Of course, we were herded into one long-ass line and told we probably wouldn’t make it because we weren't there a full two hours prior. I’ve watched The Amazing Race too many times, so I talked to the man who initially directed us. We got the rope lifted and cut way into a different line. We barely made the 45 minute deadline for baggage. Our flight into Miami lagged. I loved flying over the Florida Everglades. I am a Florida-born girl, you know. The land was so flat and green, yet glassy with water. I hope we’re all wrong and it never sinks into the sea or maybe when it happens, some tectonic plate will make a chain of islands out of it. We were in row 32, practically the rear of the plane. They had given us our gate information while the flight was landing, and referred us to a map in the back of their magazine, Americaway. Gate D40-something was only a centimeter away from gate C5. There was no indication that it was like a mile away. We had 15 minutes between flights. Little Silo was rolling her carry-on behind her, hauling butt as best she could. I had a lunch cooler wrapped around my neck, a back pack over my shoulder, and a big duffel bag in my arms. I bailed Silo & Gramma (who was loaded down with carry-ons and the laptop) and ran like a bat out of hell through strolling "Yay, so glad to be here!" airport crowds to, finally, get to our gate. I told them a child and a “senior citizen” [Sorry Gramma!] were on their way. We cut it so close! Thank goodness I had made sandwiches because as crappy as airplane food has always been, its taken a drastic decline as of late, and we never would've had time to get anything otherwise. It was dark when we flew over Cuba & the coast of Honduras. The runway in San Jose was slick with rain. Did you know that they DO NOT charge you $3 for your Smarte Carte in Costa Rica?
(Good, because we needed 2) What a killing they must make off of us in the states! Onward to El Presidente, a slim, six story hotel with a cool, old-school elevator that has a window on the door (that you pull open or closed) where you can see the floors as you pass through them. Immediately after dropping off our bags, we walked over to the Argentinean restaurant passing one of many NO TLC pieces of graffiti. [TLC is the Spanish synonym for CAFTA, Central American Fair Trade Agreement]
I don't know much about Argentina, but their food, music, and architecture seem excellent based on the flavors and environment of this phenomenal eatery. Gramma had taken me there on the last trip. They have amazing Asparagus Crepes. The chicken dish we chose was so savory and stewed in this flavorful tomato-based sauce that Gramma asked me more than once if I was sure it wasn’t pork. It was too late for a coffee dessert, but they make a chocolate, espresso, and orange peel mousse topped with walnuts that is out of this world. In the morning, we packed up our rental car, a 4WD Daihatsu like last trip. Seriously, although taller, the wheel base is as narrow as a Geo Metro. It was a full days drive. We stopped at a store for water and what-nots first.
Gramma only almost killed us once on the Mountain of Death. This is an old castle (?) we passed.
We made such good time, we were able to get to the ferry before it stopped running.
Once off the ferry, the directions to Casa Tigre are as follows: follow the signs 3 rights, 1 left, then after the 4th bridge go left up a steep incline.
It was a wonderful sight to be back “home”. We had waited a whole year. I had brought rolls of screen. The house was meant to be as close to outdoor living as possible, and in truth, the locals don’t give a damn about the bugs. But I do! Thin skinned, sweet, o-positive blood… they just gobble me up. So the first day I spent up on a ladder with my staple gun, screening in the dormitory all along the sides and up along the roof. It doesn’t keep out the no-see-ums, and someone will always sneak in an open door, but I have mastered some tricks down here. Plug in a night light on the opposite side of the room and hang a (non-toxic) fly strip next to it. The resin will be full of little nits & gnats by morning. Not to mention I was quite proud of myself and said aloud I must’ve been a man in one of my last lives ‘cause I’m so damn handy! That night, we were all going to sleep when I kept hearing this scraping sound. It was by the bathroom. It was on the other side of the room. It was over Gramma. Finally, I grabbed the flashlight & started looking around. Suddenly the light flashed on small black globes. Stunned, up on the screen was a rodent. Way bigger than a mouse, but with sweet, little Kinkajou eyes. Come to find out, Costa Rican rats are far cuter than the Norwegian rats in the U.S. I heard him all last night, too. He must live up on the roof. I will name him Hamtaro. Pavones, itself is a haven for surfers, but I find it daunting to take Silo in rocky waters. She still is mastering a dog-paddle. Zancudo is a swimming beach about 25km away, although it takes almost an hour because the roads are so rugged here. We came across this lovely cemetery.
