Diplomacy as a careerpath

I am not a generally tactful person, sadly - on average it's a couple of times a day I make an inappropriate remark - but still get annoyed when others are utterly tactless. I think I am particularly sensitive due to my overwhelmingly strong English nature in this area... Here, many people just say what they think and that's all there is to it, regardless of how it may affect others - if it's THE TRUTH then that's all that matters. Forthrightness - appreciated in many ways, in others really, really not... But how do you judge when is the right time? In Costa Rica, it was the same - comments on just how horrendously bitten my legs were, that enormous spot on my forehead.

There are times when the elephant should just be left there in the room.

This Too Shall Pass...

My time here is basically over. It's hard to credit. Nevertheless, no choice there. It really is over.
Thank you to all who have accompanied me on the journey from stuttering white person to fluently rambling spanish speaking slightly less white person.

Thanks to crazy lady at spinning who really has been showing too much breastage lately (seriously, how can they be supported in that outfit?), the old gurning woman in Arenal who admired my body rather too lasciviously for my liking, the little gap in the bathroom wall that always appeared to be a giant spider ready to pounce on me, the guy with dreadful puby curls who is very sweet in más por menos, and the sweet ginger lady with the amazing freckles who looks after my bags for me there... and the sweet squeaky girl and the other lovely women who provide me with cheap fab food at the facultad de derecho at the UCR - Fordham, you should take note - other law schools like feeding their students nutritious, tasty and affordable food.

Holy Crap

It's almost over. Officially. I have bound a copy of my document for the library here at CEFEMINA. I have given a talk in Spanish. It was horrible... but provoked debate and scandal at the law, which is what I wanted. So there we go... How is my summer nearly over? Unbelievable.

This weekend I prepared in advance a list of things I'll miss about this place... and things I really, really won't.

What am I going to miss about Ticoland?

1) My friends and family here – duh.
2) The colours. Everything is so brightly coloured, nothing is grey, dull. My route to work in the morning is filled with greens, reds, yellows. Houses are beautifully bright. Where I live is pink, for goodness’ sake. And I love the houses that are the colours of the Tico flag – blue at the bottom, then a white stripe, then a red roof. Cheesy, but I love them.

3) The mountains all around San José. Not that I’d go anywhere near them to climb up, or owt like that. But just having them there is glorious, a reminder of how amazing the land here really is, especially when you see them all green and looming, or grey with mists all around, and remember that not far beyond them are lush beaches, cloudforests, active volcanoes… and tons of toucans.
4) The flowers. They are gloriously beautiful, an example of how colourful everything is here.
5) The beer (and happy hour). For example, went out Friday night. Not only were beers in the restaurant 665 colones (approximately $1.35), but they were two for one. So $1.35 for two bottles of beer. And high quality lager, too. There are so many lovely American beers, but they are expensive and the local stuff everywhere is Bud or Amstel. UGH UGH UGH. Imperial, Pilsen even, definitely Bavaria – cheap and good. However, I will not miss the weird habit of serving beer with ice, lemon and salt. The latter two I can just about cope with, but ice is pointless. Having said that, when my hosts were plying me with it on my birthday it wasn’t too bad that way… and probably best for all concerned in terms of drunkenness, as it was before 11am…
6) Taxis. In San José they abound as in New York, but somewhat cheaper… and I have got very used to catching them home all the time, rather than any sort of public transport. This is going to be difficult to adjust to given where I live in Manhattan… damnation.
7) My mornings. This is probably going to be what I miss the most – just sitting out at 7.30 with the sun streaming down on my face, listening to a podcast and sipping tea, catching up on the Wisden Cricketer. Mornings in NYC feel so rushed by comparison – and there’s not the guaranteed sun, either. My mornings here are an incredibly relaxed way to start the day. The other mornings I go spinning, which I still hate, but see the benefit of. Going to be hard to keep that up given here they’re $1.20 a class, and somewhat more expensive than that in NYC… Still, I only have two 9.30 classes a week, and while I’m going to be rushed, I know, I think it’s going to be better than last year.
8) El Español. Right now I can’t imagine functioning in English again. Even though I think in English all the time, when I think about getting back and speaking to the customs officials, taxi drivers, shop workers, friends… it’s all in Spanish in my head. It sounds weird, and I'm honestly complete surprised by it. I’ve never spoken this well, and to have to go back to stuttering and stumbling… nightmare.
9) The obsession with dulce de leche – seriously, it’s in everything sweet here, and is gorgeous.
10) The fruit which is ridiculously good and cheap – bananas are sweet and flavourful and absurdly cheap, pineapple smells and tastes wonderful, the guanabana en leche is the best drink in the entire world, papaya is glorious, particularly with the fabulous limes that abound here. It’s plentiful and fabulous.
11) The weird washing up paste that they use instead of liquid. I don't know why I like it as much as I do, but it's a strange thing that everywhere else I've ever been uses liquid, but here they use paste. I love it.

