yet.” My blood sugar was so low it wouldn’t even register on the device. More juice. About an hour later I was instructed to go to Casa Verde to meet the floating doctors who would take me to a hospital with no expectation that I would be returning soon. Karl would drive the boat and come back but he couldn’t find the place so I was provided with Humberto, an employee of De La Luna and Dan, a volunteer. Heavily laden we started off to town.
First stop, gas up. This took forever as the gas was siphoned into five gallon buckets and then siphoned into the boat. Dan bought me five candy bars. I ate three right away. We proceeded slowly in some very rough seas through shitty weather. Droning on we made it back to town a couple of hours later. No way to dock at Casa Verde, the seas were too rough, so we docked at the hardware store and walked to Casa Verde. I found nothing but regulars. Where was this doctor?
Dan and Karl and I took a taxi to the hospital. After a quick admission I was checked and my glucose levels were at 182 not bad after having had five candy bars in an hour. I could walk now.
Nobody could get a hold of Michelle, she had turned her phone off.
Off to Casa Verde to look for the doctors again, I walked the length of town. It turns out that the whole town knew of my plight, as Michelle had considerately posted it on Facebook. that people had been gathered for the big event, some out of morbid curiosity and some with honey and sugar drinks. But the doctors had gone.
I walked the streets of Bocas, barefoot in muddy and bloody clothes in the rain.
I bought yet another cell phone, my last one destroyed in a quick rain. Now to make some phone calls.
Back to hospital to look for Dan, put I couldn’t find the right door, back to town to find Karl to get Dan. Karl left and Dan showed up.
Karl got an email from Michelle. Could I pick up a generator she was buying? Dan and I went off to the Barracuda to look for Ellene, who’s husband Clay owned the generator. Clay is the guy who built my house and this was the generator he had used. Ellene called Clay and we went off to inspect the generator. It was fine. So I picked it for for Michelle and Clay and Dan carried it to the boat.
A tall skinny guy with horrible teeth rode by on a bike. “Hey, Jim!” “Flaco, can you watch my dogs for a while?” Well, he doesn’t speak English and I, well, you know, can’t speak Spanish but the concept was conveyed. I gave him $40 to be apportioned between dog food and services rendered. Thirty dollars worth of dog food will last them a month. Flaco makes about $10 a day. This is a good deal for each of us.
Back to get boat, laden with two big adults on the bow and a heavy generator in on the foredeck. The boat plowed through the chop, bow low. We stopped at my house to get more clothes and other necessities and then headed back to De La Luna in Loma Partida. We headed due south slowly through rough water. I learned several short cuts from Humberto, the man knows every clump of mangrove in this archipelago. It was a wet rough ride, but I was feeling mostly human.
When we finally got to De La Luna the girls were bathing in the ocean. Interesting, I shower when I get out to get off the salt water. Repeated shouts from the house where I found that the Bocas Emergency Network had been prepared to start an all boats search for me when we finally got to Bocas. The doctor thought based on the condition described when we left that I would probably go into shock before we ever made it. It takes a lot to kill a bull.
Dinner of otoy again. More juice. An evening of various card games with four cute young women, a couple of young guys and Karl. So much laughter for hours with nobody drinking or getting high. This is so much better than Bocas Town.
We went to bed around nine. I got some sleep, not enough.
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Off to De La Luna

November 29, 2011 – 2:00 am

Karl needed a change of pace and I was supposed to pick a generator at four o’clock and take it to De La Luna in Loma Partida, a beautiful island on the south end of the Bocas del Toro archipelago. Michelle Welty Moore, the owner and a good friend asked I would pick up a volunteer, Rain, and transport her from Bocas, thereby saving her $60 to $120 for a water taxi fare. Yeah, it’s a bit of a haul out there.
I pulled up to Casa Verde at the appointed hour and tried to contact the owner of the generator but he wasn’t answering his phone.We took off on on what I thought at the time must be one of the most indirect routes ever. We were met at the dock by Sam, Dan and Lizzie, some of the volunteers currently working at the place.
Due to the fact that my dog Hayu had nearly killed Michelle’s monkey on my previous trip I was asked to keep him on the dock. We headed up to the house with my other dog, Jessica who was born at the place. Very soon Jessica was beset upon by Topo, the monkey and Michelle picked up the protesting monkey, being bitten in the process and proceeded to put it in a cage normally used for rehabilitation of animals although Topo is the most serious candidate for rehabilitation of any pet I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. While Hayu sulked on the dock, Topo raged in his cage.
Dinner followed by a rowdy evening of conversation mostly about our respective travel adventures.
The monkey is still in its cage.  
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More Mayhem and Madness

