Okay, One Last Picture

Family portrait including David, taken by David

Pictures from David's Creative Hand

December 5, 2007

Here are a few pictures from a real photographer. David has such an interesting way of capturing a moment; we see it in his Burning Man photos, in his every day shots of the family, and here in the following.



A friendly little boa constrictor peeking out of the trees



Surfer Dude with Surfer Dog


Surfer Dog with love in his eyes



National Geographic quality picture!


Needs no words



Nor this


Surfer Dude upside down with Surfer Dog. Now do you believe me?



The Gulls, Cassi, Jessi, and Avery


The buoys, Michael and Dylan


Two billboard angels looking disapprovingly at a lazy guy


Kelly shimmering in the pool


A capuchine peaking at us through the trees


Braver now--we're all just plain folk


A beautiful sunset as seen from our deck

Some Random Pictures

View of the ocean and Manuel Antonio beach from our pool deck



Girls and boys just wanna have fun



On the mangrove tour



A view of the house from the pool



Cuban cigars are not the only commodity sold here.



Dyland with his surfing instructor



Lobster dinner the first night.


The street adjacent to the beach at Manuel Antonio



Having lunch the first day at Los Suenos (Dreams), a lovely Marriott resort



Ain't love grand?



This is one of many ohmygod bridges where you cross single file one direction at a time. There is literally no extra space on either side and they are mostly rusty and rickety. Not a very comforting experience, but we made it!

Our Last Day in Manuel Antonio

Super cool surfer dude Michael. He picked it up in no time.



Ditto Dylan.

So did the girls but I didn't get pictures. Love this one of Avery.

November 27, 2007

Two days have passed since the zip-lining adventure and we are now on the plane bound for Dallas, with the Costa Rica experience about to be stored in our memory bank with the many other lovely vacations we have been fortunate enough to enjoy.

I haven’t contributed to this chronicle for a couple of days because I was busy soaking up the local atmosphere in the knowledge that we would soon be wrapping it up. Time seems to move slowly for the first half of any journey, but then flies by for the second. So it was with this.

Mark and family had been picked up about 1:00 on Sunday to fly “Nature Air” back to San Jose where they were spending the night at the same hotel we stayed in on the way, with a flight home on Monday. We had debated whether to try to change our plans and fly rather than drive, and then we got an email from them that evening saying the flight was awesome, the plane stable and that we should do the same. But alas, we had waffled too long and the only openings for seven were on the 6:30 AM flight this morning. So we decided to go back by van as originally arranged. It wasn’t so bad—about three hours door to door and then a lovely airport lunch at Schlotsky’s, what could be better.

I mentioned in the previous blog that we had rented a car and had planned to drive to Domenical the day after Mark et al left. With that planned, we pretty much stayed in the rest of Sunday, lounging by the pool and searching for monkeys.

It’s a funny thing about the monkeys. While other animals usually shy away from humans and are very difficult to spot, the monkeys act like they are just as interested in us as we are in them. Mostly they travel in “troops” (which I have been informed that I spelled wrong on previous blogs—“troupes” are traveling actors), and as they are passing by it almost seems as if they are saying to each other, “Hey guys, look, there are some of those odd-looking humans jumping up and down and making those strange squealing noises. Let’s go check them out.” Then they come over and eye us up and down, cautiously at first lest we bite, and then more boldly, when they decide we mean them no harm and might even be the source of something good to eat. First one or two will get up on the roof of the house and peer down at us as if they are scouting for the others, then a few will appear in the trees and finally the braver ones will come right up to the pool deck and stare at us from the railing. We are the paparazzi, snapping pictures like mad, and they are stars, looking bored and annoyed by the trappings of fame. Finally, they wander off through the trees and all you can see is the rustle of the branches as they trapeze their way to their next diversion.

Oh how tempting it was to feed them thus buying their love for longer periods, but we were told not to (in fact, given ten good reasons not to in the house book) so we obeyed the rules and never proffered so much as a banana slice when it was just us. Only Mariela and Gilbert would offer a banana or two if the monks showed up when they were there. I guess the rules don’t apply to the locals. But luckily, we did see them I think every day so we are not complaining.

Yesterday, the rental car was due to be delivered at 9 AM, we were to drive to Domenical, meet with Matteas the realtor and see a couple of properties. Then we were going to meet Todd and Lezlie for lunch at a French (of all things) restaurant. It all sounded quite civilized and lovely. But it was not to be. The rental car didn’t show up at 9:00, at 9:20 David called Melissa, the manager, who called them and was told that the other people didn’t get the car back on time and it would be 11:00 before they could come. At 11:00, they weren’t there and through another phone call we found that they had to get a car somewhere else because the first story was not accurate and the other car had not been returned at all. This evidently is a rental car company with only one car to be rented.