WHAT I WILL NOT MISS:

1) The tv is an abomination. In general the press is terrible – they show gory detail of every dead person, bleeding onto the sheets covering them… but the tv is particularly dreadful – either horrible programmes about the stars’ private lives which I don’t care about (because I don’t recognise anyone, let’s be honest – although I watched a quality E! special on Jean Claude van Damme – did you know he became a cokehead?), crappy horrible soaps imported from México, dreadful cheap American movies (watched on Saturday an absolute abomination with Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman, who had no chemistry whatsoever) or dubbed US shows, which are often good – the Simpsons, CSI… but I hate dubbing. And Walker, Texas Ranger replaced Smallville which has not been a bonus.
2) The pirópos. I believe I have made my feelings clear on those before.
3) The lack of decent wine. Wine Warehouse I LOVE YOU.
4) The fiendish biting thingies. My legs are still horrible, I’m still receiving two or more bites a day.
5) The lack of internet at home. At least if tv is dreadful in NYC I have the internet to piss around on.
6) The regressive views towards women. I know that not everyone is exactly a progressive feminist in NYC, but I suppose I hear a surprising amount about what women’s role is, how they should dress, that they are “aggressors” (and therefore, somehow, deserve gender-based violence). The culture of impunity and blame in this society is not something I am keen on.
7) The lack of going out at night.
8) The fact that there is not a single bar in which I’d feel comfortable just going for a quiet drink on my own. Not that I’d do that much at home in London or NYC. However, here I know I couldn’t (see (6) for partial explanation) and that makes me feel limited.
9) The lack of safe places to run.
10) The lack of natural light in my room. Seriously, it is DARK in here…

Quincedias

I have two weeks left in Central America. In two weeks' time, I will be readying to leave Panamá. To head back to the US of A. Yikes. The time seems to have flown.

Good time to, then, reflect on the fact that I seem to have become the most attractive woman in San José since my 27th Birthday. I have been leched over and revolted by it for the last two days. Apparently, turning this age and still being unmarried means you give off a pheromone that is irresistible to sweaty, fat, hairy and disgusting men. Not that it would be any better if they were all 22 and built like Jake Gyllenhaal. I actually don't really look, to avoid any kind of acknowledgement or eye contact, so genuinely don't know what the majority look like. I'm just basing this on the group of six of them who just couldn't let me walk past them without commenting on my chest last night. Ugh ugh ugh.

UGH.

UGH.

Be warned - heard a breaking story today that will bring forth a rant of almost unprecedented anger. But for now, let's be zen about everything. Plus, I need some lunch. Can't really think of anything else - my two strongest "emotions" are sleepiness and hunger... genuinely.

Salty Air

I have travelled around a bit now, Pacific, Caribbean coasts, seen mountains, rainforests, volcanoes, cloudforests... it's good here. Very, very beautiful. But in Puerto Viejo I finally found a place that was a nice small town - geared up for the tourists but also for the locals - it's not just a black hole for your cash to disappear but somewhere where people actually live as well as providing gringos with beer. It was good. Particularly the crab in the bar - that was amazing, it was easily as big as my hand - it just scuttled around. And the incredible sunset on Sunday night that I managed to enjoy, rather than trying to take a million photos of something that really truly resembled a postcard, not reality. It was wonderful. And it was normal to see people who aren't european in origin - a change for Costa Rica.

I'm going to post a few photos every day, rather than all in one, but will be doing the snapfish thing if you want to see them that way...


This is the house that belongs to Auxi's family. It was airy, light, and FREEEEEEEE!


Apparently every time they go they normally paint a bit of the house, but this weekend it wasn't possible - the ferreteria was shut (and that means a hardware shop, not a place that sells ferrets) so instead there was lots of cardplaying and eating.


Need I say more?


This was Playa Cocles, about 5km outside Puerto Viejo, on Monday when it was glorious weather. We bathed, in sun and sea, and I got bitten to pieces.


More beautiful sea and sand at Cocles.

More bragging via the medium of photo to come tomorrow. Yay!

Aguaceros

Yesterday it rained for at least eleven hours - started just before one in the afternoon and was still going when I drifted to sleep last night. At points it was so loud I genuinely couldn't hear what anyone was saying in our "Economy and Women" seminar last night. Good welcome back to the smoke. Being here with M made me realise what an unbelievable setting this city is in, surrounded by mountains, and with lush green foliage everywhere and just so... brightly coloured - the houses, roofs, flowers... I love London, Paris, but they seem so grey in comparison. On the other hand, they have pedestrian crossings, believe in tarmac for roads, and despite legend, don't have rain every single day. Swings and roundabouts, my friends.

M and I went on a fabulous trip to cloudforests, rainforests, an active (Strombolean, apparently) volcano and waterfall. It was utterly amazing. Gringos in every direction, but what can you do? It was a bit overwhelming in that sense, but I was undeniably impressed by the level of Spanish spoken by the travellers in general, and everyone's friendliness... it was good stuff, basically.