November 28, 2011 – 2:05 am
Boot Rack

Our boot solution failed as Topo, the monkey, jumped on each pole with great exertion until he knocked them down. Thanks buddy. Nail board to walk nail poles to board.
Nope can’t nail the board to the walk, it’s nispero, one must drill a pilot hole to drive a nail. We have the correct drill bits, but they are locked up and the keyholder has left town. Turning a ten minute project into a two hour project.
Cayuca
It rained heavily last night. The bilge pump in the Cayuca was a success. Just finished a temporary wire in. Had to run the recharger to an outlet in the kitchen, no outlets upstairs. Let’s hope someone doesn’t unplug it to put in a blender.
The fruit tree from hell.
I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but it drops ping pong ball sized pieces of fruit over an area exceeding a one hundred foot radius. The fruits are so numerous they touch, the ground is blanketed with these rotting fruits. The loudest sound at night is the sound of these fruits dropping from a height of 150 feet. Can you say “firewood?”
Fish and Chicken
The kids were fishing on the dock, being fairly productive, at least Dan was. They saw some kind of fish they didn’t know but it fled before they could don scuba gear and get out my speargun. I joined them and went for a brief swim. Amanda came down and said, “Jim, there is a badly injured hen.” “Where is it?” “Sierra is holding it up at the house.”
I walked up the long flight of stairs to see Sierra holding a large hen, its head drooping and a large wound in the middle of the upper back. Diva, my Jessica’s sister had been chasing chickens all morning. No doubt what happened here. I was asked, “Do we have any gauze?” “No, but I have a machete, it’s a chicken. Let’s put it out of its misery and eat it.” “Do you know how to do that?” “What, cut the head off a chicken? I’ll figure it out.”
I took the hen and hung it by its feet to bleed out. The monkey hopped down and started licking the blood, the cat stood by presenting, Diva came over to inspect her work and the crew stood around and took pictures. I fetched the cauldron, well, I’m sure you’ve figured out the rest.
Nope, I inspected the wound, it was maggot infested. I decided to brine the chicken, It is now chicken of the sea. I guess six small fish will have to suffice for the eight of us with some coleslaw and rice. No vegetable oil.
During dinner Topo ran out with some chiote, a green vegetable. Apparently someone had failed to lock the refrigerator.
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Puerto Viejo to Bocas

November 16, 2011 – 11:11 pm

Puerto Viejo to Bocas via Bus
Tickets may be purchased at the MEPE bus terminal on the waterfront on then end of town nearest the bridge to Playa Negro for the Colone equivalent of $3 which on 14 November 2011 was 1,470.
The bus stops in Bribri after 20 minutes and continues to Sixaola, arriving about an hour and 15 minutes after leaving Puerto Viejo.
With one’s back to the bus terminal follow the road to the right to the end, make a quick jog to the left and ascend the stairs. Maybe thirty yards to the left is a blue building on the right where a declaration is to be obtained, completed and returned with one’s passport which should be promptly stamped without fee.
Exiting the building, make a right and cross the bridge. If your flight out is via San Jose you must present a bus ticket back to San Jose. If one does not have one there is a little blue box visible on the right, with one’s back to the bridge at which one can be obtained for $14 for a ride from Changuinola, Panama back to San Jose from one of the surliest women to man a booth. I know of many who have bought these tickets, which are good for a year, but no one who has actually taken a bus from Changuinola. It’s probably best just to have a forged flight confirmation out of Panama City in hand.
Proceed to immigration, the first window past customs. No forms are necessary other than your flight confirmation or bus ticket to show that you actually intend to leave Panama. Eventually you will get your passport stamped by a clerk who may just decide to stop working in the middle of anybody’s processing.
Next stop is next door where an entry stamp is obtained without ceremony for $3.
By this time you will probably have been besieged by people running the cooperativa’s and have been offered a shared ride in a van for $10 to Almirante.
Arriving in Almirante you will pass my preferred water taxi operator, turn around and walk back the 30 meters to the purple Bocas Marine Tours building, pay your $5 and promptly on the next half hour you will find your boat departing for Bocas for a twenty to twenty five minute ride.
Welcome to paradise!
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Puerto Viejo

