Savagery

I am, in case you were wondering, continuing to fight against the vicious insects that want to suck my blood dry.  I am still continuing to get bitten repeatedly.  The one difference is that I have learned to use anti-histamines in an attempt to prevent the ridiculous scratching, itching and misery that comes with the bites.

This ongoing battle is unfortunate because, thanks to the new job and my changed hours, I'm often home by around 6.30, when the little blighters are most active and out for blood.  Despite citronella candles and DEET, I'm still vulnerable; there's always some patch of flesh that the buggers find and exploit.  But it's oh so worth it to smell the lemon verbena and sniff the roses that are, despite our fears when we transplanted them, flourishing; and, above all, to see the fireflies flit around the gardens.  Fireflies don't exist at home, and they continue to be a source of wonder and delight to me, eight years after I arrived.  A true source of wonder (and a public reminder here to go and see the bioluminescence exhibition at the American Museum of Natural History. 

A Taste for Blood

While the nation I live in celebrates booting out the evil imperial forces from which I descend, some members of this country don't seem to realise that it is no longer necessary to go after English blood. Yes, American midges/mosquitoes/ticks/biting thingies - that means you. I have got about 20 bites in the past two days. They are huge, disgusting and uncomfortable, and I am distinctly unimpressed that the biting insects do not seem to realise the war is over.

Still. Despite the ignorant and hostile behaviour of these creatures, I will honour today's historic significance - I shall make burgers (homemade from free-roaming organic meat from the co-op, obviously) and grill hot dogs (Nathan's, also obviously) and drink Brooklyn Beers - summer and pilsner today. Currently I am working gently while listening to baseball (and the adverts for law firms chasing mesothelioma victims), then will sit out on my deck and listen to the revelry while doing more work and waiting for darkness and fireworks and parties. Overt displays of national patriotism bewilder me, I think, when they're not related to sport, but nonetheless I feel extreme loyalty to both London and New York, these cities that reared and fostered me as a child, and have been my homes as an adult, forming the person I am now. So tonight I will raise a beer or two to this wonderful city that is both quintessentially American and, yet, unlike anywhere else in this country. It's going to be fun. And, doubtless, the cause of many more welts and bites.

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.

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…

Soundtracks and Serendipity

My 21st birthday was rather infamous for its drunkenness, length of hangover (forty eight full hours - a record for me), and surprising levels of ebullience and enthusiasm over Dutch techno. However, what I will remember is that, after the diving and enormous chocolate cake and banner and streamers that my wonderful friends had prepared for me, we got back and, somewhat fortuitously, they were showing Cocktail on Brazilian tv. AWESOME. Dubbed, rather than subtitled, but still - a joy.

Hence maybe you can understand the elation I felt on arriving back in San José yesterday to find Teen Wolf on tv. I understood most of it, and it was just... so nostalgic. Particularly apt as I've just seen the episodes of Scrubs where MJ guest stars. He is just a complete hero, and if he's willing to share the fact that his children call him "Shaky Daddy", then he's even more amazing. Even better, looking for actors making their starts, saw Lynnette's irritating husband from Desperate Housewives in it as a fellow basketball player put out at the Wolf's success and showboating on the court. That's serendipity.

So was, of course, feeling depressed that my usual internet joint was out of action, only to walk into a cheaper (and, admittedly, crapper) one where The Girl Is Mine was playing. You can't buy fortune like that - it's destiny, my friends.

I like life. The only thing I wish is that I could have a soundtrack. The ipod does help, but of course that gets in the way of actual conversations. Right now everything would be something by Sting because my legs are revoltingly covered in insect bites. And, of course, anything mixed by the Scratch Perverts.

Great Expectations

Growing up where I did, the Caribbean always held a fascination for me. The gentle (at first, at least) debates between schoolmates as to which was the better island, Barbados or Jamaica. The cricket - playing on the beach, actively and noisily enjoying the Tests. So to finally go was a thing of great trepidation - would it be as wonderful as I'd hoped?

The answer is yes it was, dear readers, yes it was.

I paid though. I have been bitten to pieces by the insects. By, note, the TROPICAL and CARIBBEAN insects.

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.

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.

¿El Delfín o La Morsa?

I have always loved swimming. It is one of the true joys in life, being able to take yourself out of your normal, gravity-ridden self and just splash and float and cut through the blue. What has surprised me here is when you say you want to go swimming, how many people ask "¿Sabe como nadar?" ("Do you know how to swim?"). To me, that's incredible, particularly in a country with two amazing coasts, both just three hours away from the capital. Plus, I feel that people really, genuinely miss out when they don't know how to or don't like swimming, particularly in the ocean. I find the expanse entirely liberating, loving just drifting along, occasionally frantically stroking my way along the shore, then again allowing myself to float, enjoying the burn of the sun and the salt on my face.

I have been warned by my hosts against going to the beach on my own, and particularly to avoid swimming. Given that it's very good surf coast, I can probably work that one out on my own. However, given that every time I leave the house they tell me I need to be careful crossing the road, maybe they are indeed overly cautious. Perhaps I shouldn't have told them the accident story. Here, accidents are remarkably common - the taxista on the way to the office on the first day was paralysed in a car accident where one of his friends died. Clearly not enough gun crime here, because these atropellados make the news all the time.

Anyway, this has all been prompted by my $2 swim this morning. Two flaming dollars. However, as there are fewer (i.e. NO) cockroaches in the water, I consider that money well spent, unlike at the pool on 58th between 10th and 11th in NYC. Name and shame, that´s what I say. However, of course, it took two attempts to get there this morning as I did the classic it's-the-first-thing-I'll-do-today-so-I'll-wear-my-swimming-cossie-there-but-then-forget-that-I'll-need-pants thing. Oops. Luckily, remembered in time.

It also reminds me of a serious regret: that I never swam in the olympic outdoor pool in BCN. What was I thinking? I also missed out on Hampstead Ponds in the scorching heat when I was at home, which was a ridiculous omission on my part. Next time, dear reader, that I am in London and it's 30ºC, I shall go. Which will probably be in about 10 years' time. If I'm lucky. So if you are in London Town and it is warm, please please go. It is a glorious glorious thing.

BREAKING NEWS: I've learned how to actually use an apostrophe, not just the thingy to make accents, así. HUZZAH. My life may have changed for the better, friends.