En route to the waterfall. It was an 11km hike there and back, and we almost got divebombed by a toucan. That was utterly, utterly brilliant. In fact, we saw four toucans in three days, including two different breeds, one with a green bill and the other more orangey brown. This guy from Valencia we met got attacked by a toucan in his hotel in Tortuguera - scratches all over his arm were the price for not giving up his papaya and mango to the bird. They rule.

You just don't get enough men who look like this. M and I had a substantial debate over whether his hair was natural. I say yes, just with some grease to separate the curls. He says grease isn't natural. You decide.

Our hotel in Monteverde was very nice - a step above in terms of price and quality. Well worth it, because we got DRENCHED in MTV Reserve, and headed back like drowned rats, only for me to have my first hot shower in a month. It was glorious. Utterly, utterly glorious.

This waterfall was beautiful, and you could bathe in the pool by it, which we did. In the cold. And after clambering over very slippery rocks indeed.

The World's Gone Mad

So I go away for four days and the world implodes with craziness.

Seriously.

What is wrong with people?

Examples of the craziness:

1) Wear nice knickers in case you pass out while mashed.

2) I know that it was a time of terrible tension and worry - I was there. But this ranks alongside the geniuses who murdered a Scotsman with a table leg because he was suspected to be an Irish terrorist - you cannot simply excuse these mistakes due to fear. Someone should pay some kind of recompense.

3) Girls - and I do mean girls - getting pregnant because it's a better option than working. What are we doing about educating women if this is really their "best" option? Children are wonderful things, but really, the choice boils down to Tescos or motherhood? Nice to know it's not due to lack of sexual education, though... hmm.

And all of this entirely fails to mention you know where and you know what. I cannot even go into that because it is utterly... soul destroying. Crushing. I don't normally shirk the bad stuff - I love me some depressing documentary over a Kate Hudson piece of fluff any day. But the Middle East at the moment is too much for me. Just too much.

HOWEVER: I read a bloody brilliant book over the weekend. I love the author - anyone who turns down a prize from the Mail for its attitude towards immigrants is my hero anyway, but I loved this book, his second, and the first was a beautiful, melancholy study of nationality, race and identity. IMHO. But what do I know?

So that's good. It should also be made clear that I am grumpy because I spent five glorious days with TOH and now he's gone. I won't see him for five weeks. That makes me miserable. On the other hand (let's hope no one from U.S. Customs reads this) he brought me vegetarian kielbasa, which I shall eat in his honour tonight. And watch a mere two episodes of the third series of Scrubs. Joy. After attending my study group on Costa Rican Economy and Gender. Possibly while drinking a glass of my favourite wine, also brought over by TOH. Sigh. You will be regaled, almost endlessly, with the glorious photos and stories of our wonderful time together, which has not been tarnished by the misery people are propagating throughout the world. Or that England scored 528 yet couldn't beat Pakistan.

Le Bien, Le Mal

I'm sure I've used that title before, but tough. Can't think too much, as have to prepare for interview for human rights scholarship this afternoon that I am in no way going to get. So forgive me for the repetition. Plus it's the title of the MC Solaar song he does with Jazzmatazz that I love. Ooh, Prose Combat mood coming on! Favourite tunes: Obsoléte, Nouveau Western (of course).

A weekend of mixed fortunes and emotions. The mighty Crouching Tigers won their very first game, which makes me incredibly happy, tinged with a small amount of envy due to not being there. But it's wonderful, unbelievable news and I am so proud of how far everyone has come, it's amazing, particularly given that some had barely kicked a football eighteen months ago. Fabulous women, fabulous football - I miss it so, so, so very much.

Of course, Italia won. They had been the better team, more or less, up until now, but I am very very angry with Zizou for getting himself off and, more importantly, therefore allowing Trezeguet to take a penalty (although he probably would have done anyway), and also for headbutting someone (violent, bad) and looking so absolutely mindblowingly good in the photos on his return to France (see below). Or maybe that's just me. But that one with Chirac... And somehow being named best player of the tournament - he was wonderful, but the violent conduct surely mars that - Cannavaro must be wondering what on earth he had to do to win that?

I also had some fantastic sushi yesterday, ate a lot of Mexican sweets, and had a grand afternoon. However, it was marred by being made absolutely petrified by a man who was a pirata i.e. non-official taxi driver. He decided to beep us (not uncommon for taxistas here - you become able to ignore it after a while), but normally they move on when you indicate you're not interested. So we shook our heads. And instead of driving on, he slowed down, shouted things out the window at us and then stopped and got out of the car, walking towards us. Why would you deliberately terrify people like that? It was dark, 8pm on a Sunday which for Costa Rica means there is NO ONE around. We scarpered indoors, wandering around a shopping centre for a while, before realising that we weren't going to catch a taxi that way, but there were a few people around on the other side of the street (including guards with guns - useful, very useful), so went there instead, and finally got into a safe taxi. Still, home safe and sound, and only about 33 hours until I see M, so all in all, a good weekend had by all.

