Another week, another race....

3/4 of Team WestEnders capped off our first week back from vacation by sitting around on the couch scarfing down potato chips and binge-watching trashy television shows. Hahahahaha! Admit it, I had you going there for a second, didn't I? No, really, we signed up for another 5k event. But...we just did a race earlier in July...so you might be wondering why we'd register for a second one just a few weeks later. Well, this one took place at night...which would be a first for us.

So, we were anticipating something new and exciting...and an experience in which we would NOT have to get up early, forgo breakfast and coffee, and run first thing in the morning, for once. The particulars of this one were: beginning and ending at the DBAP (stadium for the Durham Bulls AAA baseball team), starting gun at 8:30 p.m., and the promise of a veritable banquet of free food afterwards. Husband thought he'd be too wiped out after driving home from Maryland earlier the same day, so I just got the boys and myself on the list.

We arrived that evening to find the atmosphere quiiiiiite a bit different from the placid, low-key morning races we're used to doing. DJ working the crowd and playing tunes at a high enough volume to vibrate your entire body as you walked by...signs constructed from glow-sticks, pointing you the correct way along the route...people sporting head-to-toe reflective gear, light-up hats and belts...and my absolute favorite: the team that showed up decked out in multicolored nylon tutus....with built-in strings of flashing LEDs to make them twinkle as they chugged along.

(And yes, I was TOTALLY jealous! Where can I get one before my next 5k? So I asked one of them as we paced beside each other in the first few steps of the run, and the answer is apparently "Amazon"....so consider it D-O-N-E! Hmmm...I think I need a special running tiara as well, to, you know "complete the outfit". Right? My family may never want to be seen with me again...and since we're generally not moving along at the same pace during these things anyway, I think I can definitely live with that...)

The route itself presented a few long, fairly steep hills. And the humidity was, of course....how shall I put this....does "drenching" paint a clear picture? But at this point, each of us knows what we have to do to get through it, and we just put one foot in front of the other until it's over. Speaking of which, this event--as expected--had the best spread we've encountered--pretzels with hummus and cheese, Bruegger's bagels, Kind bars, barbeque sliders, Moe's tortilla chips and salsa...none of which I actually felt inclined to eat after jogging 3.1 miles, mind you.

However, I will say that this is the first time I've ever been rewarded for finishing a run...with a complimentary adult beverage. Is plain old water a healthier post-exercise drink? Sure...but the novelty of being gifted with a cold, crisp cup of sparkling pear cider was absolutely too enticing to pass up! (Don't worry, I did chug some agua along with it...) As people trickled in across the Finish Line, the dance party environment just kept getting louder and more festive. We, however, were tired and ready to go do some of that "lounging on the sofa" that I joked about previously. So we took our sweaty selves home....with our glow-in-the-dark souvenir t-shirts as a reminder of our first successful post-sunset 5k. It's gonna look GREAT with my tutu, I'm tellin' ya..

Back to Normal...mostly...

After a phenomenal vacation, Team WestEnders spent last week in the critical Re-Entry Phase...which meant very different things for each of us, as it turned out. (But fortunately NOT shattering into pieces as you hit the atmosphere, then becoming a fireball hurtling towards the Earth...'cuz,, you know, that would just SUCK...) Husband, for example, had to turn right back around (after arriving home in the wee hours of Sunday morning, remember) and pack up once more to drive to Maryland on Monday morning for business-related meetings that would last the whole week. I returned to work as well, which just left the adolescent sluggards--um, "treasured children"--at home during the day to amuse themselves.

I knew they were tired from our very active adventure and long travel day, so I initially cut them some slack. Left to their own devices, they reported that they emerged from their rooms at about 9:45 for breakfast. Afterwards, they would turn on ESPN (shocker!) and watch it for the full hour, to make sure they were as up-to-date as possible on all things SportsCenter felt it necessary to convey. And then...with the rest of the day ahead of them, what did they do? From what I gathered when returning home from the office...a little bit of attempted playing together...and a whole lot of pointless bickering. (Or, as we like to call it, "the yoozsh"...)

They did tell me that one day they'd been so bored that they tuned in to HGTV...for an episode of Love It or List It. (Oh, heaven help me, I've created...home improvement voyeurs...) As I was processing this information, trying to decide if it was disturbing....or admirable...Derek continued, "We wanted to punch the wife--she was soooo annoying! She was unreasonable, and the house was ridiculous, and we were totally rooting for her husband to win, and for them to move. So whenever something would go the guy's way, we'd be yelling at the TV, 'Yeah, Phil! Go, Phil!'" Ahhhhh. Now I can totally picture the two of them, hopping up and down excitedly, waving their arms about as they shouted encouragement at the apparently-beleaguered "Phil". Yep, they viewed it just exactly like they would any major sporting event....somehow, I do feel better....

