James and Jaci

James and Jaci
Audrey took this picture of us on the porch

Welcome!

Hi all,

Welcome to my blog, "The Midwest Expat"!

As our family is completely and totally new to Costa Rica, I decided to start a blog about our "Great Tico Adventure". Be sure to check back often to read about the latest "festivities" down south in the land of Bavaria Gold and active volcanos. :)

Thanks for visiting and drop us a line when you get a chance!

Jaci



Thursday, February 18, 2010

The Top 10 Things Americans must get used to in Costa Rica...

Hola mis companeros!



It's soon to be Friday again. The week has absolutely flown by. In fact, a whole MONTH has flown by. Exactly a month ago tomorrow we landed on the ground at the airport with 5 suitcases, 3 carry ons, 1 briefcase, 1 backpack, 2 kids and 2 crazy adults. Hmmm...that also means my rental car is due back Saturday. Remember the "dude...a Nissan Tida isn't going to work..." post? LOL! See my very first post for a refresher on the dynamics of a Nissan Tida versus 5 suitcases, 3 carry ons, 1 briefcase, 1 backpack, 2 kids and 2 adults. :)


Now the real topic of my post tonight. After spending a month in Costa Rica, we have seen only a sliver of the country. However, based on what we have seen, I have more than enough fodder to put my own "Top 10" right up there with Dave. Here goes...


"The Top 10 Things Americans must get used to in Costa Rica"


10. No noise ordinances. It's 9pm on a week night. My neighbor outside our gated community has decided to run his power saw, repeatedly. Naturally, his house is about 20 feet from ours, literally right across the street. The power saw siren song while effective at resolving my neighbor's home improvement dilemma, does not help me get a good nights sleep. Oh, the neighbor directly next door to us is also remodeling. So nice to hear him banging away on his walls at 9pm. It's like a cacophony of home improvement.


9. Extremely good and reasonably priced health care. Another expat I know recently took a trip to the ER at the newest and nicest private hospital in San Jose (CIMA). He thought he might have broken his ankle. X-rays, doctor's review, medication later, without insurance, he spent a whopping $100. He has the x-rays to prove it.


8. Absolutely no street signs. This is where I recommend every expat buy a GPS if you are even thinking of driving anywhere in Costa Rica. Now, don't get me wrong. The streets have names. But no SIGNS. My GPS tells me specifically which street I'm driving on. But only the GPS knows and it's not sharing.


7. In accordance with #8, no normal street addresses. Without street signs, what do you think would be a standard mailing address? Well, something which of course involves landmarks. All addresses here are "200 meters east of the Church of the Sacred Blood, Right of the Spoon restaurant". Yes, it's specific. But hope like the dickens the Church of the Sacred Blood never falls down in an earthquake or the Spoon restaurant never goes out of business. Your address is forever etched in stone even if those landmarks disappeared 50 years ago.


6. Earthquakes. Joy. Now if you're from California, this really doesn't count. So if you're from California, your #6 is getting used to the sun coming up EVERY morning at 5AM. Forget sleeping in until noon. Unless you're living in a cave or a drug induced coma, it's not going to happen. You'll be up like a dart by 6am since it feels like it's 10am. If you're not from California, your #6 is earthquakes. I'm originally from the upper Midwest where there are scads of tornadoes and snow. But no earthquakes. Our first week in country, there was an earthquake at 5.0 on the Richter scale in an area of Costa Rica far away from where we live. I felt the earthquake. My full coffee cup wiggled. I felt the earth move. Okay, the only time I want to feel the earth move is well...when...well, you know. Not LITERALLY feel the earth move while having my morning coffee!


5. Extremely excellent chicken. Seriously, KFC here is stinkin' good. Trust me on this.


4. Extremely SMALL cars. Remember the Nissan Tida?!


3. Colons, the local Costa Rican currency. Generally the colon fluctuates somewhere between 500 to 600 to the 1 US dollar. When shopping, you have to get used to seeing price tags in the 1000s and even 100,000s of colons. And don't even get me started about having to know numbers in SPANISH at those levels. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.