Sin Rastro...

Having mused on the purpose of my blog - which I decided internally was just because I cannot stop talking - I think it's probably a culture clash narrative. What I love about being away from home is the chance to compare cultures, perspectives, beliefs, customs, rituals... all these things and more. To do it between the US and the UK is always interesting, given that we share the foundations of a language, despite the divergence subsequently. Living in a country where the language really truly is different makes it much harder to pick up nuances. It's easier to feel stranded or isolated because you're not sure of the formality of the situation or suchlike - all these things become magnified, exponentially, due to this uncertainty and lack of surety.

The aim is generally not to rate which is better, which is worse, but to be that horror of all horrors - the RELATIVIST, as I was last night when trying to explain that indigenous people not wearing clothes didn't make their lives "ugly". My point being that it's not for me to judge, unless it is something so far out of whack, so absolutely fundamentally wrong that it must be stopped.

I think I've found it.

If you want to send me a letter here, you can't. Well, you can, but you would have to direct it to the post office. Why? Because my road doesn't have a name. Or if it does, no one knows it. There are no numbers. There are no letterboxes (and I don't mean pillarboxes, I mean letterboxes on the doors). My home address is: 100m to the north and 100m to the west of Palí, Novacentro, Guadalupe, San José. Why am I not afraid to post that on the web? Because there's no way you'll find it. Because all my address means is that I live 100m northwest of a pet supermarket in a shopping centre in a certain area of San José.

No one knows where anything is here. Just where it is in relation to something else. Which you can get used to, although it's not easy. My problem is that I don't know which way's south, north, east, west. So that's bad enough, and because everything is so short here, there's nothing like the Wharf or Empire State Building to orientate yourself around.

However, the icing on the cake. I am going to visit a B&B for M and I to possibly stay at next week. I found it in the Rough Guide, and it sounds fairly nice - pretty garden, near university (which is where I work), cheap. The address is 50m south of the antiguo higuerón. Which means old fig tree. Except by old, they don't mean that it's been there a long time. They mean that it's not actually there anymore. So I have to find this place by looking for something that is no longer extant and the location of which I didn't know in the first place.

If the US is going to insist Costa Rica should sign the TLC (making, by the way, it a treaty for CR but only an "accord" for the USA - nice, nice), they should make the renovation of street names and numbers their utmost priority. However, one of my Oprah moments yet again - something comes along to remind you that for some, roads, regardless of names, are a luxury.

Veal Always Have Paris

Oh Happy Day indeed - T-minus 6 days until M arrives. Huzzah! Why else is it a good day?

1) Viejo verde means, apparently, dirty old man. So there you go.

2) I didn't have to watch smallville last night as I was being kept company by a very fab person instead.

3) The cucaracha has not returned.

4) I am about to eat some queque.

Lo vencí, el demonio

Warning: Just in case some of you, somehow, think of me as an eloquent, articulate and genteel sort of lass, there may be language ahead to shock you.

Last night, as I was preparing some lists of stuff for M and I to do next week and what vittels and essentials from the US of A I wanted brought, I started thinking about how to sum up my time here.

You know, what's the silliest thing someone has tried to sell me on the street? TV antennas. He had two.

How fast do Costa Rican people walk? Maybe 2.5 mph if you're lucky. No wonder they all look so surprised when you say you're going to walk somewhere, because what takes me 20 minutes probably takes them 45. If they're going for it.

This, however, is what I ended up writing:

What M and I should do:

 Monteverde – nature
 Volcano? Arenal, Poas?
 Buceo – Playa de Coco, Boca del Toro?

HOLY FUCK GIANT COCKROACH. BUT GINORMOUS. WHAT TO DO? STAY PARALYSED HERE, APPARENTLY, UNABLE TO MOVE. MAYBE IT WILL ELECTROCUTE ITSELF ON THE TV. NO, NO SUCH LUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK. BICHOS GAIN ANOTHER VICTORY. NOWHERE NEAR THE SIZE OF THE LIZARD and yet I am TERRIFIED AND COMPLETELY DISGUSTED.

[And so on. This went on, intermittently, for what felt like several hours.]

Huge tactical error in going to find broom. First, because couldn’t find broom. Second, because roach has disappeared and now I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep until I see it again. Disgusting, disgusting horrible thing. Why couldn’t it be a lizard? Where did it go? Do I want to find it? And trust it on the day where I thought I’d sleep due to having bloody earplugs. Little did I know. Fucker fucker fucker fucker. Just seen it over by the chair. I may never sit there again. Fucker. Disgusting little thing. Ugh ugh ugh. Want it out of my room. OUT.

It has now retreated because I couldn’t kill it. And now I will worry about it scuttling around, Will stay up for a while and try to kill it. Now I am firm – while I hate the thought of killing it, the thought of it scuttling around just ready to get me - I don’t know what, but that makes the idea of killing it much, much more appealing.