Knowing that they were going to be fending for themselves for at least a few hours a day, I got into the habit of verbally reminding them about To Do Tasks--stuff like emptying the wastebaskets, or taking the recycling bin down to the curb. But one night Derek wearily sighed, "Could you write it down? Otherwise I'm gonna forget." Well...that is certainly honest and self-aware, I'll give you that. So I began scribbling not only those items, but also such crucial details as "Microwave Times" for the leftovers I wanted them to finish. "Hotdogs: 1 minute. Beans: 30 seconds, stir, repeat until warm enough." Etc. It seemed a little silly, but after a few days of this--with the chores getting done, the house NOT burned down, and the refrigerator cleaned out nicely--Derek gravely said, "Thanks for the notes, Mom....they're really helpful." Alrighty, then. A handy-dandy new...Boys on Their Own, Summertime System...is born!

 But perhaps the hardest thing for all of us (well, maybe not Husband, who got to continue with the "eating out" trend on his business trip...lucky duck...) was having to forage for meals ourselves, rather than wandering up to an extensive buffet and grazing lavishly on an assortment of delectable goodies. (Sigh....I cannot even begin to express how much I miss that....) The first night back, Riley was nibbling the last few bites of his dinner and casually tossed out, "So...where's the cheesecake bar?" I happened to be passing through the kitchen at the time, heard him, and snorted, "Yeah, good luck with that!" As I went on my way, I just barely caught him mutter in a slightly huffy, under-his-breath voice, "It wasn't a JOKE!" I get ya, sweetie...I feel very nostalgic for the mini-mousse desserts, myself. But let's put it this way: unless you and your brother opt for the Cooking Channel, and learn to produce those fabulous treats....it's just not gonna happen. So yeah...get right on that, will ya? Clearly, you've got nothing better to do!

A rare (but quite uplifting) experience

So, anyone up for a positive, restore-your-faith-in-Customer Service kind of story? Well good, 'cuz I'm gonna share one. Remember when Team WestEnders was sloshing through the rainforest (just last week...but it feels so distant already....sigh...)? And we came to a thermal pool that was actually warm enough for me to splash around in comfortably, so I stepped right in to enjoy it...completely forgetting that I had clipped my Fitbit to the board shorts I wear as a bathing suit? OOOPS! A couple of notes, here: first of all, I wear this thing during all waking hours (a little obsessive, yeah, but whatever...) so there was absolutely no excuse for me to just blank out on the fact that it was occupying its usual position on my waistband. (I blame the....Tropical Brain Fever....that tends to strike when you've been existing in an extremely damp, humid environment for over 4 hours. Sure, it's totally a thing...you can look it up...excuse me while I go add it to Wikipedia...) Secondly, while the official Product Manual touts the Fitbit as being "resistant to sweat and rain"...submerging it in a bath is so NOT covered by the disclaimer.

It only took about 10 seconds for me to recall that I had it on, but by then it was far too late. When I pulled it off and lifted it out of the water, it began strongly buzzing in my hand, in a manner that I can only describe as...like a very agitated and unhappy wasp. There was nothing I could do but dry the exterior, stow it away in our backpack, and resolve to deal with it later. It wasn't until we arrived back at the resort that I had a chance to ask the Great and Powerful Wizard--um, "the Internet" for advice. I found the standard "What Dummies Do When They Douse Their Electronic Devices" article, which of course recommended placing it in rice for 24-hours. Somehow I felt...weird...asking the Concierge or the Kitchen Staff for some "arroz, seco, no-cocinado", so I just left it alone for the moisture to hopefully (magically) evaporate on its own. Then after an appropriate length of time I followed the remainder of the instructions...to no avail. That sucker was D-E-A-D.

I was bummed, but figured I'd exhausted my options. When I returned home, though, I decided to go ahead and contact the company. I'm sure they've heard this sad tale a million times before--perhaps they've developed an additional Bag of Tricks to revive a drowned Fitbit. So I emailed them, told them honestly what I'd done to hasten the demise of my little friend, and asked for any insight they could provide. It took 5 days, but they replied with "We received your email telling us about your One going for a swim and now refusing to work." Wow...that's pretty personal...someone was paying attention. So far, I'm impressed. The message went on to say that they would like to determine if I was eligible for a replacement under warranty. All I had to do was send them proof of purchase....which I had fortunately saved and filed away. (Yay, me! It's rewarding to know that sometimes anal tendencies really DO pay off!)