A little after 11:30, the car arrives and by now David and Kelly are mad and determined not to pay the full $95 but the guy would only knock $10 off the fee. The real issue though was one of time. David wanted to be back before dark which occurs at 5:30 and since it is at least an hour and a half away, we would have very little time to be there.

We were disappointed but we’re over it. Instead, we changed clothes and went to the beach and had lunch in the same restaurant where I had had the mahi mahi the first day. And a guitarist with bad teeth sang Malaguena su Las Rosas to me and me alone.

Tom and I are not beach people any more although we loved it when we were younger, but after lunch yesterday we sat on beach chairs under umbrellas and watched the passing scene. There are dogs on the beach who live there, apparently having no desire to be adopted by their adoring fans. One beach dog, which Kelly named Beethoven, is a true wonder of the world. He surfs and plays soccer! There is a surfing dude named Ariel whom all of us girls were lusting after (bronzed sculptured bod, curly shoulder length hair, unbelievable surfer dude moves) who takes the dog out with him and then rides the surf with the dog sitting on the front as cool as can be. David has a picture of the dude riding the board while standing on his head with the dog perched in front as if watching out for sharks. I am not kidding! The dude, not the dog, also surfed with two boards at a time, though not very successfully. He'll master it though, I'll bet.

Then there was a soccer game on the beach. Soccer must be huge in Costa Rica, because we saw a lot of it being played with great skill. But the best game was between another cute young Tico (I forgot to tell you that Costa Ricans are known as Ticos) and Beethoven the beach dog. Tico would throw the ball as hard as he could and Beethoven would run like crazy down the beach, pick up the ball with his teeth and bring it back. Then Tico would literally play soccer by kicking the ball with his feet while Beethoven would try to get the ball away from him.

Later: my computer ran out of juice after the above and now I sit in my own bedroom getting ready to post this. Tomorrow I will (I hope) post some pictures and then bid a fond adios to Costa Rica--until next time, which I am sure will come.

Pura Vida! As the Ticos say.

The Canopy Tour, aka, ZIP-LINING!

I have no pictures of the zip-lining experience so here are some more pictures of monkeys



Peering down at us from the roof of the house, no doubt checking to see if we are friend or foe

Much braver now

Sitting on the deck railing with us right there

November 25, 2007

Mark and family have just left to go home, reducing our little group to a mere seven. The days are dwindling down to a precious few; just today and tomorrow and then we leave for the real world. Tomorrow we are going to rent a car and David and Kelly are going to drive us all to Domenical, about 45 km south of here where they hope to buy some land and build a house sooner or later. Their friends, Todd and Lezlie White, are building as we speak and we will see their house in progress, and maybe even have lunch with them. But first things first.

Yesterday, we were up early. We had to be ready for a 7:00 AM pick-up for our ”Canopy Tour”, a Costa Rican euphemism for being strapped into a boa-constrictor like harness, with a smelly helmet slapped on your head, attached to a cable hundreds of feet in the air, and flung from a platform high in the trees in hopes of landing safely on the other side of the jungle. It is also called “Zip-lining.”

Kelly had opted out of this one on the grounds that she doesn’t like heights, but the rest of us, including your humble correspondent, boarded the bus to be driven an hour or so away where the canopy tour was located. Our guide, “Meffie”, which I assumed was short for Mephistopheles, told us that we had to make a quick stop at the office so that we all could sign release forms, releasing the tour company from liability for “dangers inherent in the activity itself”, like breaking your neck. This only increased my nervousness. I had debated long and hard with myself about zip-lining. Most of the others had done it before, David and kids here in Costa Rica, and Mark and family in Jamaica, but Tom and I had not. Tom of course was not about to admit any apprehension, so I was the only one expressing any misgivings at all. At the office I asked Mephie if he thought I was too old for this and he looked me up and down and said “What kind of a question is that?” To which I answered “I have knee issues.” Then he said that the hardest part of this activity was the ten minute walk from the base camp to the first cable, and I knew I could do that. But what I didn’t like was that it requires commitment in advance! Before you know what is involved! Because once you get there you have to do it regardless of whether you change your mind or not. A worse alternative though was deciding against it and then having everyone come back and tell me what a blast it was and how I could have absolutely done it. Not to belabor this point endlessly, but my fear was not about getting killed, but about not being able to do it for some reason thereby holding everybody up, embarrassing myself, and hating every minute of it as a result.

But oh what the heck. I signed the release and we were on our way, having picked up several more cute young guides who were introduced as compatriots of Meffie, all of whom would be taking care of us for the day. There were maybe six others on the bus so it wasn’t just the ten of us.

