Thanksgiving in Costa Rica

Thanksgiving Weekend 2006 kicked my ass. But not in a normal Thanksgiving sort of way.

My first Thanksgiving in Costa Rica didn’t include any overeating, although it did include turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie. It didn’t include any overdrinking, although I did enjoy my fair share of Imperials and, regrettably, margaritas. And it didn’t include any awkward extended-family dinners or airport delays, although I did spend the entire weekend with my dad and although we did encounter some pretty bad highway traffic.

Nope. None of that normal, boring crap. Instead, my weekend left me bruised, beat, bitten, and burned. And my stomach bothered.

It all began Wednesday morning, picking my dad up at the San Jose airport. We caught the Thrifty shuttle to pick up our car and then headed next door to the airport Denny’s for some breakfast.

Now, a couple of years ago, after a particularly frustrating night of poker and a particularly disgusting middle-of-the-night Denny’s “breakfast,” I decided that I would never eat at a Denny’s again. But when your dad’s just flown in on the red-eye, you’re hungry, and there no real alternative for miles – well Denny’s didn’t sound all that bad.

And, thankfully, it wasn’t. My meal wasn’t terrible and the restaurant actually provided – get this – wireless internet service. So my dad and I pulled out our Macs and surfed, sent email, and caught up on current evens while putting down some pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and sausage.

After that, it was off to Tamarindo, a small but booming town on the west coast of the country. Driving in Costa Rica can be an adventure thanks to its pitiful infrastructure, but about five hours later, we rolled into town right at sunset, just in time to snap some pretty fine photos before finding our hotel. A few minutes later and we were at a little place on the beach, downing some beers and enjoying the beach life.

Thanksgiving Day itself didn’t feel different than any other day down here. I woke up late, answered some emails, watched the parade on TV, and waited for my dad to wake up. Apparently, flying overnight on the red-eye and then driving five hours will wear a man out, because he didn’t wake up until past 10, almost 14 hours after he fell asleep.

That day, Thursday, was our easy day. We found a great place for lunch and then took off for a long walk on the beach. And when I say long, I mean long. Hours in one direction and hours back. And as you may know, hours in the sun can leave you with just a little bit of a sunburn unless you liberally apply that sunscreen. Which I thought I did. But the plate-sized sunburn in the middle of my back begs to differ.

That night, I soothed my pain over turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d find a Thanksgiving menu in a tiny coastal town in Costa Rica, but my dad and I chose this restaurant at random, and there it was. And it was good too.

Pretty soon after that, though, things started to deteriorate. My dad wanted to go horseback riding on Friday, so we went. I was sunburned and tired, but I was all for it. Until I actually got on my horse. Never in my life have I felt more uncomfortable riding a horse (or any other animal for that matter). Halfway through our TWO-HOUR trip I was in pain, and by the end, after all the trotting and galloping on the beach, I could hardly move. My back was jacked up, my knees hurt, and on the ride the local mosquitoes apparently decided to turn my legs and arms into their own Thanksgiving dinner.

That night, I decided to numb my body with alcohol. Good decision, I thought. And it was, until I decided to go for a margarita on the rocks. You would think I’d have learned my lesson the first time about mixed drinks and what the water does to my stomach, but you’d be wrong. Less than two hours later, I was already regretting my decision (and to be honest, I’m still feeling the repercussions today).

Somehow, with my back aching, my skin burned, my body itching, and my stomach bothered, I managed to make it home late Saturday night. (It probably helped that my dad drove the entire way.) I recovered somewhat on Sunday, and Monday, it was back to the grind. By which I mean rubbing my bug bites against the wall of my office.

My name is Matt

Something very peculiar has happened to me in the past 24 or so hours, and I want to get your opinion: coincidence or karma?

On my way to church yesterday, I saw a 100-colon coin on our cab’s floor. I hesitated—for about two seconds—and then I pocketed it. I mean, 100 colones (25 cents): who’s gonna miss it? It probably fell out of someone’s pocket, right?

Anyway, later on at church, the pastor started talking about all the ways that we fill our lives up with garbage (read: sin) and how the devil lives in garbage. He went through a long list of the ways that we can sin and how we need to clean up our lives and ask for forgiveness. Somehow, asking for forgiveness slipped my mind.

That was towards the middle of the sermon. By the end, I wasn’t feeling so hot. Later that afternoon, it was worse. And this morning, it was official: I’m sick.