I had only bought my current Fitbit in February of this year (I discovered from the packing slip), but it was from a discount, online dealer, not the manufacturer itself. Also, you might have noticed that this little...um..."incident"...was 100% MY FAULT. Yep, User Error, all the way. But guess what? They didn't care! Their next correspondence informed me that my new tracker would be on its way shortly...at no cost to me...including free shipping. Wait...whaaaaat?  They didn't even lecture me, or tell me sternly to be more careful this time, and treat your delicate electronic items with the respect they deserve, because otherwise you're not responsible enough to have nice things, blah blah blah--which by the way I TOTALLY would have accepted as well-deserved. Nope...they're just giving me another one...pleasantly...with no fuss or repercussions. That's right, folks, not only stellar Client Care...but also Stupidity Forgiveness, at its best!

(And yes, I promise that I've learned my lesson: no more taking the Fitbit for a dip!)

Kind of like The Odyssey...if Homer were Spanish instead of Greek...

I'm sure you all did your best to send out "safe and easy voyage" vibes...but I'm here to tell you that despite your much-appreciated efforts, it sooooo didn't work. Here's the tale:

Finally, departure day dawned. In some ways it was hard to believe we’d already been here for 7 days…in others, it felt like a loooong time since our plane touched down last Saturday. We took one last bouncy bus ride to the aeropuerto…then commenced standing in formidable lines for the next several hot (no AC), tedious (slow service) hours. You see, first you must pay a tax…to leave the country. ($29 per person, if you’re curious…plus the added fee that they so helpfully inform you will be charged by your credit card company, since they process it as a cash advance…grrrrr….) Then you take your receipt and move to the airline’s check-in counter, where you stand around waiting for the 2 employees on duty to process the entire plane full of passengers…and their mounds of luggage.

Fortunately (sarcasm font) this has taken such an exorbitant amount of time that everyone has already passed through the Security checkpoint and you breeze right up to the conveyor belt. Aaaaand, I set off the metal detector. Wait, what? (She looks down at her outfit in utter confusion, wondering how on earth her tee-shirt, athletic pants, and sneakers could cause such a ruckus.) Apparently this tiny little facility--with 6 gates and no climate control capabilities—has some truly kick-ass-sensitive scanning. Yeah, it was my necklace…and BRA HOOKS…that got me stopped.

Then (just to, you know, add to the festivities) Derek’s bag--the one that incidentally contained almost NOTHING for the return flight--was taken aside to be searched. The culprit here? A squeeze tube of aloe from CVS…which of course had already made it through RDU and Charlotte without concern…and the insect repellent we’d bought in a local gift shop to fend off monster rainforest mosquitoes. Each was, admittedly, over 3 ounces—and therefore confiscated. Whaaaat…everrrrrr! Finally, we boarded the plane in plenty of time…to idle on the tarmac for a solid 30-minutes past our scheduled takeoff. Sigh. Don’t get me wrong: we had an absolutely awesome time on our Costa Rican adventure…now please get us back to the States, stat!**

**Oh, there’s an addendum, my friends. Our dee-lightful flight included a bit of gut-wrenching turbulence…not one, but TWO howling babies…and then the crew cheerfully bragged that we’d landed on time…and we proceeded to SIT on the tarmac for an HOUR before they let us get off the damn plane. Meanwhile, here are some of the fabulous announcements they felt the need to share with us:

“Uh, we’re experiencing some Saturday evening congestion here in Charlotte. There’s a backup of planes waiting to get to the gate. Thank you for your patience.”

(15 minutes later)“Well, folks, something happened here at the airport earlier that shut it down for an hour, so that’s the reason for the delay. We appreciate your continued patience.”

(another 10 minutes later)“Okay, there’s just one plane ahead of us, so we should be in there in 5 minutes or so. We’re so happy you’re not yet throwing things at us.” (I may have made that last part up…’cuz I was definitely considering pitching--at the very least--a tantrum at this point.)

(20 minutes later…increasingly sheepishly) “Um….the plane in front of us is a wide-body, so that’s why it’s taking so long to back out of the way. We’d be soooo grateful if you refrain from rioting for just a while longer.” (I was fairly livid by this time, so I think they knew to steer WELL clear of Row 31...)

(Who the heck knows how much later) "The plane that's supposed to be gone by now has some sort of mechanical problem...so we're moving to a different gate." Are. You. Freakin'. Kidding. Me?

And in the last straw of ridiculousness, they actually came on to inform us, "Um...we're about 25 feet away from the gate, now." Thank you for that...I've officially been reduced to speechlessness. But perhaps the steam emanating from my ears says it all. Did I forget to mention that it was about 10:30 p.m. by now, and we'd been traveling for 12 hours or so? Oy...