We drove for the required hour, much of which was through a 35,000 acre palm tree orchard, the largest in the country—straight endless rows of towering palm trees covered with parasitic ferns and what looked like rhododendrons. I asked if the ferns and the other plants would ultimately kill the palms and Meffie said no, it was a symbiotic relationship—nice to know they can happily co-exist. The palms are grown not for their coconuts but for their palm nuts—small nuts which grow in clusters at the top of the trunk and at the base of the palm fronds and from which palm oil is extracted to make cosmetics, ethanol, candles and other commercial products. Years ago, Costa Rica was a major exporter of bananas, but a blight was visited upon the banana crop which all but wiped it out, so the palm trees were planted instead. I asked Meffie how the workers get the nuts off the trees. Do they climb up and pick them, knock them off with a stick, or what. He said they have special poles that are very long and very heavy, about 40 pounds I think he said, which have a contraption attached to the end that separates the palm nut cluster from the palm tree. Not a job you want to do, he remarked, and I’ll bet it is the worst job in Costa Rica. Not that we saw anyone doing it. We also saw teak trees which he told us are a cash crop because they grow fast and of course the wood is very desirable and expensive.

But I know you are dying to hear about the actual adventure. We arrived around 8:30 at the camp, a really lovely jungle-y atmosphere where eggs, rice and beans, fruit, coffee, etc. were waiting. After breakfast, Meffie gave us a safety talk and told us what to do, most of which I didn’t retain and panicked that I wouldn’t get a second chance. Then we were fitted with our “gear.” I hung back to check out the MO and the first thing I noticed was that Jessie was grossed out by her helmet. It smelled like feet, she said! Not possible I thought. Then Martha had her helmet placed and she was so put off she asked for a different one. I thought to myself that smelly helmets were the least of my worries, but after I was fitted with my harness and my helmet placed (the one that Martha had rejected I later found out) I was astounded to find that the helmets did smell like stinky feet. Really stinky feet. Quite gross actually. But being the stoic type, I didn’t complain and I thought about the Asian market where you walk in and think you can’t stay for the smell but after a couple of minutes you do adjust. And the rewards are worth it.

We by now are fitted out and one by one we approach the platform (turns out the hard walk was to be right after the first zip) so eventually it was my turn and I get hooked up and there is nothing to be done but go for it.

Most of the family was already on the “other side” (not literally) and watching me with great anticipation.

I was very nervous, but Meffie and the others had decided to take care of “grandma” and I said Iforgotwhattodo!! And Javier said hold here and do this and pretty soon I am zipping over a fairly short cable and damned if I didn’t arrive on the other side with the kiddoes looking like some sort of miracle had occurred. And it was okay.

Then it was Tom’s turn. Mr. Macho. Mr. no-way would-I-express- any- apprehension- but I’m-as-scared-as-you-are kinda Guy. I wish I had a picture of his expression of pure terror, but we had decided back at the ranch to take nothing, no sunglasses, no camera, nothing. It was all we could do to take care of ourselves. David and Mark had their cameras, and I shudder to think of the pictures they have of the two of us. But Mr. Cool Macho Guy made it as well and then we began the walk to the next platform. No lie, it was the hardest part but luckily we had trekked to the mirador the day before so we were panting but able.

The second leap was also scary but at least a little better, but now we have all nine of the family saying mom/grandmommy how’re ya doin’ oh that was great you’re a trooper and are you ok to the point where I finally said leavemealoneI’mfine! Martha told me later that one of the guides said to her “with all respect, leave her alone and we will take care of her.” Which they did. They called me “Mom” which was hard to get used to but oh well, I was the oldest of the group except for Tom (who also needed a little help from time to time). They were so sweet and in no time I felt so comfortable and was loving it.

It was an amazing experience, and I’m so glad I didn’t chicken out. On each platform we were, one at a time, in single file, hooked up to the cable and sent off into the trees for a brief moment of knowing what it feels like to be a bird. There were two instances of “rappelling” which involved grabbing a-holt of the rope and dropping down some huge distance to the deck below. When it was my turn on the first drop, I didn’t feel apprehensive at all but when I got to the bottom, I felt a slap on my foot and Joel (with an H) screamed in pain “OWWW” you hit me!!!” while holding his eye, but I didn’t bite. I knew it was part of their schtick. They did it for each succeeding person and sweet Martha was the only one seriously concerned. David says that Martha is the most Martha person he knows and he means it as a lovely compliment.

Besides the zip-line cables and the two rappels, there was also a Tarzan swing which involved standing on a platform so high above the ground that looking down was not an option, and then swinging across to another platform, about thirty feet away. Not far compared to our other leaps, but for some reason I found that one really scary. The kids went before me and for selected kids, Dylan first and then Avery, the guide on the opposite side would hurl the kid back to the starting point and then kind of play ping pong with the kid. Of course they loved it but when it was my turn I said, “ONE TIME NO MORE please?” Javier, in charge of me at that point, smiled wickedly and said One Time? But happily they didn’t play ping pong with me which would probably have been not so fun for them nor for me.

So we have checked another box on the scorecard of Life, the one called zip-lining through the jungle. I probably will never do it again, but I would if given the opportunity. It was so fun.