I wonder if it bothers the locals that I dare to lift the gate and go in.
There are empty boxes
and there is an area of short boxes for the kids.
Chickens in the graveyard, and yesterday, a pig.
The first time we went to Zancudo, it was too windy to swim. But here are crab tracks.
This is a monster of a Mangrove tree. 
In the wintertime, a storm builds around 2 o’clock each day. So, if you want a swim and some sun, the earlier you go to the beach the better (its hot enough by 6 in the morning anyhow). We swam @ Zancudo our second visit. It is a dark, fine sand beach with wood along the shore, but not much to brush up against you under water. The waves are ripples with easy breaks and I can have my knees on the bottom & play in the water with Silo while the pelicans dive in a stones throw away. Crazy fishing boats head out to do their bidding in the great bay. 
Then, the winds kick up, and you’re sand-blasted head to toe. The ride home is drenched in yellow-green fields. These vultures are everywhere.
Somehow, my little munchkin ended up with a fever last night. I barely slept. That would be one of the notable differences here. A simple fever worries me way more when we are out in the middle of nowhere and a doctor is quite a ways away. So many privileges in America. Yet, so much lush beauty here. You can’t even trade one for one. This is another world entirely. 6-16-07 Silo lost her very first tooth. 
And who better to visit in the night than El Raton? He threw her tooth on the roof and left her Colones, Costa Rican currency. It was a pocket full of coins that totaled maybe $2, but it was a treasure to her. We drove to Quepos to stay at Manuel Antonio. And passed by this graveyard 
and this bridge 
not to mention a gazillion other rickety, makeshift pathways people have carved among these towns. There is a hotel that we really enjoyed last time that we wanted to returned to. It is called Costa Verde. There are 3 pools and 3 restaurants (all of which serve insane coconut flan). The restaurants use empty bottles within their walls and bar or as hurricane lamps.
One restaurant has an old train box car in the middle of it. Another, El Avion, has a 1954, C-123 Fairchild airplane that was involved in the CIA/Iran Contra Affair as its centerpiece 
which doubles as a super sexy little "Romancing The Stone" bar.
Hot water is next on the agenda for Casa Tigre. It had been almost a week since I’d had a hot water shower. Ahhh… cleanliness is godliness. The views are phenomenal.
This is an Anaconda skin.
And Silo having an awesome mango smoothie.
We watched a sloth hanging out of a palm tree while we had lunch. Have you ever seen a sloth? They move so gracefully, long slinky arms reach up and the little body hangs. I want one to wrap around me like a living stole. There are crazy lizards everywhere. HUGE ones. They will stand so still, and as you get closer, they will run up the drain pipes. The funny thing is that they are so big, if you stick around long enough, you’ll see them backing out tail first. It was the first time I saw this crazy one with a dinosaur-style comb on his head, a tall, thin ridged back, and a tail shaped like a leaf. 
When we went to la playa at Manuel Antonio,
it was high tide, and we had to take a boat across the river mouth to avoid… crocodiles. 
The trip is about half over. We keep asking eachother, “What day is it?” and we have to count it off on our fingers, recollecting by events. Yesterday, I thought for a moment and wondered what kind of life-drama I was missing back home, but it was a passing thought. There are a handful of friends I would love to scoop up and share this experience with. It takes a strong spirit though. It takes eyes that love to see, skin that loves to feel, ears that love to listen, a mouth that loves to taste. We wake up to the howler monkeys barking @ 5a.m. We get brave and speak our bad Spanish with the people who kind of chuckle to themselves when we talk. All of us are spotted with bites. All of us are dreaming more than usual when we sleep. Almost everyone I know has been in my dreams. My heart is lighter. I know there are bills past due at home, money I should be making instead of spending. I know there are popular people having good times without me. But for this time, I leave it all behind in an exhale. Silo is whining about wearing pants right now. Some things never change. But I am living as close to pura vida as possible. I appreciate my mother so much for giving us this amazing experience. 6-20 Our last morning in Manuel Antonio, we spent at the pool.