Just when we thought we were free and clear, there was one more insult yet to come. As we AT LONG LAST pulled up to the stupid gate and prepared to bolt from the aircraft, they pretty much advised us that if we had a connecting flight....we might want to make a run for it. (Not in those exact words, because I don't think they're allowed to advocate sprinting through a public space, but that was definitely the gist...) Then when we passed the flight attendants wishing us goodbye, one of them cheerfully said, "Keep in touch...means so much!" Oh. My. GOSH. I can tell you that I have rarely wanted to kick someone in the shins as much as I did right at that moment.

Next. we hustled through Customs (dutifully declaring our approximately $50 worth of souvenirs), raced toward Security, and--no joke--they shut the metal gate behind us. Yep, Team WestEnders was the very last group of passengers to be shuttled through the Charlotte airport for the evening. Yaaaay, us? We proceeded speedily to our gate (which had been changed several times since we began checking an hour before) to be brought up short by the jam-packed waiting area, teeming with travelers from several flights that had been delayed by whatever shenanigans had occurred earlier in the day. So to punctuate the seemingly endless day, we got off the ground an hour late on our final leg as well. All of which brought us home at about 1:30 a.m. Yaaawwwwnnnnn! We made it!

Some final musings...

Un dia mas en Cosa Rica, que lastima! I believe Husband set the tone, by behaving as if he was not about to let anything get in the way of enjoying the heck out of our last Central American hurrah. Thus it happened that we were treated to his perky voice first thing in the morning, exhorting us to “C’mon, get up…time’s a wastin’!” The rest of us might have collectively groaned and/or glared at him, but we did rouse ourselves…to shuffle sleepily to the breakfast buffet. In our defense, we have enjoyed a very active vacation, as per usual for us. What with frolicking in the water, tromping through various natural habitats, and even just exploring our immediate surroundings at the resort…we were some tiiiired campers by the end of the week. Case in point: Derek, who hasn’t napped since he was a toddler, fell asleep on 3 separate afternoons after enjoying full mornings of…stuff. (Me, I am a firm believer in afternoon snoozes….every day, whether you need one or not, that’s my motto…)

So how did we spend our final horas in Playa Matapalo? Well, we dipped ourselves in the ocean and the pool one more time, for good measure. We strolled down to the souvenir shops to purchase mementos of our trip. Having heard other visitors talking about howler monkeys living in some nearby trees, we attempted to track them down—sadly, without success. (The beach security guard explained that the best time was “tempranito”--very early--which when questioned further he nailed down to “5 a.m.”. Ugh…thanks…I guess we’ll be leaving the monos alone, then.

On a semi-tangentially -related note: for me, the best thing about that particular encounter was the fact that, after I’ve been here for a week, trying to speak as much Spanish as possible, some of the staff members automatically address me en Espanol. (Loooove it!) But another incident that occurred shortly thereafter was even more amusing; as we walked back toward the hotel, we passed a man jogging. In his typical friendly way, Husband called, “Allo!” Now, he said this with a British accent…to which you might be thinking…why in the world would he do that? The only explanation he could offer is that his boss and a bunch of his coworkers are English and actually work from the UK. Husband has frequent conference calls with them, and claims that he’s “picked up the way they answer the phone”. Anyway, the jogger stopped in his tracks, turned back to us and inquired, “Are you French?” (I know, right: what the HECK is happening here? But stick with me, it gets weirder…) Without even thinking, I answered, “No…Americanos!” Then Team WestEnders burst out laughing as we realized that I’d just told the poor guy that we were American…in Spanish. Ay yi yi…

After that little bit of multi-lingual nonsense, I quizzed the children (in English) on what their favorite part of the trip was. Predictably, they both named the excursions we took, and all the time bonding with the beach. I also asked what they had missed from home. Not surprisingly, easy access to fast Wi-Fi was high on the list….as was American TV programming. (Yeah, I suspect Derek’s going to binge-watch SportsCenter this week while I’m at work. Evidently Tom y Jerry cartoons—dubbed in Spanish—are just not as compelling as you’d imagine…) As for me, I find myself looking forward to drinking iced tea again—since I tend to consume it by the quart during the Summer and they just don’t seem to make it in Costa Rica. (Here, it’s all about the coffee…which is not necessarily a bad thing, of course…but I need me some Lipton, and soon…)

So that's about it...next time you hear from me, I'll be Stateside...hopefully after a smooth, pleasant return trip...please cross your fingers for us!