Finally, however, I saw it trying to get in at the coving at the top of the room. It couldn't manage it and I was grateful I had moved the bed away from the wall. Anyhoo, it finally found a corner where it could get up into the coving and hide (and it was hiding from me, as I'd been chasing it round with paper because Mayela had moved the broom but I didn't want to kill it). Ingeniously, I then stuffed a small plastic bag to cover the hole into which it had disappeared so that it couldn't get back down. Then I put my trainer over the hole in the floor from where it may, possibly, have come.

And that's what I did last night.

This morning, I then saw a dead one on entering our office. They are tormenting me.

Still, found a website, Hollaback NYC, that should be good, but I fear moaning about leering is not going to cause much of a shock, and these women keep reporting saying nothing - the point of HollaBACK is that you, well, hollaBACK. However, this was utter, utter genius: read and learn, ladies. Plus, this website has a somewhat more mature approach, perhaps, where you can vent your rage and there are some good tips for technique. That's what always gets me - what to say that isn't raging and swearing? Now I have an idea. Which I may have to put into practice next time it happens to me.

La Viajera Sola

A bird I know was musing on the topic of living alone and, at the time of reading it, I thought I could say that I had lived alone, and I liked it. I hadn't realised then that I really haven't lived alone, and that this weekend was genuinely the first time for me to get out in the world and do something truly alone.

When I was ten, Mrs. Barker gave us a task: Come up with adjectives that describe you, starting with the same letter as your first name. I can't recall what I had said about myself, but Mrs B. suggested the word garrulous. That was the first time I remember hearing that word, and yet, it fits perfectly - or, at least, the Chambers definition does. A tendency to drone on about trivia. I'm not - that is, I really, truly hope not - the kind of person who shares just too much information about herself on first meeting someone. But I can talk for hours about absolutely nothing to people I barely know. I like to think it's a gift. I wanted to be more mysterious, a loner, but I can't hold myself back.

Anyway, this weekend, although I had distractions, I was alone. It was strange. I do like my solitude, to pad around on my own, but I like to have control of that, for it to be a conscious exercise of separation from people that I can reverse at the moment of my choosing. This weekend I didn't have that power, I was forced to cede it to others who might decide to talk to me, to chance meetings. It was hard. On the other hand, probably good for me.

And having said I don't give up too much information, there it all is. And this is nowhere near as personal as the post I lost half an hour ago.

Regardless, please see below for photos of my meal at Mar y Sombra, where I sat by the beach, looked out, and ate fresh fish, and possibly the worst french fries (they don't deserve the word chips, before the Brits protest at my Americanization) I have ever had. Maybe I am developing some self-control, as I barely ate 1/4 of them. And dear reader, please note how blue being sunburnt makes my eyes.

Godzilla - Part II

The best bit of my weekend, bar none - not even the hazelnut ice cream at Escalófrio, which is my favourite flavour in the whole world and is far too rare - was the last piece of wildlife I saw before leaving the park. A big fat German man was bitching (in English) about having not seen even one monkey (I had already encountered the Capuchin and heard the extraordinary screeching of the Howler Monkey - genuinely amazing, I thought it was some kind of pig in pain, but maybe that's because I saw Deliverance recently). I was tramping off, more trying to sweat out the patacones than concentrate on the wildlife, as I'd been up since five and was worried about getting back in time to shower and checkout before midday. So stomping about, I got to the beach and tripped over a log and then stopped dead having almost tripped over... well, see for yourself.


He was beautiful and didn't even move a muscle at my thundering approach. Just standing there, sunning himself on the beach. I always think lizards are male - don't ask me why. Glorious. I was so, so, so happy. Seriously worth the burn and the insect bites for that moment. Just look at him. Fabulous.

Bichos y Llueve 3, Grace 1

People in CR are afraid of Rain. You'd think that for a country where it rains every single day for at least six months of the year, they'd be used to it. But they're not. Witness this morning, the first where I've woken up to rain. Very grey and miserable, indeed. I walked to the piscina, to swim, and inside, a mere three other people - there are normally at least ten (it's not overly used, but see this post for my thoughts on that... To be fair, it was miserably cold in the swimming pool, as the only heat seems to come from the sun. Nevertheless, you're going to get soaked in the rain, so you may as well still swim. PLUS my weekend plans have changed YET AGAIN because there's going to be "too much rain" this weekend and we can't get to Puerto Viejo, apparently. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Very disappointed, but still planning to get away...

Other note: Costa Rica is not cheap cheap, but for $16 you can, as I did last night, feast on the finest pizza San José has to offer (not bad, actually - better than law school pizza), buy it for your friend who is leaving, drink a considerable number of beers, have yet more patacones, frijoles and yuca, and get a taxi home. And however great happy hours at Verlaine are, that ain't happening.