We were just kicking it when this huge male iguana came right up to the water to take a drink. I swear, if we hadn’t all been standing there in awe, he would’ve jumped in for a swim with the kids. This guy was neon lime. There was a family there who told us of a restaurant they really enjoyed called Ronny’s Place. I have an uncle named Ronnie in Oklahoma. So, on the way out of the park, I saw a sign leading up a dirt road and we followed it. The restaurant overlooked two gorgeous coves.
Most restaurants here have no walls. There were pineapples and cayenne peppers planted all around the patio.
The food was exceptional. When she brought my Caipirinha, it was red brown. I thought… am I getting a Bloody Mary? When it hit my palate, it was divine. We couldn’t figure out if it had tamarind in it, but the lady told us it was azucar moreno. Now, I have a new twist on my favorite drink. I love the “dirty” version with the dark brown sugar. I took a picture of Silo next to the tiniest pineapple on earth.
We went into Quepos to Dos Locos to buy more of their deadly, one-drop hot sauce. We asked for 5 bottles, but they only had two to sell us. They paste the label on right then and there, with all of its spelling errors. Please note, this restaurant is right next to a Heladeria that has an ice cream sundae that is made to look like Mickey Mouse, but on the menu, it says MICHEY Mouse.
This is a hilarious little inside joke for us. Costa Rica needs spell check, but actually it doesn’t for how much the grammar entertains me. It is as bad as my Spanish. We drove back to Pavones six hours in the same lightning and thunder storm that obviously stretched far into the next country. The rain was so thick and sideways that it looked like driving in the snow, when there is the illusion of a tunnel of light sucking you in... kind of like warp-speed. Down the main interstate highway to the south, there is no center line, no little reflectors in the road to give you guidance. You will see a motorcycle fly by with a little kid on it. No helmets. Or a bicycle with 3, maybe 4 people crowded on. That is another great image. Last year, when we were headed back to the house, we missed the ferry. I spent hours driving around in a palm plantation running into rivers we could not cross or going for miles down a road only to end up looped back to where we started. You must understand, there are no street signs. Occasionally, there will be arrows to this or that town, (possibly the town of Control)
but if you are not clear on the way… best not to try it in the middle of the night. So we took a day trip via the Panamanian border to find our way without having to cross the ferry. 
There are two roads that run parallel. One is in Costa Rica. One is in Panama. There is no fence. There are no guards. However, you do stop at a little booth were a pretty jovial guy asked us if we were bringing anyone with. So much cool stuff to see!
We went to a big supermarket in Ciudad Neilly. It is not like in America where you want one thing and there are several brands of the same item. The choices are quite different. We did finally find good cheese this trip. Not your standard white, tasteless farm cheese, but Edam and Sharp Cheddar. The cheese comes from Monte Verde. Milk is still not up to par with the yummy organic stuff we have delivered in California, but we make do. Also, a baguette here is more air than crust. Anything made of paper gets soggy. If it isn’t a soda or beer, it probably isn’t bottled in glass. A lot of plastic pouches. On a funny/gross note… do not try to use cardboard applicator tampons. I’m taking loads of pictures of houses just for the colors. Teals and greens and Pepto Bismol pinks. I love it. 
There is laundry hung out to dry everywhere. Couches out on the porch. Men taking siestas in hammocks strung between trees or maybe right along side the road leaned up against a fence. People just sort of hang out, mill about without any real sign of purpose. Eat mangoes. This is the cotton candy man in Golfito. He won't sell you a stale bag. He will swab you up a huge new bag right there.
A few kilometers from the house, a new little Soda had been built. A soda is kind of like a shed that serves food. Well this one, Soda Wendy, said it was a Heladeria. It was a nice looking little shanty being built on the property of the local wood worker. The three of us had gone to the beach and spent a couple hours looking into the lava rock tide pools at a million and one crabs. 