The Rainforest

Mark and Martha trekking through the rain forest



Some delicate and beautiful mushrooms growing on a log

Waiting for a beer after our long walk

November 24, 2007

It is about five on Saturday and two action packed days have passed since I’ve had a chance to blog. Yesterday Renzo and Ivan cooked breakfast as well as dinner. Before coming here, I had thought I wanted to go to market, buy food and cook Costa Rican style but sitting by the pool with a drink and being served our meals beats self-service any day. It beats going out as well. It’s like having a gourmet restaurant come to you! They even serve hors d’oeuvres before dinner and last night it was tuna sashimi, as good as the finest sushi restaurant, so good we have requested it again tonight. Last night for starters we also had miniature quesadillas, brie with pineapple, and chips with their home-made salsa. Dinner last night was steak, mashies and mixed sautéed veggies, a nice switch from the wonderful fish we have been eating at almost every meal. They are cooking again tonight and I can hear them milling about in the kitchen as I write this. Everyone else is either sleeping or at the beach.

After our lovely brunch yesterday, we all proceeded to the beach where the kids and David and Kelly wanted to surf again while Mark and Martha and Tom and I decided to walk into the Manuel Antonio National Park, which is right there next to the beach. The entrance to the park is opposite from a small inlet and only accessible by boat or by wading through water, depending on the tides. At the time we went, the boat was required, so for a dollar each the four of us piled into a rowboat which took us to the park entrance.

Manuel Antonio National Park is a rain forest and the humidity attests to that. The vegetation is lush. There are signposts along the paths explaining what the various plants are, all in Spanish but no problem since we had Martha. Mark is also fluent in Spanish which must have happened when we weren’t looking. He says he speaks it almost every day with his patients.

Some of the trees are poisonous and the signs clearly say Do Not Touch. Vines and ferns and flowering plants are all tangled together and some tree trunks snake through the sand for great distances. A lot of one’s time is spent looking skyward in hopes of seeing at least some of the many different kinds of birds and animals which reside above the land. The resulting stiff necks are worth it—we saw a troupe of white-faced monkeys almost immediately. But being old hands at the white faces, we were hungry for something a little more exotic. Oh pul-eeze, you are probably saying—already the monk-faced monks are old hat. But they are not. I promise you I could watch them forever with their quizzical expressions and wise eyes. One was inching slowly along a branch and reached out to grab a vertical branch in front of him. The branch broke off in his hand. I kid you not—he looked at the branch in disgust and threw it to the ground. Just as you or I would do.

The path was wide and flat and we proceeded to amble slowly for ten or fifteen minutes, listening and looking for wildlife. Lizards and iguanas are abundant but otherwise we didn’t see much else. Ahead was a fork in the road, one side leading to a road which circled back to the entrance and the other a little more uphill but with a sign which said mirador—lookout. Much more interesting, we thought. So we entered into the deepest jungle convinced that that would be where the animals would be ready to grace us with their finest moves.

We walked, no, we trekked, during which Tom is grumbling periodically that there must be a temple in here somewhere, for at least an hour over very difficult terrain, muddy and slippery at times, steep and root-encrusted at others, and always vertical, and we saw not a single animal; well, maybe a few lizards but nothing unusual and no monkeys or other flying mammals. We didn’t see many of the two legged variety either, although we passed a couple of Europeans, Swedes maybe, coming down, who said keep going you’re almost there it’s worth it, we saw a big iguana, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. But, shades of the Tiger’s Nest, we were not about to give up before achieving the goal of whatever it was that was up there so we kept on trekking.

Just as I (and at least one other who shall remain nameless) was about to give up the ghost, we did arrive at the lookout. It was a small wooden platform which could hold maybe six people and which looked out over the ocean. The Ocean! We can see the ocean from our pool deck while sitting on a padded deck chair and drinking a beer! The iguana was there, two in fact, but not exactly the wildlife we hoped for.

But oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained. We trekked back down in much less time then it took to get up and when we reached the fork there was a Japanese American couple about to begin the trek up and asked us if it was worth it. Absolutely not, sez I, it takes an hour and there are no animals and the view is a very pretty view of the ocean. So they ended up walking with us down the other fork to the exit of the park and we became great friends and we saw a lot of animals.

First we saw a three toed sloth hanging on a tree. He’s three toed because he is a dark brown color, but also Mark swears he actually saw three toes on his foot through his binoculars. Then we saw a troupe of howler monkeys and they are as fascinating as the white-faced. We saw some spider monkeys and then we saw a two toed sloth, light tan and snub nosed and looking like a slug hanging from a branch. Mark said he read that they only descend to the ground once a week to defecate. The very definition of laziness. We saw more monkeys, lots of colorful lizards and then just as we were about to leave the park, Mark spotted a Jesus Christ lizard, called a basilisk I think, very unusual looking and the ones that literally walk upright on water, thus the sobriquet.

As I write this, we have also completed the ziplining, but it is now after eleven, everyone is asleep and I need to be asleep as well, so that will be the gist of the next chapter.