Juana vs. the Volcano

Hey, whattya know…a DRY day, for a change! And by that, I mean reeeaallly 180-degrees-from-rainforest conditions. It was another field trip day, with the whole 6:30 wake-up/7:30 departure drill. This time, however, our transportation portion was markedly (mercifully) different. I don’t know if it was because our driver did NOT seem like he could be auditioning for whatever the equivalent of Costa Rican Nascar would be…or due to the fact that we were traveling to a spot much closer, over roads slightly less teeth-rattling. Along the way, our personable, informative guide finally, definitively explained to us what Pura Vida actually means. According to him, it’s a way of looking at things, taking whatever life throws your way, and accepting it with the philosophy “It is what it is”. Oh, my goodness...Central American Zen…is it any wonder I like this place so much?

Other fascinating tidbits: Costa Rica is known as one of the most eco-friendly and environmentally-protective nations in the world. As of right now, 91% of their power is produced in a sustainable manner. Ninety…one…percent. WOW. Furthermore, their goal is to make it a cool 100% by the year 2020. In the capital of San Jose, residents are assigned one day per week (based on their license plate number) in which they’re not allowed to operate their vehicle in the city. All of this is especially important in light of the current climate situation. While this is supposed to be the rainy season, where it is typical to get downpours in both the morning and afternoon hours, they’ve been experiencing a drought for several years now. (I can personally attest to this much: not a drop has descended from the sky since we’ve been here…not even a threat…)

After our mobile class (it’s an excursion…it’s school…I love this stuff!), we pulled into the park. Rincon de la Vieja is considered an active volcano—so, geothermal sights to behold--but hasn’t actually erupted in the whole “spitting lava and flinging ash and rock into the atmosphere” since 2006 (because yeah, I asked). After a quick stop for our fearless leader to grab his snake hook (ooh, this is gonna be FUN) we set off on the rocky trail. I can admit this now, because of what happened next: probably the only thing that disappointed me about our rainforest trek was the lack of...monkeys. Well, we hadn’t ventured 50 yards (or whatever that means in “meters”, since they use those here) into the trees before we heard…then spotted….howlers up above us. Score! Hey, since that goal was met so quickly and easily, let’s up the ante…now I want to meet up with…a snake! Or…a tarantula! (And by “meet up with” I of course mean “view from a safe, sane distance, preferably with our highly trained guide standing between me and them to run interference if necessary”. Mm-kay? Make it happen…Mother Nature…pretty please?)

Already happy practically before we began, we continued on our merry path. I feel I must mention here, that we passed families and couples on their own, and I was sooooo glad we had an Encyclopedia of Knowledge—ahem,“Tour Professional”—along with us. The things he pointed out that we would never have noticed, the background information he shared about the flora and fauna—these were worth much more than what we actually paid the company that employed him and lent him to us for the day. Here are leaf-cutter ants! See how much bigger the “soldiers” are, in order to protect the nest? Over there’s a ficus tree that completely surrounds and strangles its host, so that eventually only the invader remains! Note the bubbling hot springs...right, we probably wouldn’t have missed those, given the pools of thick, popping mud oozing up from underground…and the unmistakable…unbearable…unavoidable sulfuric stench of rotten eggs. (But otherwise, he was absolutely invaluable, I tell ya!)

And then, when we were just a few minutes from the end of our hike, it happened. Serpiente! Okay, okay, it was a teeny tiny little non-venomous critter. But it totally counts! Check that baby off the list! Our guide very helpfully held it still so those of us with cameras could capture photographic evidence of our close encounter of the…reptilian kind. Well (making the satisfied “brushing hands together” gesture) that does it for me…point me toward lunch! (Seriously, all of this fresh air and education and exercise and...whatnot...really gives one an appetite, I’m discovering…) So in summary: an extremely successful day at the volcano. Now there’s nothing left to accomplish but…wash off the bug spray…and sunscreen…and sweat…and, oh yeah, I think it’s time for dinner!

Wet, Not-so-Wild Wednesday

Today began when we all got dressed and went down to chug a gallon or so of coffee—what? I mean “partake of the breakfast buffet”. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have bothered with the land-clothing in the first place. (After all, it’s absolutely not mandatory at a place like this, and many people stroll around from sunup to sundown in their swimwear…we’ve really gotta learn to embrace that cultural mindset before we leave…) You see, we spent the rest of our Wednesday bouncing back and forth between Mother Ocean and…I don’t know…Papa Pool? (Yeah, I don’t think that one’s gonna catch on, either…)