We decided it was the day to go get ice cream. The girls served us entirely melted vanilla helado that had basically become foam with canned fruit cocktail on top. Repulsed and unable to fathom even a bite, Gramma paid the $5 and we went on our way. I’m driving and I’m like, “What the hell is all over me?” And Silo is like, “I smell poop.” Needless to say, Silo had stepped in it, and when I picked her up, it got wiped all over my skirt. I stopped the car right there and drove home in my underwear while Silo sang “Mamas got poop on her!” It was our first “crappy” experience. Thumbs down to Soda Wendy! Today, we are sad because it is our last night at Casa Tigre. Marcos is going to put a trap out for Hamtaro after we've gone. The trip is winding to a close. We could stay another couple nights, but we plan on going to Volcan Arenal. I have never seen an active volcano and Lulu really wants to swim in the hot springs. The first week, we weren’t even thinking about going back. Now that it is pending, we are checking WellsFargo.com and thinking about work on Monday. Trying to hold fast to this ocean and this green and not let that money race bring us down. It sneaks in anyhow and the worries bubble to the surface. Not so quickly that I can’t burst them and live it up for yet another day, though. And when we return, will you see it on us? Will we look brighter? How many days will it take for the glow to get worn away? Is it the vacation or the location? Has it been the time away that is of service, or is it where we find ourselves… is this just a better place? I love to drive down the road and have strangers wave to me. I love the school girls throwing us peace signs. Maybe the American plague is that which I always complain of… straight overpopulation. Here are these folks who live in shacks made for share croppers. These people who have less than I have in storage that I don’t even use. They look a little worn by the weather but they seem so damn genuine. I saw a man… a MAN… riding his bike with a Barbie backpack on today. You get what you get, and you’ve got what you’ve got. It might not be cool or the best or the most expensive version, but a five dollar clock radio is better than no radio. A friend told me that, and I’ve repeated it many times. This year has not been auspicious for me, but in so many ways, I’m still living large. If only I could take a bite of that and swallow it and have it become a part of my memory. Pinch me hard. Wake me if I get caught in the American Dream. Money DOESN’T buy happiness… it only buys you more things… things you probably won’t even use and just bought to make yourself feel better about not having joy inside. I’m taking baby steps. And it is on these journeys I find it. 6-21 There are too many details I have not captured. The crazy lizard I saw @ Costa Verde that looked like he was meant to be part of a tree… it was The Jesus Lizard (a silent ode to my punk rock guy friends). I should’ve known by the way that lizard ran… he gets his name for, literally, being able to walk on water. Before our trip, Silo asked me an amazing question. She asked me if there was a “last” number. I was so stoked to get to explain infinity to her. That numbers go forward and backward without a start and without an end. Yesterday, I was stopped dead in my tracks. She asked me who the first person was. When we were packing for our trip, Silo and I went through her school and art supplies. Anything unused, anything we had duplicates of, we gathered up to give away. Princess pencils, packs of markers and crayons, note pads. It was recess when we walked across the school yard to hand our presents to a pair of teachers. It was a brief exchange. “Hello, here are some gifts for the students” (in broken Spanish). “Gracias.” We smile and walk away. I say to Silo, “Doesn’t it feel GOOD to give?” Costa Rica is amazing to me. However, I feel it is even more life-altering for my child. When we don’t have the t.v. going, we tell these stories. Even Silo will tell you there is no need to hurry here. A game of Uno is like epic fun. Stopping every hundred yards to photograph a new flower or watch a different kind of bird. To go over the same road again and again, yet still see something new. It took me a while before I noticed all these air plants on the telephone lines.
Once again, tonight, we drove over the Mountain of Death (La Montana de Muerte). We came to a stop in a long line of cars and waited 20 minutes before we moved again. I figured it was construction, but it was a bus all smashed up in front, glass strewn across the entire road. Another car had to have been involved, but where… over the side? We didn’t even see an ambulance go by for 20 minutes more. I drove slow and steady. We came off that scary mountain (white-knuckled) to see the craziest cloud ever seen. Above the city lights was a stripe of thick white. Entirely flat on the bottom and puffy on top. As Gramma said… a ribbon of meringue. We are at the Sleep Inn tonight, a totally Americanized Clarion hotel. I’ve been asleep by 10:30 every night this trip, but it is after 1. I want to sleep in. Heavy curtains, a/c, no roosters or dogs or howler monkeys. No eastern sunrise at 4:40 a.m. I bet Eliza is sad. Old one eye…
She let me touch her empty eye socket this time. She is a big dog. She can sit and shake. Doesn’t snatch treats from your hand, but takes them gently. The other day I woke up and walked out the dormitory. She came to meet me, did this crazed yelp, pawed my leg, then stood up on her hind feet and scraped down my whole arm with her front paws. We Advantage them. We give them bacon scraps. She and Plumbo waited a whole year for our return (Chocho is another story). Let it not be another year this time. This orbit WILL get tighter and tighter. What about you? Would you risk it? Could you stand to not live your life DSL? There is a pothole 3 feet deep in the middle of the road. It has a stick and white make-shift flag for warning.