However, those beers did not fortify me to deal with the roach that was in the sink in the bathroom when I got home. Instead, I chickened out and took my toothbrush to the kitchen and brushed my teeth there. What with that, my startled leap away from the scuttling thing that was by my glass in my bedroom a week ago, and the rain, the beasties here are beating my sorry backside. However, I think my stomping around to alarm and repudiate the bedroom bicho plus bravely closing the door to face off to it (it never did emerge again) gives me one goal. Hence 3-1. I always like to think that I can handle insects, because that makes me not conform to the cliché that all women are afraid of them and need men to deal with them. However, I may have to see it instead from the perspective that admitting I'm afraid means that I am being true to myself and not non-conforming for the sake of it. Or something.

In the news today: some good things that made me very happy, some less so.

Good: First, finally someone decides that vaccinating women against cancer is a good idea.
Second, albeit far too closely to be happy about entirely, the Senate rejects a constitutional amendment (NO HILLARY NO) on flag burning.
Third, Guantánamo tribunals are illegal. I don't think much more comment is required on that one.
Fourth, although we shouldn't have to celebrate ridiculously basic steps like this, women are voting in Kuwait and standing for election for the very first time.

Bad: if this is true, which sadly, I think it very probably is, then something needs to be done about the Spanish participation in the World Cup. Start them on negative points for the next qualifiers, anything, just do something important and keep doing it until people realise that it is not acceptable. I realise the contradiction between my anger at this and belief that flag-burning should be allowed in terms of free speech. Yet, and yet... not sure I'm going to justify myself here.

This one, I'm not sure about. The Tico government has said it's going to delay the immigration law I'm working on for a year, to work out whether they can afford all the extra costs - more police, more lawyers etc.. So not because it's an overly-aggressive and abuse of human rights, then. Rats.

Patacones

Have I mentioned how much I love patacones? Just how much? I had hot, fresh ones complete with frijoles on Saturday night (dodging the ham in the frijoles basically successfully), which were glorious - salty, fried and delicious. Basically, you fry plátanos verdes in tons of oil with tons of salt and then squash them, from what I can work out, and refry them. Something that bad for you can only taste good. And they do. They're glorious. Anyway, just wanted to mention that as I seem to have omitted it thus far.

This morning I washed my clothes, with difficulty. I just cannot get used to the washing machine here - I'm very much an all or nothing kind of gal, dealing with handwashing and full on machines but not the system at Mayela's where you have to keep watching, and she washes everything about three times, and thinks I do it all wrong. It reminded me to be grateful for washing machines, but also brought to mind the time when we were in Olinda, Brasil (I know that's annoyingly poncy, but for some reason I now can't spell it with a "z" - and that's zed folks, not zee), aroundabout my 21st birthday, and we splashed out in the very sweet place we were staying on getting some clothes washed for us. It seemed like a fortune at the time, in our meagre budgets, but was probably about $10. Either way, it was utterly worth it - they smelt milky, not like a pint but that warm, sweet and soft smell like babies have, or the comforting drink with honey (or, more likely, kahlua) in winter when you have a cold. It was so so so good. And, scarily, a long time ago as the late twenties approach with a vengeance.

Anyhoo, to get off that topic, here are some photos of the rather fab people I work with, taken at the goodbye party we had for Paula last week. Paula's Argentinian, returning to Buenos Aires in two weeks, and knows more about long-distance relationships than even M and I do, having been in one covering about 8 different countries over the last few years. No one wants her to go... there will be serious tears when she goes. Sorry they're a bit dark, but if you click you should be able to see them better. And I promise to mess around with my camera to get better, lighter shots in.
Las Extranjeras, as we are known, Paula (Argentina), Larra (euskaldunak, or Basque - from Bilbao/Bizkaia), and me (from London, if for some reason you have no idea where Lewisham is - which is a disgrace).
L-R, back row/standing: Ligia (Tica), me (looking particularly frazzled), Larra, Pau, and Xinia - she's worked here for years and was the first Tico I met - she picked me up from the airport. L-R, seated: Mariola, Auxi (with whose aunt and uncle I am staying), Ana (the Madrileña who runs the whole place) and Paloma (Madrileña also, intern here).
Maria José, rocking woman, my age, mother of a 9 year old, working on women's rights and reproductive rights, and Pau again. They are a seriously lovely bunch of people - I have fallen on my feet here...

Giros y Vueltas

So many thoughts flitting through my mind, this will be a bits and pieces sort of entry. First, Spinning this morning astounded me - people just CHEAT. They really do. One woman in front of me EVERY TIME the instructor said "carga" (i.e. make it harder) did nothing or appeared to turn it the wrong way ("descarga") - so probably ended up with less resistance than at the beginning. People, what is the point of that? You're only cheating yourselves! But then, we all do it, all day, every day. When shopping and spending, eating, sitting in front of the tv, whatever, there are all those little white lies we tell ourselves to make life easier, to get us out of doing something we don't want to and to salve our consciences. And how quickly we forget them too - no handwringing in anguish. The brain is a truly wonderful thing.

