Living the Frogger Life

Costa Rican drivers play their own version of Frogger called "Hit or at Least Attempt to Hit Thus Scaring the #%^* Out of the Pedestrian". Yeah, I admit that game title could use revision- for that reason I am staying away from that industry. The scoring system seems pretty basic- hit a pasty American, 10 points. Hit a ballsy Costa Rican, 5. Wobbly old Asian lady with a dog tucked under her arm? 100 points. You get double points if you ambush them by turning a corner without a signal super fast as they attempt to cross thus making them scamper in terror to avoid your bumper.

My life in a nutshell...

Hailing from a city where pedestrians rule the roost to the point of pushing drivers to the brink of insanity, I find it impossible to adjust to a place where the opposite is true. My naive mind likes to think the cars won't actually hit me, but I'm not so sure- they've pushed the boundary so much its more terrifying then the cinematic love child of The Exorcist and The Ring. The other day my mind switched back to United States mentality and I stepped in front of a taxi thus incurring the wrath of the driver who didn't hold back his feelings and laid on the horn while actually driving closer to me. Not an obituary I want- Marisa died suddenly last weekend, squished on the bumper of a red San Jose cab. Silly gringa American....

Tied neck and neck for which is scarier are riding in a car in San Jose and trying to cross the street. I learned that following stray dogs or sticking with packs of locals are the best ways to ensure a safe passage across the road. From living a life on the street, those canines developed a keen sense of street-crossing knowledge and I trust them far more than I do myself. Almost every car ride I take here has me white-knuckled in the back seat, digging my own nails into my palm. I is similar to riding a Disneyland roller coaster except you are far less sure of your survival. Last night, the rain cascaded out of the sky onto the taxi driver's windshild as he stopped behind a huge truck carrying poorly secured lumber in bumper to bumper traffic on the highway on a hill so steep he had to use the parking break (they drive manuals here) so as not to go careening backwards. My life flashed before my eyes as I recited a few Hail Mary's. Thankfully we survived that one...Next time, I may not be so lucky.
 

Crema de Rosas

The late Billy Mays would have been the perfect man to endorse the favorite product of the staff at the Cartago nursing home: crema de rosas.

Ah yes, I can hear his migraine-inducing bellows now: "Billy Mays here to tell you about an exciting new product in healthcare! Crema de Rosas does it all! Got a bleeding open sore? Scaly dry skin making an alligators look like a baby's bum? Blisters oozing multi-colored pus? Even dry eyes are no match for this multi-purpose cream! As if that weren't good enough, this cream smells overwhelmingly like the perfume of an oblivious elderly woman who can't tell she is surrounded by a cloud of it! Call now!"

Despite my lack of medical training, I still possess the common knowledge that one should not put dry skin ointment on an open, bleeding wound and then cover it tightly with gauze in order to really vaporize any chance that some healing air could enter thus helping the formation of a scab. We wouldn't want that, now would we?

Maybe the whole "use one product forever to cure any ailment" is a Hispanic culture thing. The use of crema de rosas as an ointment, lotion, antibacterial (despite its lack of antibacterial properties ), dry eye cream and more (nothing would surprise me anymore- maybe it's a toothpaste, too) triggered a memory of fizzy tabs in Spain. When I studied there, I found that the doctors suggested fizzy tabs, like Alka-Seltzer to alleviate any reported symptom. I went in for a brutal sore throat and cough combo and left with a box of fizzy tabs. My friend clearly had the flu and guess what she was plopping into her glass of water at dinner? Bacterial infection, fungal disease, merciless virus, sore muscles, joint pain- these magical fizzy tabs apparently took care of it all. You could have knocked me over with a feather I was so surprised they didn't cure my illness (sarcasm). About as surprised as I am every time a patient's bandage is peeled away an the wound looks the same, if not worse, than when previously treated. I am no less than profoundly grateful for US healthcare. 

Sloths!

As I sit here amid the oh-so-charming sounds of San Jose (cars roaring past my window, children screaming, dogs barking, you name it), my mind has already begun to reminisce about the warm, serene waters of the beach in Puerto Viejo which, just this morning, caressed me like a giddy child. Prior to my trip to the Caribbean shores of Costa Rica, I assumed transparent blue waters with gentle waves only existed in tourism ads for Hawaii or pictures to swindle you into buying a time share in Florida. I can now attest to the validity of their existence.

Puerto Viejo is the image I held in my mind of Costa Rica before my arrival. Shockingly, I did not anticipate being stuck in a constant torrential downpour walking around a dirty city constantly fearing for my life and my belongings as is the case in San Jose. That reality melted away this past weekend- I spent two days among friends and colorful locals enjoying the sun under the exotic palm trees. I felt like I was in Blue Lagoon without all the teen drama or Cast Away without Wilson and an improbable plane crash. The pristine water sparkled like nature's Tiffany diamonds and moved gently towards the coast, unlike other beaches I've been to with violent waves ravaging ceaselessly and pulling swimmers asunder in rip tides. I felt like a baby being rocked by its mother as I floated in the Caribbean.

Prior to spending time on the beach, my body was jonesing like a heroin addict for some good ol' endorphins of which it has been seriously deprived lately. Therefore, when I awoke from a surprisingly sound sleep in a hostel bed, I decided to go for a run along the beach. Back home in the US, the wildlife I passed included squirrels, birds, domestic animals and the occasional deer and fox. Here, it is not uncommon to run past a sloth chilling in a low branch, hoards of insects that star in horror films, monkeys, and crabs. It truly is a wild kingdom down here. One of the most exciting moments for me during my weekend came unexpectedly and involved a sloth. Previously, the sloth was as elusive as Sasquach to me, and I therefore placed at the top of my bucket list "see a sloth in the wild." While in Manuel Antonio last weekend, I saw one but at a large distance. The sloth in Puerto Viejo trumped this experience by a landslide. While eating breakfast, someone from my volunteer program informed me that there was a sloth in a low branch right next to the hostel. Thankfully, sloths move slower than a handicapped snail through molasses, so I took my time finishing my eggs and fruit and headed over to the tree. Sure enough, there he was hanging from the bottom branch, a mere ten feet away. It was surreal to reach out and touch the little lazy guy, and my surreal giddiness was quickly shattered when someone told me they are super dirty and bite. Thanks for raining on my parade, Debbie Downer of a local...

If anyone reading this ever finds themselves in this robust little seaside town, make sure to stop at the Zion Cafe for a meal or a smoothie at the very least. Owned and managed by a Toronto native, this inconspicuous seaside eatery offers healthy vegetarian options alongside seafood specialties and some carnivorous entrees. My lactose intolerant-ometer went off like crazy when it say the words "soy milk" under the smoothie section on the menu, so I ordered a banana smoothie with soy milk to sip on while waiting for my coconut curry. Never have I been so ecstatic over brown rice before- here, they go ever-so-slightly simple carb heavy- white bread, white pasta and white rice. It is truly a mystery to me how Costa Ricans obtain a substantial amount of fiber in ther diets.

 

Well, a screeching car alarm just valuted me out of my daydream. Time to face facts, Puerto Viejo has gone to rest in my memory and I start my volunteering tomorrow... oh life...