There is this truck that got a flat on the road near Pilon.
Later that day, they moved it to the side, and 10 days later it is still there. In time that new tire will come. When I went to Guatemala, I called it Guatemala Time. But here is that same slow clock that ticks in Costa Rica and Mexico, too. Call it Anti-American time. I dig it. It gives me more moments I can wrap myself around like an octopus opening a bottle and squeezing its whole self inside. I am inside the moment. Good. 6-24 The Bad ‘T’ Day We woke up and headed for the volcano, but not before we started out the bad ‘T’ day. First, Gramma overflowed the ‘T’oilet. It is easy to do in Costa Rica. Then, I got the brilliant idea of sending a cinnamon roll through one of those conveyor belt ‘T’oasters. Of course, it didn’t have enough clearance. It was getting flattened, the belt was dragging it forward, and the cinnamon sugar was starting to burn and smoke. I did my best to pull it out with a pair of plastic tongs, making a total spectacle of myself, pieces flying out and landing on the floor. The kitchen attendant had to take the toaster apart to get all the smoldering debris out. Early in the afternoon, we started our ascent. The drive to Arenal is fabulous.
It isn’t as looming and sketchy as the other mountain. More rolling curves through coffee, pineapple, and palm plantations.
The towns are noticeably more affluent. There were some insane houses. One had a three story stained glass of tropical flora. Deluxe. We stopped at one point for a picture. Gramma slipped and grabbed the car door for balance which pinched Silo’s ‘T’oe. We were laughing about all the ‘T’ disasters. Lo and behold, we round a corner to find stopped traffic. A ‘T’ruck was half off the road. 
It had hit a car that had a flat. The people changing the tire had not considered they were stopped in the middle of a blind curve. The semi tried to avoid them, hit their rear end, and the tires to the trailer slid off the side of the road. It was quite a spectacle. Costa Rica doesn’t have four seasons, it only has two. Verano and Invierno. Verano is their dry season. We are here in Invierno. You can expect rain every day. The volcano doesn’t look like Rainier. Rainier (an inactive volcano in Washington) is a Goliath of a mountain. Arenal looked like a really, really big ant hill. A perfect upside down cone. We came from the east with the eastern side being covered in green. You could distinguish where the top had blown off. The road curved around to the west where the entire side of the mountain was charred brown-black. We pulled up to Tabacon, a resort centered around hot springs, and I developed a grin wide enough to hurt my face. I smiled that huge for over an hour. For one, they didn’t have any regular rooms, so Gramma checked us into the ultimate room. While they were getting us our keys, a waiter brought us flutes of fresh tropical juices and towels soaked in mineral water for our hands. Then, a super hot Tico boy with a rich, deep voice took our luggage to the room. The room was in a private building that had only 6 rooms total. It was marvelous with a giant bathroom that had a blue tile Jacuzzi tub that was open to the bedroom and sitting area, but had sliding wood privacy screens.
We quickly hopped in our swimsuits and walked over to the hot springs. They are detached from the hotel because they are open to the public after a number of private hours for hotel guests. Still, the admission is pretty pricey for day use so the grounds are impeccably manicured. It was the most luscious and beautiful secret garden I had ever seen. There are huge tropical trees and every kind of flower. Kinds of flowers I had never seen and that astonished me with their uniqueness. The pathways wind and branch off and go over bridges. We got lost and ended up at the spa.
Amongst all of this heaven rushes hot steaming waters kept in a natural form much like a rushing river.
The only indication that you are able to go in the water is that the path will end there or there will be a sign with the water temperature, or in deeper places, a silver handle like you use to enter a pool.
It feels incredible. The water is soft and thick. The bottoms are not paved, but rocky and lightly covered with algae. It is probably the only time in my life I have not cared about a little plant life growing in the water. The water rushes so forcefully, it will press you up against small boulders they have used to create waterfalls.
The waterfalls are amazing to lean back into, the power of the water like an organic massage. Not to mention there is a cool normal pool with a fun waterslide and a small one for beautiful children.