Second, an observation on what I'm doing. I'm investigating the new immigration law which appears to be fuelled by xenophobia and... not much more. Anyway, it turns out that one of the more extreme instances is before the court in the Hague. Nicaragua has accused Costa Rica of violating the human rights of its citizens by failing to investigate speedily and charge the people responsible for the death of Natividad Canda, a young Nicaraguan who, while trying to commit a robbery, was mauled to death by two rottweilers with, apparently, lots of onlookers during the 90 minutes it took him to die, possibly including police officers. 90 minutes - that's a whole football match. Maybe the next game in the Mundial you watch, we should all think that from the start to the end, that was how long it took for that man to receive help. Further to this is the case where a Nicaraguan died in a fight with Ticos after they joked about how amusing this all was - apparently the popularity of Rottweilers has increased exponentially here, and there were a great many "chistes" about it all. For an international perspective - the only English one I've found thus far, go to the entry 4/3/2006 on this blog, which reprints the LA Times article. The blog also highlights the problems of Ticaragua, which doesn't seem to exist except in conflict at the moment. It's very, very... awful, basically.

On yet another downer, I saw something on Saturday which horrified and chilled my soul. I saw a 15 year old girl, walking down the street with her family, heavily pregnant. This always slightly distresses me, but what was really disturbing, however, was that she was wearing a t-shirt that said "I (picture of lips) sixty nine". Are you kidding me? I'm not for parents controlling the messages their children put out with their clothing, but there has to be a limit, seriously, or the possibility that you raise your daughter with enough self-respect that she doesn't want to wear anything like that. The sad thing is, I doubt she knows what it means, and it wasn't that position that got her six months pregnant before the age of sixteen.

Am I a bad person for reacting so strongly? I don't have a problem with her being sexually active, so I suppose I shouldn't have a problem with one of the possible consequences of that. What makes me sad is that she will, in all probability, never get out of here and have a chance to explore her life. That decision has been made (by her - I'm not disputing that, necessarily), and she has someone else to think about. Having children is a wonderful gift, but I think you're entitled to be a bit selfish and live a little before you start having to live for another being. Who, when they're sixteen, chances are won't be thinking about just what you've sacrificed for them...

Sorry to sound so grumpy. On the brighter side, there is a sweet new intern here, who speaks way less more Spanish than I do so, rather meanly of me, that makes me realise just how far I've come and how much I do understand - it's made me see the glass half full rather than empty. Plus, it was gloriously sunny this morning after some bollox weather, I now know where the InterAmerican Court for Human Rights is, so I can walk there to use the library if I need to, and I have my bearings a little better after walking around this morning. So not all bad, really.

Bugger

We struggle to a 2-2 draw against Sweden. Owen's out. Rooney´s furious. Costa Rica don´t even manage a single point. My countries are DOOMED, doomed I tell you.

What´s interesting is that everyone thinks that Costa Rica should win the ethics awards, or at least get credit for their wonderful system. Gary Younge for one, and at Who Should I Cheer For? they´re ranked fourth - use the chooser to see. Yet the government is about to put in place immigration laws which would mean they could indefinitely hold people for "as long as is necessary" to investigate their immigration status, barring people with HIV/AIDS, among other things... I´ve also been exposed to a rather unpleasant amount of racism given that I´ve been here for a week. It worries me. This is an amazing country with a wonderful record for its status and poverty levels; it´s not ranked 47th for Human Development for nothing. However, much like when I went to Brasil, people have accepted a certain view of a country, and seem reluctant to accept the fact that it´s different to one´s expectations.

On the other hand, given that the WSICF ranks Saudi Arabia above the US - admittedly, only one place, this may not be the most reliable or qualitatively well done study. Above the US? COME ON PEOPLE - this is a country where women aren´t allowed to drive, vote, and their word legally counts for half of that of a man. Really, this is a more ethically acceptable country? Plus the Ukraine, whose coach calls non-whites... well, see for yourself, is ranked tenth. Maybe we should start up a WSICF? for women´s rights. That might change things, somewhat. Any takers to help me out?

Las Fotos - ¡ya!

Unbelievably I´ve managed to get this sort of to work, despite crashing the computer five times in the process... So here is the view to the left of my terrace. Basically, the house is such that you come into the living room, then through the kitchen, where there are stairs up to Ricardo and Mayela´s room. Then you get to the shower, which we share. Then there´s a courtyard/atrium type thing, containing many strange things like pistols, truncheons, soldier´s helmets, stuffed deer and the washing machine (which is strange, believe me!). At the back of that is my kitchen, and up the stairs from that is my bedroom, which has two chairs, a small desk and tv. Having always stated that I would never allow a tv in my kids´ bedrooms, it must be confessed that I am grateful for mine!