Cruising the Pacific on a Pontoon Boat

Mark relaxing while Christian searches for dolphins



Three beautiful girls Cassi, Jessi, and Avery

Martha and Mark enjoying an Imperial Cerveza

November 23, 2007

It is about 9:00 AM on Friday and no one is stirring except the usuals: Mark and Martha and me. The maid, Mariela, is scurrying about as is Gilbert, the pool and yard guy, but otherwise all is quiet. A good time to blog.

Yesterday we took an afternoon cruise out into the ocean in search of dolphins. When we arrived at the marina, the “cruise manager” pointed out our boat and I thought he was kidding. “Ha, ha, only kidding, your yacht is just over there.” But no. It was about a twenty-foot long pontoon boat. Everyone leapt aboard and then our two able crew, Christian and Christopher (honest), helped the old lady (me) onto the boat. I’ve never been on a pontoon boat before. This one had a trampoline-like net in the middle. Maybe they all do. They managed with effort to ensconce me on one of the side seats and it was then that I decided not to move for the whole day lest I end up in the drink. It is not easy to move around on such a vessel, although the young’uns had no problem and C and C were jumping around like monkeys from fore to aft. I knew we were having dinner on the boat and then watching the sunset, but I’m thinking where is the galley and more important, the potty which they promised would be on the boat. Picture a pontoon boat with its two side “pontoons”, each about two feet wide, with netting in the middle, a mast with collapsed sails down the center and narrow hard seats on either side with nothing but sea below, like, right below your feet. With each slosh your butt gets wetter and wetter. We also had been told that the boat would have a cover, but none was evident. Somehow I was expecting something a little more luxurious. And besides, where is the food going to come from? Don’t tell me there is a cooler full of Costa Rican sandwiches! They did offer us a beer right off the bat, so that kept hope alive.

After a while we adjusted and lying down on the netting proved more comfortable than sitting on the hard seats and even I was able to move about a little. The kids were up front doing what kids do--giggling and speaking in tongues. We sped under motor for about thirty minutes, while Christian searched the sea for evidence of dolphins. Then he put the sails up and we sailed until land was barely visible behind us.

Finally, he pointed excitedly, and then told us that the circling birds, brown boobies to be exact, meant that the dolphins were chasing fish to the surface and soon we would see them. And sure enough, after speeding to where the boobies were we soon were in the middle of a school of dolphins, some just below the surface and some leaping into the air. None came up to the boat though, and none stuck their heads above water and smiled like they did in Hawaii. We did see some young ones with their mothers and Christian gave us an education as to how the mothers feed their babies, since they are mammals not fish, but they have no boobies (not the birds, the other kind). As best I could understand it, they have a hole or pouch in their stomach which the babies can penetrate and then a bubble of food spews into the baby’s mouth. Or something like that. I’ll have to look it up.

After the dolphins we headed back toward land and they took us to an area where the kids and parents could scuba and swim. Needless to say, Tom and I skipped that part. While the group was swimming, Christopher went “below” to figure out the food. I had by now, abandoned the idea of not moving and had managed to use the bathroom which was on the port side of the ship and involved jumping down into the “hole” where a small but completely serviceable little WC was located. C and C had stowed our stuff down there but otherwise there was no room for anything else. On the starboard side, they were preparing food and they actually had a grill which they fired up and began cooking fish kebabs—marlin, alternated with pineapple, onion and green peppers. By the time the swimmers were re-boarding dinner was served: kebabs, pasta salad and the fabulous Costa Rican fruit that we have been enjoying since we got here. The pineapple is better than any I’ve had anywhere. The dinner was delicious and we complemented our chefs profusely.

Because the day was cloudy, the sunset was not spectacular, but still, it was a lovely sight to watch daylight fade into dusk as we made our way back to the pier. When we got home it was only about 6:15 so we spent the evening sitting by the pool. David, Kelly and Mark got antsy about 8:00 and decided to go into town and check out the club scene, but the rest of us were content to stay home.

All in all, the pontoon experience was yet another one that I could check off as having done it and it was really a lot of fun. Anyone can sail around on a yacht! It takes an adventuresome spirit and a willingness to just go for it to do what we did and live to tell the story. Now if I can just survive the zip-lining on Saturday….

Thanksgiving Day—The Mangrove Tour continued

Here is one of the cuties we saw this morning.

There were many many of these little tiger crabs attached to the logs,

A pretty good sized iguana

November 22, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving! It is morning again and I’m hoping to catch up before today’s activity--a sunset cruise for which we are being picked up at 1:30. In my zeal to tell you about the monkeys yesterday I never even got to tell you about the boat trip through the mangrove jungle. We went by van to the edge of the Damas Estuary under the capable tutelage of our very young but knowledgeable guide, Mau (short for Mauricio). Soon we were boarding a small boat which held just the eleven of us and a pair of newly weds, plus Mau and the boat driver.