Major kudos to the swim up bar. 
Then, it rained. Hard. The ‘T’hunder and lightning came so close that employees went around with flashlights and cleared us out of the pools. While we were waiting for a ride back to our room, the bell hop hottie said he’d been looking for us. A little light in the rear of the car must’ve been turned on when we took out our baggage. The battery was dead. I wasn’t sure how that fit into the bad ‘T’ day, but we got a kick out of our luck anyhow. We decided to fill up our hot ‘T’ub with bubbles which felt awesome, until we turned the jets on. A horrible, sulfuric smell came out of the pipes. Gag. We all had to shower to wash the smell away. Such was the nature of our day. In the morning, we went back to the hot springs.
Our cheeks were rosy with warmth.
We took back the rental car and came into San Jose for our last night. Gramma took me for the infamous Tabla de Queso. My favorite cheese plate on earth (although the MGM in Vegas has quite the $50 party platter of cheese on their room service menu).That night, I dreamt I was in a hotel where I could see both living people and dead people, and that the dead people were in the condition of their demise. There was a black boot which ungodly amounts of insects kept pouring from, and I was throwing sea salt into the corners of the room to cleanse the energy. Gramma dreamt that there was a problem with our flight, and the person picking us up had the times wrong. Well… yesterday, when I checked our itinerary, I looked at the arrival time instead of the departure time. So, this morning, we didn’t figure this out until about 20 minutes before our flight left. Stuck here another day. After the initial butting of heads, Gramma and I got over it. Just call me a natural born lagger. We went to the plaza on Avenida Central.
Silo fed the ragamuffin pigeons.
They sell bags of corn, but the kernels are enormous. Poor pigeons. Must be like eating rocks. One extra night. Yawn. I’m ready to go home and commune with my turtles. Sleep in my own bed. Have some other clothing choices. I’m not as tan as I wanted to be, but a San Diego summer will remedy that right quick. 6-26 Gramma splurged on one more meal at the Argentinean restaurant. However, a splurge is like a $40 meal WITH drinks and dessert, less than what we would pay at Chili’s in the U.S.. I couldn’t resist the asparagus crepes again. We also had chicken in a dark beer and honey sauce with peeled white potatoes that were perfect little spheres. We arrived around 6:30 without a reservation. Within a short time, the restaurant was filled. The tables are close to each other and you can listen to the conversations that surround you. Tango music plays just under the sound of the voices. The mousse is grand. We go back to the hotel. Gramma and I watch The O.C. on dvd on the laptop. It’s the season where Marissa dies. We’ve watched all but the last disc of 7. I’ve seen every other episode of every other season including the last (thank you dvr). It’s very engaging. Even Silo knows the song and toward the end of our trip, we’ll all joke, “California here we come, right back where we started from…” Yep… a return trip to So Cal. Poor in Paradise. We’re so rich in Costa Rica. We’ve already consumed more in our lifetimes than most of those people ever will in a family line. I’ve lived on and off of coastal North County for all of my conscious memory. I’ve watched it lose most all of the fields and canyons that existed along its shores. The growth and development has had such a fatal boom in my short life. I always loved the beaches all the way up the coastline. La Jolla, Del Mar, Solana Beach, Cardiff, Old Encinitas, Leucadia, Carlsbad, Oceanside. I’ve laid out on all of them. I would stand on the shore and look out at the waters of the Pacific. It was so infinite to me. It went on and on, without being marred by people. By the end of the trip, Gramma and I kept saying to eachother, “Six more months.” We have to work a financial miracle to make that happen, but our goal is to be back in Costa Rica for Christmas, or if not our Christmas, their Twelfth Night in January. We made it to the airport in the morning with more than enough time. Everything went smoothly. One time, I was on a plane out of Vegas around Xmas and this flight attendant with a really lovely voice started singing "I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas" over the intercom as we were landing. It was really memorable. Well, this flight from San Jose, Costa Rica into Dallas Fort Worth was so rocky and bumpy and took these wild dips. My hand kept reaching out to Gramma, my eyes bugging out of my head. Crazy maternal scenarios running through my mind of proper rescuing techniques. When we landed, more than half the plane started clapping and cheering. Another notable airline moment. Then… customs. We had one hour and ten minutes to get to our gate. DFW is the size of Manhattan Island with a huge train circuit. You go through