November 13, 2011 – 11:05 pm

Margot headed off for the beach on her bike. Karl and I rented bikes and rode down to Cocles, dropping in on my former landlady at the store she runs. I hadn’t seen her boy who has just turned two. “Jim, you’ve lost a lot of weight.” Yeah, exercise will do that although I’m still many pounds up from where I was last December at the end of my year of tromping in the Andes. Slowly working off the pounds I accumulated in London. Time to spend at least an hour a morning swimming. Back to town move from the Hotel to Margot’s hostel and off again on the bikes, a walk through the rain forest and along the shore, back up the road, my former thrice a day route when I lived in Cocles. Back to the hostel, damn sleep deprived, nap. Off to dinner. We hit Veronica’s but in my brilliance I suggested Chile Rojo. I split a lettuceless fatoush and vegetarian dinner with Karl. Bland, soft falafels, runny hummous, a tablespoon of tabouleh that was more bulgar wheat than parsley, almost devoid of mint. Margot’s vegetable curry apparently could have been worse which is not something we could report about our meal. Rain. Rain. Rain. Rain. Well it is November, is it ever going to stop? We headed back to the hostel via the grocery store so that Karl and I could make some sandwiches. At least Chile Rojo had the decency to provide only tiny portions of their horrible food.
Puerto Viejo is a lovely little town actually far nicer than Bocas Town and with much better grocery stores.   I have to say, however that Bocas is far better once one leaves town.  
Cards. Oops, another problem with sleeping arrangements. I dashed out to Hotel Puerto Viejo and secured a room just as they were closing the window. No I hadn’t, the room was occupied. Let’s try another room. I got my key and unlocked the padlock that secured the bolt to the door. Between the bolt and the door it looked like a chicken coop. Right past the door the steps led up. It essentially was a chicken coop, except that in a chicken coop the bugs would have been eaten.
I stopped at a Tex-Mex restaurant for a beer on my way to my room.  Eight cops came in and searched everybody in the place but me.  I’ve never seen that before.
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Fortuna to Puerto Viejo

November 12, 2011 – 11:35 am

To hell with it. Let’s forego all of these activities and just go back to the sea. Off to Puerto Viejo. We drove back to San Jose to return the car five days early. Both my passengers slept while I wearily drove for three and a half hours. The lot was closed. Great. The phone had been talked out of minutes so we couldn’t call. Bought some minutes. Called them up and told them I didn’t want to wait until two for them to show up so that I could turn in the car and then catch the four o’clock bus. Can’t I just leave it here? Hell, they told me I could leave it on the border at Sixaola for a $150 pickup fee, why couldn’t I just leave it at the office? He called the guard. No luck. Finally I was told to just leave the key under the mat. We caught a taxi to Bus Terminal El Caribe. A taxi driver told us “That was the twelve o’clock bus, the next one doesn’t leave until two.” What of it? We wanted to catch it but this was hardly a disaster. “Let’s go catch it.” We piled into his cab and he raced off into traffic, weaving in and out of traffic and caught up to it after three or four miles. The cab driver positioned himself and waved three fingers out the window. The bus pulled over. The driver wanted 4,000 Colones for his effort. Excessive for the distance but it beat waiting in the terminal for another two hours. Unfortunately it meant we were getting on a bus without Karl having had a chance to eat. We boarded the bus and then forked over 4,725 Colones apiece for the four hour ride in comfortable seats.
Margot had reservations at a lovely hostel that was otherwise full. Karl and I found a hotel with a great location, an ugly yard, dogs that bark every five minutes and rock hard mattresses. Whatever. Off to Sonya’s for dinner. “Buenes Noches, Sonya.” “Hola, Mi amor! It has been one, two years?” “Two.” Fish tacos for dinner on the sea shore.
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Hanging Bridges

November 12, 2011 – 2:30 am
Up and out, breakfast, off to the hanging bridges. Didn’t see shit.  Our 2009 trip to The Hanging Bridges I have never spent so much time in the jungle and seen so little wild life. “Oh, that happens a lot when I’m around.” Hmmm.