I had been in a mangrove before in Florida although I think this one is even thicker and more lush. The water was chocolate brown because of the rain storm the previous night but Mau told us that it is full of many varieties of fish and other wildlife, many endangered. “Endangered” is such an ominous word, but Mau said that if a prowler tried to break into our house we would be “endangered”, but as long as the police protect us we do survive. The same with the endangered plants and animals who were previously ravaged by the hand of man but are now protected and thus flourishing. He pointed out different birds, “endemic” to the area which Tom promptly whispered to me that he meant “indigenous” not “endemic.” Later we looked up both words and Mau was right. Your vocabulary lesson for the day: endemic—native to a particular region and NOT found elsewhere; indigenous—native to a particular region but can be found elsewhere. A small but important distinction.

Anyway, we got a thorough lesson in the varieties of mangrove ((red, white, black and pineapple), all of which are protected by the government and no longer used to make furniture and other objects despite their hardwood desirability, and the ecosystem in which the flora and fauna are all inter-related and part of the food chain. Mau scooped up a little tiger crab from an overhanging branch and though only an inch wide, it had claws that could draw blood from a finger and which serve as protection from certain predators but not from hawks and other flying things that ultimately do in the poor creatures. Old age is seldom in their future.

Both Mau and the driver could spot birds, iguanas, crabs and snakes hidden in the trees and at one point from about twenty yards pointed out a boa constrictor coiled up in the crook of some branches. We approached it and I couldn’t see it until we were practically on top of it. But there it was no longer coiled, slithering along a narrow branch. There are crocs as well, but we didn’t see any. And of course, monkeys. We were told that because of the rain we probably wouldn’t see any but just as the tour was about to end the trees started to move and just like in the morning they were suddenly alive with leaping, swinging, acrobatic capuchins. Some of them were picking coconuts and trying to puncture them with more or less success. One guy had gotten inside his coconut and was scooping the innards out with his fingers and then licking each finger daintily just like people do. One or two leapt onto the boat top which created a clatter not commensurate with their small size. If you didn’t know better you’d think they were performing just for our benefit.

Lunch was included back on land, surprisingly good, mahi mahi, rice and beans and fried plantains, an exact duplicate of what I had had the day before at the beach restaurant. And last night we had our personal chefs cook for us again and we had mahi mahi yet again. No problem, it’s always delicious. I incorrectly identified the chefs the other day—they are Renzo (not Gilbert), and Ivan, pronounced EE-von. They are coming again tomorrow night and we are having steak, not fish, even though David and Kelly are leery of the Costa Rican cuts of beef. Renzo assured us we would like it so we shall see.

Today is Thanksgiving Day, but there is no turkey on our agenda. Instead we are being fed on our sunset cruise and if the bill de fare is mahi mahi, I for one shall be muy contente.

A very happy turkey day to all.

A Day in the Mangrove Swamp

November 21, 2007

Try as I may, I cannot seem to post pictures, not even one at a time. The connection here is slow, sloow, slooow, and the pix simply will not load before the connection times out. Still, I am grateful that we have this wonderful tech and will continue to do the best I can with what I've got, and apologize for no pix which I know are the best part.

Today, Mark and Martha were up again at five or so and so was I. As I descend the stairs to the main level where I pray the coffee is already made, I pass a window where M and M are already sitting on their patio while the groundskeeper is already sweeping the driveway! We are talking before six! I guess they have 24-hour staff. As I creep down the stairs, clinging to the wall because there is no railing, I look out the window just as Martha looks in and we both start and then laugh and touch hands through the window. I gesture that I am in search of java and they end up joining me around the pool where we are looking desperately for monkeys. They had seen a "troup" the day before at that hour but the monkeys didn't linger then.

But today none are evident. Eventually we go back inside where by now others are stirring and breakfast is becoming a distinct possibility. Ohbytheway, we need to be ready at 8:40 because we are being picked up by van for the mangrove tour, booked by Kelly--we again the willing participants.

But for now, here it is already the second morning and I have seen no monkeys! I am in despair! Inside, everyone is milling about, Mark is playing guitar in the great room, and even a few kiddoes are walking around in typical zombi fashion, having been roused for the 8:40 pick-up.

Bored, I wander out to the pool to maybe take an early morning picture and Gilbert, the pool guy, says Look and in the trees I see a white-faced monkey and then another and then another. Afraid to breathe for fear of spoiling the moment, I ease open the patio door and mouth to Mark "MONKEYS!!!!"after which the entire family spills out onto the pool deck with me shushing them and them squealing LOOKLOOKLOOK!!! For about five minutes the monk-faced little old men checked us out from the trees and even the roof above and although we had been told not to feed them, Gilbert appeared with a banana which he handed to the alpha male (okay I'm guessing that he was the alpha male, but all I know is the others weren't messing with him) who then seemed to give permission for the others to come right up poolside.