2. "Gringo pricing". This is why you need good friends in Costa Rica who are natively from here and speak flawless Spanish. If I call about something, as my Spanish is not flawless, I'm immediately tagged as not from Costa Rica and American. This automatically doubles or triples the price of anything. It's like an unofficial tax. However, if one of my Tico friends makes the call after me, incredibly there is a massive and immediate sale. The price has miraculously fallen to never before heard of levels. Never before heard by Americans that is...!



And the #1 Thing Americans have to get used to in Costa Rica is...



1. BUS STOPS, pedestrians, professional cyclists, back hoes and a few cars on the interstate (known as the AutoPista). Seriously, there is no posted minimum speed for most of the AutoPista. Anywhere a group of people gather becomes a bus stop in the right lane if there isn't room to pull over (which for a bus the size of a Greyhound is the usual situation). Pedestrians literally walk across the interstate all the time. Cyclists (and based on their gear some of them are VERY good cyclists) ride their expensive or not so expensive bikes on the side of the road while cars go by at 60 mph or more. Construction equipment is also evidently not banned from the Pista. The other day on my way home from work, there was a huge long line of cars going like 20 mph. I'm thinking "what on earth...?" and it turns out to be a back hoe driving on the interstate. Now in the US, the back hoe would be put on a tractor trailer truck and trucked at 60-70 mph on the interstate to wherever it needs to go. Not here by golly. Just drive that sucker up the ramp and save yourself the trouble. As a result, I no longer drive in the right hand lane of the interstate unless I have to. I'm petrified I'm going to be gawking at a cyclist, dodging a pedestrian, cussing at heavy machinery and plow right into the back of a bus.


So there you have it. Jaci's Top 10. Dave Letterman...eat your heart out! :)

Friday, February 12, 2010

What does "Tico" mean?

Hi all,


It's a Friday night and I'm grateful the week has come to a blissful and quiet end. In reviewing my blog and comments from other people, I have realized the word "Tico" is not universally known outside Costa Rica. Inquiring minds want to know. What is a "Tico"? What does it mean?

Here's the skinny on the word "Tico".

According to Wikipedia, the word "Tico" is a colloquial term, an ethononym, for a native of Costa Rica. The plural form is Ticos. Costa Ricans are usually referred to as Ticos by themselves and persons of other Spanish-speaking countries, instead of using the more-formal "costarricense". Some dictionaries show the formal name as "costarriquenses" and also "costarriqueños"; however the latter is seldom used in practice in the modern Spanish Language.

This word, "Tico" or the feminine version "Tica" are used for anything which refers to Costa Rica. There is even an excellent restaurant called Tiquicia, which means "Costa Rica" just like "Tico" means "Costa Rican". This particular restaurant is way up in the mountains of the central valley in Escazu. Folkloric dancing, candle lighting, and the spectacular view, makes this restaurant one of your best options to try well prepared traditional meals. I went there back in early December with several of my new coworkers. The food was incredible and the view gives a vista of all the surrounding bedroom communities of San Jose. At night, it's not only windy but breath taking.

So now inquiring minds know what "Tico" means according to most people.

To me, the words "Tico" or "Tica" or "Tiquicia" mean everything wonderful about Costa Rica. The beautiful mountains, coasts, clear water, crisp fresh air, bright sunshine (which always comes up at 5AM in the friggin' morning!) and most importantly the people. While certainly no one can claim all of the people in any one country are honest and helpful. In Costa Rica, we have encountered almost exclusively the most helpful, honest and friendliest of people. Many of the people I work with, our neighbors, friends of friends, have willingly and proactively offered us assistance and advice. Helped us avoid cultural "faux pas", find the best places to shop (more about the store "Pequeno Mundo" in another post), refer qualified professionals (lawyers, car mechanics, beauticians, spas, vacation spots, etc) and go out of their way to help us with our "Tiquicia" transition.

If someone called me a "Tica" today, it would be one of the most sincere compliments I know. :)

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Getting our "Licencia de Conducir"

Hi all,

One of the joys of moving to a new city, state or country is getting all of those essential documents lined up. In Costa Rica, the first experience we've had with this was to get our Costa Rican "licencia de conducir" or the ever necessary "drivers license".