It dawned completely sunny for the first time since we’ve been here, and as a result, it was also much HOTTER. As in: both the pool deck and the sand scorched your feet unbearably within a second or two of touching them with bare skin. Therefore, “wet” seemed like just the thing to be. Also, you know,“sticky”, as we faithfully gooped on the SPF 50. (Lather, swim, repeat…I swear on days like this I feel like I’m expending an enormous amount of energy…fending off the otherwise life-giving rays of the sun. Thank goodness for my mega-skin-covering rashguard shirt, and my big floppy hat, that’s all I can say…)

It was a day when my hair was styled (although that might be a very strong word for it) by salt water and chlorine. When we spent very little time dry. When shoes were an optional accessory. When the toughest choice we had to make was “What should we sample at the swim-up bar?" Followed directly by: "No, I wanted the Banana Mama, you can have the Copacabana.” When the most exciting occurrences involved Derek spilling guacamole all over his swimsuit at lunch (and thereafter being referred to as Guacamole Pants….of course) and Riley—not to be outdone by his gooberhead older sibling--ripping his suit entirely in HALF in an ill-conceived attempt to leapfrog the fountain that sits in the middle of the pool. (Leaving me with my hands on my forehead, wondering WHY we take them ANYWHERE?) Oh...yeah, and reportedly while snorkeling just off the shore, they spotted a whole bunch of cool fish specimens—but that totally pales in comparison, right?

And...that’s about it for Wednesday…lots of sun, surf, and swimming. Tonight everyone should be able to sleep like rocks, which is for the best, since tomorrow we rise at the crack of oh-good-grief-it’s-too-dang-early-for-this-nonsense (that would be “6:30” on the regular clock, by the way) to slurp as much java as possible (yeah, yeah, and “food”), board the Terror Bus one more time, and go visit a volcano. Please, please do me a favor and keep your fingers crossed that the Disaster Brothers got it all out of their system today…so no one actually FALLS IN…stay tuned….

Tuesday Tales

Yesterday’s rainforest hiking odyssey left us all a wee bit tired, so we made the group decision to declare a “Take It Easy Tuesday”. Hahahahaha! That lasted until after breakfast, when we meandered down to the beach for a light…hour-long…exploration expedition. During this time we strolled down the shore until the sand ran out at the point where it met a sheer rocky cliff. But not to worry! There was a barely discernible, loose-dirt-and-gravel, precipitously sloped path leading up and into the woods. Perhaps it leads over the barrier, and there’s more beach on the other side—clearly, we need to find out! Our sweaty exertions were fortunately rewarded by just this outcome, and we were able to…continue walking some more (yaaaay...ish).

When we made it back to the hotel—hot, thirsty, and even more fatigued, it had blessedly arrived at the Lunching Hour. After this, it seemed advisable (at least to ME) to take a dip in the pool, then lounge in a chaise with an enjoyable book. Since I’d come up with this admirable plan all by myself, I took my own counsel and did just that. The boys, on the other hand, had gotten this idea in their heads that what they really wanted to do was…ocean kayaking.  Alrighty then, enjoy your interlude of…manly water sports…fellas. I’ll be here, perhaps with my eyes open, or more likely NOT.

Eventually I went upstairs to change out of my bathing suit…and encountered a dilemma. You see, Team WestEnders has developed a certain…let’s call it Packing Protocol…when we go on vacation for a week or so. I prefer not to check bags (both because it’s a hassle to wait at baggage claim, and because of the cheap—I mean “frugal” factor). 

So, we figure out half of the wearable items we need for our trip, and plan to have everything washed in the middle of our stay.  At an all-inclusive resort, this means handing over our laundry to the staff, for them to clean and give back when it’s ready. This has always worked out just fine in the past, but in this case the description of the service in the brochure made me a tad nervous, since it promised a turnaround time of…48 hours. Okay, they’re busy, I get it. But this meant we needed to surrender our grimy apparel this morning, to make absolutely sure we wouldn’t be caught in 2 days wandering around...stark raving naked. I mean, this is a super-friendly and accommodating place, to be sure, but I feel certain that would be…strongly discouraged.

We called the Front Desk to inform them of our clothing-cleansing needs, and they had it picked up and whisked away in about 10 minutes. (Yep, they’re that good.) Okay, fast forward to the afternoon, when I wanted a dry outfit…and my only available bra was still yucky-damp from this morning’s activity. With a sigh, I was just about to take it into the bathroom and apply a few minutes of hair-drier action when lo, I heard a gentle tap on the door. It was none other than a polite member of the housekeeping staff, returning our fresh-smelling, stain-free, folded and hung-up tee-shirts, shorts, socks, and undies. (Seriously, it was total overkill to treat our inexpensive, mass-produced leisure wear with such care, but I appreciated the thought, nonetheless!) The attached ticket helpfully informed me that it cost….43,800 colons…which when I did the conversion, quite possibly makes it the most extravagant load of laundry in history….and worth it at twice the price, if you ask me. (And no, you don’t really want to know what that is in American dollars, trust me…)