At some point near a tunnel Karl said, remember if we go under the tunnel, back around the top and down the path we get that awesome view and those plants that fold up when we touch them and that view of the Volcano?  Now I do.  I couldn’t have found it again if my life depended on it.   Yup, Karl, you were absolutely correct.

Back to town. “No more activities today, ok?” Sure, I can do nothing. Can’t do it well, but I can do it. Dinner, then hammer time. Here Karl, you miss your girlfriend give her a call for a few minutes. Margot handed over her phone. Karl returned 43 minutes later when he had exhausted the prepaid account with no clue how long he had been talking. We walked back.
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Off to Fortuna

November 11, 2011 – 2:00 am

Dentist

Last day in San Jose. This was fast and thank God. Margot stayed back at the hotel and Karl and I headed off to the dentist. Karl’s inspection was done in a minute. Maurice took him off to photograph some graffiti while I had 35 years of cigarette and coffee stains blasted off my chompers with 25% hydrogen peroxide and ultraviolet light. I’ll spare you the details of the procedure and my white burned gums.

Off to Fortuna

Volcano time. We rented a car and headed out to see Volcan Arenal via Volcan Poas. Just north of San Jose lies Volcan Poas. It’s a lovely drive from Alejualah; the drive alone is worth the trip. As we climbed the volcano things were looking pretty sketchy. The afternoon clouds were coming in. I pulled up to the ticket gate and asked the lovely Tica “Do you speak English?” Her response was very clear and very carefully enunciated but it soon became apparent that this was her most practiced phrase. She then told us it was partly cloudy at the top. Partly? Partly? That hardly seemed likely. Nobody in the car wanted to say, “Yeah, let’s give it a shot anyway.” or “No, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” We bought tickets and took the walk. Arriving at the summit, where one would peer down into the volcano, see the bubbling sulfur on the far side of the lagoon the visibility was maybe 10 feet. No clue we were near a volcano. NEXT!

Back to the car, I drove for three hours to Fortuna. We arrived at the ApartHotel at which I had formerly lived. Karl got out and greeted Rudy with “Fuck you, my friend.” With Rudy, that is entirely appropriate. I think it’s one of the phrases he teaches his English language students as a typical American phrase. My room, #7, was occupied. He wanted to place us in another room a single room with no couches, no refrigerator or kitchen and no TV, basically a really large closet with a bed. We went out for dinner, it’s not hard to please a vegan who is more than happy to eat rice and beans for every meal.

When we returned a sofa bed had been carried down into the room. “Karl can have the couch, you can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.” This won’t do. “You are so high maintenance.” Off to find suitable accomodations, returning. “Let me get Rudy to move this guy’s car.” “It’s less than half a mile, my backpack isn’t very heavy, the guy might be asleep, are you always this high maintenance?” What a trooper.
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Dental Work

November 9, 2011 – 11:20 pm

Dentist

One spring day, many years ago, I took my boys out of school so that I could fly them to an exotic location, there having been so many that I don’t recall the destination. That was the only day of school my son Karl has ever missed. Karl has not been sick a single day in his twenty three years.
In April he to a detour while riding home on his bike from a bar late at night. After face planting into a parked automobile he found himself absent an upper incisor and with two chipped bicuspids. Shortly thereafter the other upper incisor was pulled to complete that West Virginia Mobile Home look.
Today we start to rectify the situation. A dentist in San Jose Costa Rica was highly recommended by a woman in Bocas who had the full complement of her dentition replaced. Karl awoke after a restless night, we had a bountiful breakfast and were driven to the dentist’s office by a driver, Maurice, a service that is included in the fees as is pickup and drop off from the airport. Accustomed to overblown dental offices in Southlake, Texas designed to impress the little attached building did little to appease Karl’s growing apprehension. We met the doctor for the first time and Karl was handed a stack of medical disclaimers. I watched him read them with his forehead on his hand possibility of stroke, paralysis, bleeding, coronary failure, death among other warnings followed the description of every procedure include local anaesthetic. “Karl, all your friends have had local anaesthetics, it’s no big deal.” Karl has never had a cavity so this is new to him. After that, it’s just a couple of holes drilled in the head and some screws. Buck up, Bucko.