So I’ll put it to you again: coincidence or karma? I’m inclined to vote for the latter. And I’m pretty sure I know just how to fix it. The next time I’m in a cab, some lucky driver will get a little tip, approximately 100 colones worth.

Just call me Earl.

…

As for that sermon the other day, Heather has brought it to my attention that I may have been unnecessarily harsh in my post yesterday. Yes, he said homosexuality was a sin. Yes, he said abortion was a sin. And yes, he disparaged feminism. But, Heather pointed out, what did I expect? We’re living in a very traditional country, where machismo is alive and well and where most Protestant churches don’t veer too far from Catholic doctrine. Fair enough. And, as Heather also pointed out, he also had some very positive messages about treating people with respect and making a difference in the world.

Point taken. Message received.


So, Mr. Preacher Man, wherever you are, please forgive me for my remarks of yore. And while you’re at it, how about giving me a pass on that coin I picked up too?

I think I’m feeling better already.

We're moving

There’s really no way to sugarcoat this: we did our best, but now, we’ve had it.

Had it with the internet going out
Had it with fuzzy cable and uncomfortable furniture
Had it with broken stoves and broken coffee makers
Had it with dogs barking outside our window at all hours
Had it with the construction next door
Basically, we’ve had it with living on our own in a foreign land

So, we’re moving… in with a family here in Sabanilla. (What, you thought we were coming back to the states? Ah, how cute.)

It took a few weeks of searching, but we’ve finally found a great family to live with. Actually, we found two great ones, which made our decision really tough. But in the end, I think we made the right choice, and I think you’ll agree. Why? Well, for starters, there’s the 50-something-year-old mom with humongous breasts that hang down to her belly-button who never stops talking and is so full of positivity that she pulled me up to dance with her while we were visiting earlier today. There’s the 18-year-old daughter who shared her birthday cake with us, loves her parents (and Shakespeare), and finishes our sentences for us when we don’t know the words. And then there’s the coup de gras: the 6-foot-5, 250-pound 60- or 70-something-year-old Italian dad who speaks eight languages; has a gray beard halfway down his chest; collects, buys, and sells antique maps and books; has no idea what the internet is; and whose voice is so low that it puts James Earl Jones to shame.

I wish I could describe to you just how hilarious (and awesome) this family is, but I just don’t have the words. (Did I mention that the mom claims that she has 59 brothers and sisters?)

As you can tell, I’m pretty excited about the move. In addition to the family, we’ll also have our own bathroom; actual hot water throughout the house (instead of a death-inducing electrical device hooked up to the shower head); breakfast, dinner and laundry done for us; cable TV in our room; and cable internet that is said to be much more reliable and up to four times faster. The only negative is that the room is the size of a box of sardines. But I like it salty.

We’ve already paid through Dec. 6 at our current place, so we won’t be moving for a few weeks. Until then, I’ll be dreaming of dancing with Doña Nora.

In other news around Costa Rica, Heather and I went to church today. Heather’s friend (Shirley) from work invited her, and I promised to tag along, so from 10 to 12 this morning, I was giving all of my glory and praise to the lord. Or something like that. Anyway, the “church” was actually single a room above Shirley's house, which her family also owns. After some awkward introductions, we started out with a little Bible reading and then launched into about 45 minutes of song, in Spanish. Now, I don’t want to overstate this, but 45 minutes of singing, all while standing, in a small upstairs room without air conditioning… let’s just say I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it.

But that paled in comparison to the 75-minute sermon from the pastor, who spent his time railing, at different points, against homosexuality, feminism, and abortion, emphasizing that the husband is the head of the family and that the wife should always be subservient to his will, and blaming women for sin (you know, since Eve gave Adam the apple and all).

I haven’t talked to Heather about this, but I don’t think we’ll be going back.

…

Two quick-hitters:

1. Last night, on our way back from dinner, we saw a hooker with her, um, upper torso area completely uncovered as she walked across the street.
2. It probably won’t surprise you to find out that I watched the Michigan-Ohio St. game yesterday. No. 1 vs. No. 2, both undefeated, Big 10 title and trip to the national championship game on the line. And for the most part, the game lived up to the hype: great players making great plays in the biggest game of the year. But I won’t remember the game for what happened on the field. Nope, it was something that one of the announcers said that will stick with me as a reminder of what can happen when you give microphones to former players and coaches. The offending party this time was Bob Davie, ABC commentator and former Notre Dame coach. While trying to explain what happened on a play where two players collided, Davie said, “You can see right here when he collisioned him.” WHEN HE COLLISIONED HIM?! I’m sorry, I just can’t let that one go. When he collisioned him??? Shame on you, Bob Davie. Shame.