For at least thirty minutes the monkeys gathered, swinging from the nearby branches, hovering on the deck railings, and staring each of us right in the eye as if to say "what are you looking at?"
We had been told not to feed them, so the one banana was the only incentive to hang around but I think we would have become best friends if our driver hadn't appeared with a few others in the van and we, embarrassed that we were holding them up, had to take our leave and bid a tearful adios. I pray that they will return tomorrow.

More tomorrow.

La Pura Vida--The Costa Rican Good Life

David and Dylan in the breakfast room of Hotel Grano de Oro

These crocs are a lot bigger than they look in the picture! This was the only picture I got before my camera ran out of battery and my extra one was back in the van.

Our "personal chef" hard at work preparing our first dinner.

After the trauma of the puffer machine, we flew without event to San Jose, Costa Rica, where Kelly had arranged for a van to take us to Hotel Grano de Oro, where we checked in and went to bed. But not before being invited out to dinner by the kids senior and junior who were rarin’ to go. It was then almost midnight. We passed on the invite in true old fogey fashion and retired. Too bad it was so late because the next morning we discovered that the hotel is a lovely period piece which reminded me of a Sidney Greenstreet movie replete with lazy ceiling fans, a breakfast room all rattan and stained glass surrounded by balconies that opened to the sky and lush greenery that threatened to devour the space and everything in it. For breakfast I had a coddled egg with cream and caviar garnished with crispy toast sticks. Absolutely delicious and elegant, my dahlings. I was then truly over my airport indignities.

But alas, dallying was not to be. At ten, we all piled into our van with Alvaro, our driver, and proceeded, first to the grocery store for cerveza, coca, agua, and huelo, and then toward our destination, Manuel Antonio, the little town where our palatial villa would be waiting. We stopped for a leisurely lunch at a beautiful Marriott resort, Los Suenos, but otherwise we were pretty much hell bent for election over mountains, streams and harrowingly narrow bridges all the while accomplishing our mission which was to “experience the countryside.” We did make one other stop to see crocodiles floating menacingly in an otherwise quiet river, co-existing with some Brahmin cattle who were unconcerned by their twenty-foot long neighbors.

Manuel Antonio is booming. Kelly and David had stayed here a year ago and apparently the building since then is astounding with hotels, condos, private homes, restaurants and all the other accoutrements of the “discovered” area evident everywhere. But we didn’t linger; rather we bee-lined to our Villa El Cantico which if you are interested you can check out on the internet. Melissa and Kevin, our house managers, were there to meet us and Kelly got a rousing chorus of “Kelly is great, Kelly is great” when we realized that we truly were going to be royalty in a palace for the next eight or nine days. Our “personal chefs” were already at work preparing dinner which we had arranged beforehand and the results were amazing. But first, we explored the house which is on at least four levels with a gourmet kitchen and dining room, great room and media room on the main level, and bedrooms and office on levels above. The great room looks out onto a gorgeous pool with sunken barstools where you can belly up to a bar with fridge and stainless steel grill. Beyond the pool is jungle where several varieties of monkeys frolic (although only Mark and Martha, up at five this morning, have seen them thus far) and beyond that is the mighty Pacific Ocean and the Manuel Antonio beach. We were quite content last night to sit by the pool, have a toddy or two and be served dinner at the appointed hour by Gilbert and forgot-his-name the other one. Dinner was a beautiful shrimp salad which alone would have sufficed, but after that we had grilled lobsters, rice and beans, veggies and an artfully presented torte for dessert. Whatever shall we do when we have to go back to the real world?

This morning we cooked our own breakfast (just to stay in practice) and afterwards, David, Mark, Tom and I took a taxi into the town for supplies. We don’t have a rented car—not practical for so many people—so we call taxis when we need to go somewhere and they magically appear about five minutes later. First stop: ATM machine at a bank. The guys went in while I waited in the car with Gilbert (another Gilbert) the driver. He had said that maybe this ATM wouldn’t have money because yesterday they didn’t but luckily the armoured car was there with guards armed with rifles looking very mean and while he and I were waiting in the car a guy got out of the truck with a huge armload of money while the armed guard looked even meaner and brandished his rifle in evey direction. I commented to Gilbert that this was fairly unusual and he shrugged and said in essence that it’s all bluster and if there was an actual heist that the guard wouldn’t know what to do.

Cash was procured without incident and then Mark asked Gilbert if he could stop somewhere where they could buy some Cuban cigars (big treat, they’re actually legal almost everywhere but in the US) so he pulls up in front of a little shop with a sign Fuego Sex Shop in front, but I figure hey it’s only cigars they want so once more I wait in the car and the guys go in. After that we had uneventful trips to the grocery store and the fish market to buy fish for ceviche and then home.