Karl entered the dental chair and was quickly examined and was offered two options. In the traditional approach a couple of holes are drilled, the screws inserted and the gums stitched shut. The jaw is given four to six months to heal and fuse to the screws. The doctor also offered a second option in which the teeth are immediately affixed to the screws. Nothing harder than baby food can be eaten for six months and any errant tap on the teeth by a beer bottle (more likely) or a coffee cup could cause the formation of fibrous tissue rather than bones. Overhearing this, I walked in and had a brief talk with Karl. “Don’t worry about me flying you down here again. Don’t be crazy. You can’t go six months eating oatmeal. This is just an excuse to get you down here again.” OK, doc, just the screws today.
Laughing gas, local anaesthesia, more nitrous oxide. While Karl, buzzing under the gas was taking pictures of himself with his cell phone the doctor set about drilling and screwing. An hour later all was done and Karl walked out with a bloody mouth full of gauze. We were given two prescriptions for pain and one for antibiotics. Maurice drove us to the pharmacy where the prescriptions were filled for $23. Ummm, about these syringes. Fortunately the pharmacist took Karl aside and gave him a shot in the ass. I’ve never injected a human and didn’t feel the need to practice on my older son. Maurice took Karl back to the house where he quickly found sleep.

Glasses

Margot needed some eyewear. I had related home much less expensive eyeglasses were in Panama and that exams were free. We throught we’d give CR a shot. Maurice dropped us off in front of an optical store/pharmacy/restaurant. Few frames were displayed but Margot approached the counter and was met by a very heavily made up trans-sexual or transvestite with an extremely large cleft chin as the most prominent feature on a very large head. The cleft must have been an inch and a half long and at least 3/8” deep. It was akin to having a small ass at the base of her face above which was enough makeup to make a small pancake and a couple of whisk brooms attached to her eyelids. I stood back to watch the show.
The optician kept insisting on frames gaudily adorned on the temples of the outrageously colored frames. Each pair was presented to Margo. Rather than just rejecting them outright she courteously feigned the possibility that they might be appropriate for her. After taking them off the optician would don them and flutter his long eyelashes and say “Beautiful!”, the lashes near reaching the lenses. Every pair, same thing. Eventually a suitable pair was found for $130 for frames and lenses.
An old man, the optometrist gave Margot an exam. No time was wasted on glaucoma, color blindness, or any fancy machines that would give an automatic determination of initial estimate of prescription. Just an old fashioned eye chart consisting of symbols of a wide letter E in each of four positions. That done, as Margot was paying for the glasses I spotted a Tica, all boobs, big butt, tight skirt, tight blouse and high heels standing in the doorway. I looked at the old man. He made no attempt to disguise the shit eating grin on his face as he caught my eye and tried to point out that which could not be missed.

Museum of Modern Art

That taken care of we walked to the Museum of Modern Art. Margot felt it my manly responsibility to navigate. Sorry, that’s just laughable. If a sense of direction is required to get a man badge, mine would have been yanked from my sash a long time ago. Still, with a map in hand we found our way to a converted house with a locked front door. Hmmm. Ok, the guy came and let us in.


The first room had a large sheet of canvas with some bullet holes painted on it. After that, things go so bad that it was great. This museum was a parody of modern art. One room had as the masterpiece, a collection of cardboard boxes painted with blue clouds were strewn about on the floor. It made a statement to me. A folding wooden ruler with a spoon affixed was hanging by a fishing line from the ceiling. Damn, I was museum worthy in first grade except I would have had my ass slapped for screwing a spoon to a perfectly good carpentry tool. I was relieved to find that Margot found no merit to any of the pieces. I would have had to leave her there.

What next?