This brings me to another point about coming to these luxurious places (because you know, we do it ALL the time…or, like “twice”). I spend the week willing myself not to feel uncomfortable about all of the attention and pampering we receive. People bend over backwards to make you happy and anticipate your every wish…and it makes me feel spoiled and guilty! I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to stop myself from blurting out, “I’m nobody! Stop treating me like royalty!” Especially when we’ve been…needy guests. First our toilet didn’t want to flush properly (fixed in 20 minutes). Then we requested an extra bed, since the ones provided in the room consist of a huuuuge one (bigger than a King-size, meant to sleep 3, maybe? Tried it for a night, didn’t work so well for us) and a slightly-larger-than-Twin (not big enough for 2 full-grown people, which covers even Riley, at this point). This was delivered by dinnertime. 

Next, our safe--which had been functioning perfectly well up to that moment--suddenly refused to open and relinquish our stuff. They sent someone up almost instantaneously. Lastly, tonight I went down to dinner by myself, since the boys weren’t cleaned up yet from their busy hours o’fun. Julio, the waiter assigned to the section in which I parked myself, refilled my water continuously…inquired as to whether he could bring me beer…or coffee….or anything else…and finally, unbidden, carried over a plate with a pastry from the dessert bar,bowing and presenting it with a flourish, “This is for you.” Obviously, I’m not cut out for any kind of celebrity…I thanked him profusely…then fled in embarrassment.

Maybe by the end of the week, I’ll become accustomed to it, and even relax into Diva Behavior...just in time to go back home where no one jumps to wait on me…or wants to know if I’d like anything brought to me…or takes care of my laundry…or nothin’.  Oh well, for now we have discovered that the MLB All-Star Game is being broadcast on Fox…Espanol. As long as we mute the Spanish commentary, we can kick back and enjoy some of America’s pastime, in our clean clothes, on our three beds…like the kings and queens we (temporarily) are!

A wet and wonderful day

When Team WestEnders was making crucial travel decision for the Costa Rica vacation, one of the things we had to nail down was “where to stay”. It really wasn’t much of a debate, since we’re all agreed that the BEACH is our happy place. Thus we figured that we’d sleep at the shore, and arrange to venture inland for the other not-to-be-missed sites. Today was one of those excursions: a visit to the rainforest.

We were all very excited about it, too…just maybe not so much at 6:30, when the alarm woke us up…or 7:30, when the van left the hotel. Nope, I think it’s safe to say that the prevailing mood was “zzzzz” when we started out. But that changed in a big old hurry, thanks to our driver, Sergio. Now, I don’t know Sergio personally, of course, but my first impression would have to be that the man has a foot made of pure lead…and an unquenchable death wish…that he feels compelled to extend to the rest of us as well. Add to this the fact that we quickly ascertained the condition of Costa Rican roadways, which would best be described as…hmmm…”abysmal” just about sums it up. As we bounced up and down steep, narrow roads (peering unwisely out the window, to notice how close we were clinging to the un-guardrailed edge, overlooking a deep gully), careened around hairpin turns, and flew past cyclists and pedestrians…yeah, we (okay, at least I) became awake and terrified in short order.

Fortunately our guide for the day, Sebastian, kept us entertained and distracted with a running monologue about the scenery, the region, and whatever else he felt like throwing in there. We learned the correct pronunciation of Guanacaste’s capital city, for example. (It’s Lee-BEAR-ee-ah, not Lie-BEER-ee-ah, like the one in Africa, if you’re wondering.) He also told us that we would be able to recognize when we came to a town because—no matter how small it may be--each one would have 3 things: a soccer field, a school, and a church. At this point we were getting out into the countryside…the first clue might have been when we had to stop and wait for a group of bulls…and their herd dogs….to move to the side so we could pass them.

Around this time I began to see a curious phenomenon—the scattered houses were all small, wooden structures with tin roofs, only some of which had glass in the window openings. Most of them had laundry strung across the front to dry in the fresh air, and many had chickens, cows, and/or horses wandering around the premises. However, ALL of them had a satellite dish on the roof. Every. Single. One. Also, a few times we saw a child in the front yard, or an older person sitting on a porch, holding a shiny cell phone. It was difficult to reconcile the evidence of such a simple life with the obvious use of advanced technology at the same time. (Especially at that hour of the morning, you know?)