This afternoon we went to the beach in Manuel Antonio, the one we can see from our house, and not surprisingly, we can see the house from the beach as well, an impressive sight indeed. We had lunch in a little dive called the Marlin, probably the best Mahi Mahi I’ve ever had and then watched the kids taking a surfing lesson. I haven’t tried posting pictures yet, but I hope I can show you our two stars and resident surfing dudes, Michael and Dylan. They were old pros in no time. The girls did great as well, but I couldn’t get any pictures of them. Maybe next time.

Tonight we had a real rain storm with the loudest thunder any of us has ever heard and some very impressive lightning so it’s just as well we had decided to stay in and eat the ceviche I had prepared and some wonderful Colombian concoction that Martha whipped up out of the leftover rice and salsa and some eggs. We sat outside until the rain really got going and the thunder was fearsome and then decided to come in. Dylan said the thunder crack was really loud, and I said it’s thunder clap, not crack and then someone else said that Dylan sometimes says crap when he means clap, and then we made up a tongue twister—clap, crap, crack—and I defy you to say that even once let alone three times. It’s impossible. We found that unbearably amusing and after a major attack of the giggles went to bed where I lie now finishing up this blog which I hope to post tonight or tomorrow early. Good night my dears!

WARNING! If you can’t stand a whiner do not read the following blog! I wrote it Sunday still smarting from my unfair and discriminatory treatment at the airport and in re-reading I do detect an ever so slight air of self-pity which I am not proud of. I could just erase the whole thing and no one would ever know. But on the other hand, I think we are all entitled to know what it has come to in these United States when a grandmother of 12 ½ children cannot get on a plane without harassment.

With that caveat, you may read or skip the following:

November 18, 2007

Why does the make ready for a trip always seem so endless? We didn’t leave home til 3:00 today, a good thing actually, since we didn’t have to be ready at the crack of dawn, but still…here we are on the plane FINALLY, it’s just after six and we have a four hour flight ahead of us. I’m a little cranky because I got the “treatment” again at the check in after being treatment-free for the last year or so, including during the entire Asia/Ireland extravaganza.. A couple of years ago, I was apparently on the terrorist Master List. I was singled out almost every time I flew someplace—no, EVERY time I flew some place—for “special treatment” which included everything from ordinary rudeness to being pulled aside and frisked to being put in the dreaded Puffer Machine, which happened at the end of a lovely trip to Las Vegas. Then we went to Asia and Ireland and I was treated like an upstanding citizen the whole time! This happy experience unfortunately rendered me complacent because I was completely unprepared for today’s ordeal. At home I had made sure my jewelry was minimal and had worn no belts or metal objects on my person. There were no suspicious liquids in my purse nor did I carry any pointed objects or weapons. At security, I innocently put my stuff in the containers, took off my shoes, and then confidently walked through the initial screener. No sirens or whistles went off. Home free I thought.

But noooo. The very nice attendant smiled and said, “have you ever been in the puffer machine?” Alarmed, I said, “Yes, and I don’t like it! It scares me.” “Well close your eyes,” she said and unceremoniously pointed me toward the phone booth-like contrivance which determines if you are fit to fly or bound for prison.

Not that I am looking for sympathy or anything, but even as an old hand at the puffer routine, it was just as scary as before. It just about takes the hair off your exposed skin which I’ll admit is a brief unpleasantness, but then, having been totally unnerved by that, there are two bright red lights which blink at you and a sign which says “DON’T MOVE UNTIL THE LIGHTS TURN GREEN!” This takes about an hour and a half. Well, maybe not that long, but it feels that way. When the lights finally turned green I was ushered out of the torture chamber and having passed that test (or maybe not), I was then given the spread eagle treatment and patted down by Chatty Cathy, who asked me if there were any sensitive parts on my body where I didn’t want to be touched (well, yeah!), because if so we could do this in some private place god knows where, and what was wrong with my one shoulder and why was it smaller than the other one (arthritis says I), and weren’t we going to have a great time in wherever it was we were going, and have a nice day. Having passed that test, one would think I would be sent on my way, but NO! Another nice man said he had to check all my stuff which he did with great care, all the while chatting amiably and when finished he asked if it had been explained to me why I had been given such a careful examination. No. Because the initial screener detected a substance on my body which is used to make bombs! Oh swell! I don’t even wear perfume, sez I, I’m allergic to it! He just smiled and said who knows where one picks up these contaminants. I was then free to go, almost in tears, to which my dear and loving husband said “get over it.”

At least the Gestapo here was courteous and friendly, which is more than I can say for the crowd in Las Vegas where a similar incident occurred.

After that fiasco, we met up with the rest of the group, had a couple of gin and tonics in the Irish Pub and I am officially over it. But I’ll go on record yet again—I hate to fly! Maybe they sense that and treat me accordingly. Can’t wait to get there where I promise my frame of mind will be from this moment forward uniformly cheerful and perky.

The next entry will probably be tomorrow en route to our palatial villa where I will be treated like a queen for the next ten days. I hope.