Until next time, try not to collision anyone.

Don't call it a comeback

Ladies and gentlemen, damas y caballeros, back by popular demand, I present to you... THE RETURN OF TICO TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Please hold your applause for the end.)

Okay, okay, the truth is, I've been slacking. I've been busy with the magazine, Spanish classes, blah, blah, blah. Excuses. You don't want to hear 'em and I won't waste your time. So it's time to down some coffee, clear my mind, and bring you good people up to speed.

After 11 days of non-bloginess, I'm not sure exactly where to start. Let's see... Did I tell you about the Halloween party at my bosses' house? (Checking my blog...)... No, no I didn't. So let's start there. Two Saturdays ago (that would be the 28th of Oct.), my bosses threw a Halloween party for everyone from work and some of their friends. And even though I don't get quite as riled up for Halloween as some people (see: Birdmonster), I was psyched. The way I figured it, it was an excuse to get dressed up, do some drinking, and get to know everyone at work. AND I WAS RIGHT. (Sorry about the all-caps there; I think I drank too much coffee.)

Anyway, Heather dressed up as basketball player and I, taking advantage of what I had on hand, went as a tourist. I put on my tacky Hawaiian shirt, my touristy straw hat, put my camera around my neck, tossed on a backpack. I didn't just look like a tourist--I WAS a tourist. We met one of my friends from work downtown and, after a few stops, made it to the party. Food, costumes, beer, wine... it's safe to say a good time was had by all. So that was Saturday.

And that probably would've been the highlight of me week if it weren't for Tuesday night. Let's just say that I'll never forget watching Fox News announce that Democrats had taken over the House... and then the Senate. I believe if you look up "lame duck" in the dictionary, you now see a picture of W and his big s&$t-eating grin. LOVING IT.

The rest of the week, in between reminiscing about the Democrats' victory, I was actually getting my arse kicked by my job. I'm running all over down these days, meeting with writers, picking up photos, supervising (that's right, I said SUPERVISING) photo shoots, and in my spare time trying to learn Spanish.

Oh, and plans. We've been making lots of plans. First, my pops is coming to visit on the 22nd. I'm gonna show him around the city if we have time, but our main excursion will be to Tamarindo, on the west coast. Beaches, bars, hiking, snorkeling... basically everything you think about when you think of Costa Rica--that's Tamarindo. Then, the very next weekend, Heather and I are taking a trip to the second poorest country in the hemisphere. Any guesses out there? Guatemala? Nope. Ecuador? Wrong direction. Bolivia? Not even close. No, the lucky winner of the Matt and Heather sweepstakes is... Nicaragua and the newly elected Sandinista government!

Because we're in Costa Rica on our passports, we have to leave the country every 90 days to make it legal. And after doing some research, Nicaragua came up as the cheapest option. It was only after we booked the flight that we found out it was the second poorest country in the hemisphere. What a disappointment. I mean, the way I figure it, if you're visiting number 2, why not just go all the way and visit number 1. So for our next trip outside the country: Haiti!

On second thought, maybe not.

(You can cheer now.)

Things you should know about my life in Costa Rica

I now get up between 6:00 and 6:15 a.m. each day. (Except the weekends—what, do you think I’m crazy?)

I spend a minimum of one hour each day using public transportation. (Yesterday, I took five different buses and three cabs.)

I use the word “ciao” on a regular basis.

Instead of working out, I’m working on a belly.

I spent almost $200 the other day at the mall, and I’m going back this weekend.

I’ve watched nearly every movie TNT has put on, including “Like Mike,” “Mona Lisa Smile, and “Erin Brokovich” (gotta practice those listening skills). The other day, I lucked out with “Starship Troopers.”

I still don’t like soccer.

My favorite Spanish music? Reggae

My stomach still hates me.

Pineapple is now my fruit of choice (and not Travis. Ba-dum-bum.).

I’ve killed, oh, I don’t know, 10 billion ants since I’ve been here, and a fair amount of fruit flies.

I now send almost as many emails in Spanish as I do in English.

I now dislike David Eckstein even more than when I left, which I didn’t think was possible.

We lose our internet connection, on average, for two or three hours each day.

(And that’s my excuse for going so long between posts.)