Anyway, next we came to the portion of the excursion that Sebastian had slyly referred to as the “car massage”. We left any semblance of “pavement” behind to begin traversing the gravel path that would lead us into the private nature preserve in which we’d be spending our day. Let’s see, how can I best make you understand the experience…the first word that springs to mind is “bone-rattling”. But it maybe even more vivid to tell you that my Fitbit, which I was wearing clipped to my shorts, as usual, registered 9,000 steps on this delightful part of the trip…all while my butt was firmly planted on the bus (well, except for those moments when I went airborne from a particularly violent pothole and was almost flung from my seat, that is…)

When THAT little bit of festivity was over and done with (thank all of the saints) we arrived at our destination for the hiking portion of our day. For about an hour, we tromped through the lush green landscape, enjoying the surroundings in dry comfort. Just when I was thinking, “Huh….the RAINforest really seems to deliver more of a DRIZZLE,”…the downpour commenced. And from that point forward, the weather delivered pretty much did 1 of 2 things: misty sprinkles…or downright drenching cloudbursts. Along the way we encountered several springs and waterfalls which Sebastian invited us to enjoy. However, he warned that they might not be, shall we say, “the warmest”. So of course the Male Posse went in each and every one, but I stayed out—where I honestly wasn’t much drier, but at least I wasn’t purposely dipping myself into colder water—and continued to admire the ambiance of the woods.

The final pool, though--that was the one I was holding out for: an actual hot spring. Feels like bath water? Yep, sign me up! It was indeed lovely (and therapeutic? Who knows, it felt awesome..) and as I paddled around with my family and the other adventurers in our little tour group it suddenly occurred to me that this was, by far, the most remote and wild place I’ve ever been in my entire life. The thought also popped into my head that, while some people seek out these kinds of places, fall in love with them, and declare that they’re turning their backs on civilization, NEVER to return…that’s sooooo very much NOT me. We finished our short walk back to the Main House, where we were served a delicious lunch, then re-boarded the shuttle to endure the expedition back to our 21^st-century hotel, I marveled again at all I had seen, vowed to remember it forever…and felt grateful once more for dry clothes, steaming coffee, and hot (indoor) showers! Ahhhhh……

Decompression Day

After spending a day or so in Playa Matapalo, we’ve gotten used to seeing one particular phrase everywhere—on signs, splashed across tee-shirts…in fact, printed on mugs, key chains...darn near every kind of souvenir you can imagine. It proclaims: Costa Rica, Pura Vida. It finally dawned on us that this must be the country’s motto, extolling its virtues (literally) as a land of “clean living”, and acting as a (metaphoric) reminder that here you can experience “the good life”.  And I’ve gotta say that although we didn’t actually DO much with our Sunday, a quiet day at a tropical beach is better than….almost any other day, anywhere else. (Which probably should be MY new motto for life, don't you think?)

As expected, we woke up earlier than we would have preferred, due to the time zone difference (7:00 local, translating to 9 on the old body clock). What to do? Hey, might as well check out the breakfast buffet! (Remember, I do live with 3 male creatures, one of whose standard response to “Are you hungry?” is “Eh, I could eat.” I’ll give you exactly one guess to whom I’m referring…) Let me tell ya, no matter how tired I felt, starting the day with fresh pineapple and mango, accompanied by locally-grown coffee…was pretty heavenly.

Next we decided that the best use of our day might very well be to make the most of our resort surroundings—that is, alternate between the natural beauty afforded by the sand and salt water option, and the contrasting enticement of the hotel’s pool, with its lounge chairs and swim-up bar. Don’t worry, we did our darndest to give equal time to each…that’s just the kind of fair-minded tourists we are…or some such nonsense. We’ve actually been quite lucky so far—the weather has given us periods of both sun and clouds, keeping the temperatures pretty mild and the UV danger at least a little lower than it could be if we had blazing rays all the time. This is especially appreciated by me…and my similarly pasty-pale clan.

So….that was honestly about the sum of our first full day in Costa Rica…a nice, easy orientation, if you will, with stretches of vigorous water play…punctuated by multi-course meals. And it’s a good thing we rested up, too, since one of the few things I actually had to accomplish was booking our tour for tomorrow…in which the van departs from the lobby at (the less-than-desirable hour of) 7:30 a.m., to whisk us 2-1/2 hours to a national park that reportedly boasts rainforest, hot springs, and waterfalls, along with the highly anticipated array of insect and animal life. Thus, Monday promises to be a much longer and more productive…albeit still “vacation” day. Besides, I figure I can always grab a nap on the ride if I really need to…and the coffee is available at 7, so I don’t have to face the morning without caffeine. (I know: “Oh, the horror!” Am I right?)

For now, I’d better get some beauty sleep so I’m ready to face the…abundant gifts of Mother Nature….and…whatnot. Pura Vida!