Don’t want to see the pre-colombian gold museum? Ok, I’ll be back some day. Books. The lady needs books. Strange. Bookstore after bookstore with books in English. Costa Rica is the Walt Disney World of Central America authentic only in being true to the Costa Rica, bring on the tourists machine. Ok, now what? Call Maurice, “take me home.” On the way I saw a Colombia sportswear store. My only pair of long pants, cargo nylon, convertible to shorts has disappeared, perhaps dragged off into the jungle by one of my puppies, perhaps in some strange void into which things disappear and then reappear in my little house. Who knows? But I need a pair of long pants for jungle walks.
Popping in the store I found the exact pair. Then another pair and a couple of long sleeved fishing guide shirts and a rain jacket. Margot pointed out that I amused the woman. Really? I was just buying shit. Who knows? Maybe people don’t go in their store and buy $400 worth of shit in six minutes very often.
Back to the house/hotel. Karl rises from the dead. Dinner, games, chat, mystery dive watch gift received and off to bed.
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Trip to San Jose

November 8, 2011 – 11:13 pm
Margot, Brandy, Nick and I left my house at seven in the morning.  I dropped my boat off at Earl’s to be repainted and Margot and I walked to the the airport for our flight to San Jose.  Ten minutes later we arrived, had our boarding passes in hand a minute after that.  I don’t know why they want passengers to show up an hour and a half early at this one gate one runway airport.I had to show that I had a flight out of Costa Rica before I could get my boarding pass.  Actually I’m coming back on a bus, but I’ve been told if you are flying in you have to show a flight out.   I had doctored and email confirmation to my son, substituting my name for his, printed it off and all was good.   We walked down to the immigration office inside the terminal and got our passports stamped and paid our $15 exit fees.

I only had carry on but Margot’s backpack was far too big so it had to be checked.  “Has this bag been inspected?”  Margot said that it had not.  “You should have just said, ‘yes'”.   “But it hasn’t been.”   Ok, off to “security”  where we walked into a room placed it on a desk and a guy gave it the most cursory of inspections.   No tag, no paperwork, one now just had the right to say “Yes, it has been inspected.”  The bag was turned over to check-in, which meant that it was placed on the floor near the door.

A wonderfully painted prop plane pulled up.  An hour later about a dozen passengers boarded and we had a wonderful low altitude flight over the mountains at but a few thousand feet.  The scenery was spectacular most of the trip, occasionally obscured by clouds.   Arriving in San Jose we turned in our forms, I showed my forged exit flight details and we cleared the terminal in about a minute.

My son was coming in a few hours to the other airport.   We took a bus to “Coca Cola” a region in town for which I can offer no explanation about the name.   We wandered through fruit stalls and generally killed some time.  Finally it was time to go to the other airport.   Taxi drivers constantly asked “Where are you going?”  It’s really none of your business.   A couple of times we told them and were offered a ride for the equivalent of $22 to $28, “no waiting.”  Great, what a plus for a couple killing time.   We walked about a mile to the bus terminal where there were five buses queued up to leave, as soon as one would fill the next would go.   We waited two minutes to board, got on the bus and paid 450 colones, just short of a buck and took big spacious seats that were far more comfortable than the back seat of a Corolla and enjoyed an easy ride to the airport.

Half an hour later my son Karl’s flight arrived.  Unfortunately there were two exit doors, 50 yards apart and I had no idea through which he would exit.   I had not known that free transport to the bed, breakfast and dinner place was included with the dental bill.   Two drivers told me the price was $30 to get to our lodgings.  I had no idea where the place was.  As is everything else in Costa Rica, its location was relative to other well known locations.   Karl showed up and we headed off to our lodgings.  Margot explained that she was a vegan and what that meant to Maria, who owns and runs the place.

Around seven dinner was laid out, steak, three kinds of vegetables, soup, salad, fruit and breads and accommodation had been made for Margot’s diet.  For $30 a night one gets a private room with a TV, access to a huge screen house computer, free phone calls anywhere in the world a large deck, a living room and a fully stocked kitchen as well as a huge breakfast and dinner.  We were joined by another fellow I could never understand a gravelly voiced man from Louisiana who was temporarily living in the place.

We did nothing more than play a little checkers, chat and go to bed early.

 

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