a long line of U.S. Citizens getting their passports scanned and customs claims form stamped. Did I say it was a long line? Then, you have to get your bags, go through another line to show them your bags, and re-check your bags on the other side. Our plane was already scheduled to be boarding at this point when I realize we forgot the car seat and had to run back to get it. Onward to the train which has to make like 4 other stops first. I’m envisioning The Amazing Race camera team scurrying up along side us to capture every moment of us making idiots of ourselves. The train doors open. We make a mad dash for it. My heart sinks when I rush the gate and see Kansas City across the red light board. The heart anxiously quivers. I am sure now that we will have to drag our sorry butts onto another train to another part of the airport. Then, we find all flights have been delayed due to the dark grey storm we just took a beating from in the last plane. Two hour delay. Sucked because we were tired and wanted to be home, but it gave me some time to text a million messages now that I was reunited with cellular service. The next flight, we were in the second to last row where there is a window you can’t see out of because it is directly beside the engine and as loud as a tornado. For three hours. There had been 119 people on standby for our flight. The attendant had to announce that she was going to stop talking to people because she had to start dealing with the people who did have tickets. By the time we got to LAX, I wasn’t prepared for what was to happen. Total luggage mayhem. There were four flights listed on our baggage carousel; a light to medium sized load already in circulation. I was trying to keep little Silo out of the way because of how people grab and swing their bags. We’re waiting on 7 things. The crowd is getting bigger. A lady to my right is waiting fruitlessly for her bag from one of the earlier flights on the list. Another very refined Texan woman is on my left. Her husband and son are coming to pick her up, and she is thinking maybe she should have her husband come in to help her find her bag. I’m trying to help, but if you don’t have some distinguishing factor to your bag, you’re kind of screwed. Those bags started hustling by, and there are a lot of black or red bags… When our flight started spitting out luggage, things totally went downhill. I have never seen it at a baggage claim. The bags were shooting down the ramp, building up a solid wall three or four high the whole length of the carousel. Then, once filled, the bags would slide down and fly over the other bags or jam up and turn over until caught and buckled up the line. If you saw your bag, you needed the help of others to loosen it as you grabbed the handle and fought against the belt dragging it away. It carried me off at one point. There were a couple Louis Vuittons probably belonging to Kimberly Stewart who was waiting across the carousel from us. Poor bags. Everything was taking a beating. People's emblems were getting ripped off and zippers snagged. The little Texan lady wound up with bloody knuckles. Gramma and I sprung into action with wipes and band-aids, just as G-ma’s friend arrived to drive us back to San D. Yawn. I’m still ruined from that day of travel. Even Silo has been sleeping in. On our last day in San Jose, June 24th, was my niece Chelsea’s birthday. Gramma, Silo, and I were in the Central Plaza at this big kiosk of phones. We all crowded around the handset and sang Happy Birthday for her voicemail. Everyone around us was really quite entertained. Maybe the whole trip, that is how it is… this display of funny-crazy ladies. Well, I guess I actually don’t mind being a source of amusement. It’s good to be back. I love to eat in America. I love t.v. I watched 3 episodes of Hell’s Kitchen the night I got home. Chef Ramsey made me really happy. I like when he’s super mean and everything he says they have to edit out 50% of for profanity. I went straight back to work the day after we got home. I’m losing touch already. Esta bien. I will be okay. I’ll never forget, for sure. My whole body is starting to memorize that wondrous place and make it my own. Costa Rica is totally part of heaven. When I’m there, I feel like we’re all jungle angels. Blue Morphos. Deep bellows like howlers. THAT is the spirit. An innumerable amount of green, green, green. Bugs. Bad plumbing. Questionable meat and produce. I can deal. There is a little patch of corn they grow every year right outside the window of my “barrio” apartment in Carlsbad. That corn ties me to simpler places.
Some people, when I talk about Costa, are like… “You’d live there?” Oh, hell yeah. YES! YES! YES! Thank you for reading about it. Go there! It makes you love the earth a little more. And thanks Gramma, who is my mom, who is awesome.Now look at these flowers. It is required by my tree hugger law. Don't just scroll past them. LOOK. This is how crazy the world is.
Cheers.