Anyway, it turns out that I am a moron at uploading, don´t really know what I´m doing. But here are a few more photos... I could not believe it when (after nearly a week) I finally noticed the lampshade in my kitchen which means that I really should be here because it is clearly MEANT TO BE. Here´s also a view of the atrium, and the kitchen (the blue thing).
This is the view from my terrace... well, when you avoid the big green building in the middle, that is...

This is the kitchen, which I love - the dark blue tiles, ENORMOUS fridge, splattering tap... all good!
This is the atrium - you can´t see the craziness, but it´s there. I promise you. And up those stairs is where I live...
This is the utterly fab lampshade in the kitchen. It ROCKS.

El Dia del Padre

Yesterday was Father's Day, apparently all around the world (well, at least in Argentina, Costa Rica, Colombia, the UK and the US), so a quick shout out to mi papi, with whom I got to have a very nice albeit curtailed conversation and who enabled me to get the camera with which I am trying to put photos on this website. Not working thus far.

The weekend basically consisted of me being a homebody. I´ve still not been into the centre of town, but am hoping to do so soon, although maybe for the first time to catch the bus to the playa, which is what I´m planning for next weekend. Huzzah!

I spent yesterday with Mayela and Ricardo´s family, and watched many many many crapola movies - 1) The Next Karate Kid, 2) Cats and Dogs, 3) Harry Potter II and a bit of 4) Hija de la Luz. My assessment was thus 1) ohmylord I cannot believe JUST how bad the movie was. Mr Miyagi, what were you thinking? The monks coming to see her off for her first dance, the authorized fight between Hillary and the tough guy, the healing of the hawk? Only good things in this movie were the "Wax on, Wax off" references (which don´t work in Spanish - somehow "Cera, Quita" doesn´t quite cut it) and the bowl-off between the monks and the sweaty nylon-shirted louts. And that´s pushing the definition of "good". 2) Only thing I can say is "Creo que no, perro bebe". 3) BAD BAD BAD. I hate what they´ve done with Hermione, it´s just WRONG. But Ken Branagh was wonderfully camp. 4) TERRIBLE. TERRIBLE. which is why I watched HP instead.

El Feo y El Feisimo

Well, England are through past the group stage, although Lord knows we don't deserve it. It´s por dicha, nothing more. However, the Ticos were sin dicha and are out after a 3-0 loss to Ecuador. Unsuprising given Ecuador´s Qualification Standing and results, but still, sad. Although after hearing everyone in the other offices slag off England, I´m not as sorry as I could be. And certainly not that sorry that I only watched the last half hour - sounds as if we were indeed diabolically bad in la primera parte.

Anyhoo, not much more to report other than I have learned several more things about the world and myself today. Namely:

1) The full title for Mexico is actually the United Mexican States.

2) The full title, even better, for Paraguay is the Oriental Republic of Uruguay. What exactly is "oriental" about it? I´d love to know... answers on a postcard please! (or, of course, email or comments will do!)

3) My sense of direction, combined with my memory, is a good thing for a young rubia (or macha) indeed. This morning had a wobbly moment when my landlady, bless her sweet nature, DID NOT KNOW WHERE THE NEAREST BUS STOP IS. How is that possible? But people here don´t really seem to know where anything is, just where something is relative to something else. But I pieced things together and got to work, on my own, caminando, having been shown the half hour journey once. I rule.

3a) Following on, self-reliance is an extraordinarily powerful emotional - at least, the realisation that you can get by and do something in difficult circumstances. This morning I asked for directions - something I HATE doing and certainly in another language and it was empowering and uplifting to know I´d done it and now had the knowledge that meant I could get to work. Not much, but something. Ladies, don´t always rely on everyone else to get you around. Please.

3b) When you ask directions, LISTEN to what they say. I.e. to the difference between "ya se paso" (please forgive lack of accents here - haven´t worked those out yet) and "ya se pasa" - the latter being what the driver told me i.e. "it´s coming", not that it had just gone. DUHBRAIN. Listening always important - don´t ask a question unless you´re prepared to hear the answer...

4) Tica cerveza, according to both my guidebooks, is best represented by Bavaria. However, I was distinctly unimpressed by my first encounter with said beverage in its "Gold" variety, but am prepared to be convinced by repeated consumption.

5) It doesn´t always pour down by lunchtime in SJ in the rainy season! I wish it would, however, it´s very very very sweaty here, which doesn´t make for happy Grace. Furthermore, I may have to walk home given my promise to myself that I´d only catch the bus when the weather dictated. And it´s fair to surmise that, on a day like today, the bus would be miserably humid and so does not demand I get myself on its un-airconditioned self. I would be saving myself a massive 200 colones by not taking the bus (roughly 40 cents, 20p, 35 cents in Euros for you international folk unfamiliar with this noble currency), too. Looks like it´s the long trek home for me. Huzzah. Then a night in with a dvd on the racism Nicaraguanses experience, reading about the Tico mentality, and possibly Scrubs, too. Ricky Martin would be proud (and if you don´t get that reference, you have NO BUSINESS READING THIS BLOG). I thank you.