As in the United States, getting a drivers license can be a profound exercise of bureaucratic manic depressive minutia. In Costa Rica, the exercise is taken to the level of art form. I'm convinced waiting in line is a spectator sport in Costa Rica. Here was our experience.


First, getting into the parking lot. As the parking lot is too small to accommodate everyone on a daily basis who needs to get or renew a license, there is a security guard who has you wait in your car at the entrance until someone else leaves. (Line #1) On the morning we arrived (approximately at 10am on a Thursday) there were about 5 cars in front of us. "A really short line..." according to our mobility coordinator. About 15 minutes later, we get into the parking lot and park.


Second, everyone must be granted entry into the building by a dynamic duo of security guards. (Line #2) Evidently only those requiring a new or renewal license may enter. However, our coordinator requested entry with us as she was our support through the process. Spent about 10 minutes haggling with one of the guards whose intense and burning desire for Hilda (our coordinator ) to "respect his authority" was evidently at a peak that day. Hilda graciously got us to the next line and then went to wait outside at the point where we would exit. Remember this guy. He comes back into the picture later.

Third, the next line was for us to have someone inspect our passports and copies of our current US drivers licenses for accuracy. The "inspector" had to be ready for retirement about 15 years ago and probably couldn't tell a fake US passport if her life depended on it. She slowly and systemically wrote the passport # and info by hand, manually, into a log book, initialed the photo copies of our documents, asked about the kids, (who were with us and bored already) and sent us to the next line.

Fourth, the next line as it turns out started where Hilda was waiting for us to exit. As such, she had been waiting in line for us while we were going through the last line. This helped us greatly in getting through to the second person in the process, "the data entry clerk". When we stopped at her station, her role was to enter the data from our passports and "certified" copies into some type of software application. Basically she typed our info into a form. "Typed" being a stretch. Her extremely long fake nails were rather prohibitive for touch typing. A definite drawback in a country where most addresses are a direction (i.e. 100 meters south of the Church of the Sacred Heart, then 200 meters east). For both James and I, this was a good 20 minutes of time. The result of which was entry into a database and a hand written receipt to pay for our licenses (again, long fake nails do not promote efficient hand writing either). But we had our tickets to the NEXT line.

However, the most festive part and fodder for months of future buercratic debate was when the "inspector" noticed we seemed to get through the second line rather quickly, too quickly in her experienced opinion. As such, she questioned the "data entry clerk" who promptly told her she didn't know and went back to her one key typing. This did not satisfy "the inspector". She was convinced we jumped the queue and it was her civic duty to ensure we waited our turn. She summoned the security guard (the same guard from the entry). After some intense negotiations with Hilda and very stern "ugly American how dare you question me" looks from me, the "inspector" determined we had merely worked the system (Gasp! We followed all the rules but managed to get through faster than the average Gringos! Sacrilege!) We did not wait the mandatory eternity in yet ANOTHER line. The end result of the entire exchange was since we did not jump the queue or anger any of the other people waiting in line who saw Hilda dutifully wait, we simply went on to the next part of the process and left our fuming "inspector" and security guard with something to gripe about during their next hard earned lunch 2 hour.

After this exchange, we went downstairs to the main area where pictures were taken and the actual, "licencia de conducir" procured. As a side note, Hilda said she's now probably banned for entering the building for at least a couple of months or until a different security guard works the building. Heaven forbid someone actually figures out the system and enlists help doing it.

Line #4. We pay. Our licenses cost about $11 a pop. I took both of the hand written receipts and cash (no checks, no credit cards) to a bank teller window after waiting behind only 1 other person. 5 minutes later, paid receipts in line we were ready for the last stretch of our marathon to legal driving freedom. This was easily the most efficient part of the process.

Finally, line #5. Our "licencia" was within our grasp. Upon entering the area we discover the system has changed since Hilda was there the last time (like 2 months ago!). Usually there is a separate line for foreigners. Not this time. Now we're all one big hodgepodge of a line. Joy. After some questioning of the current inhabitants of the line ("inhabitants" since they are probably there long enough to register it as a new home address), we discover as foreigners we are supposed to just butt in line at a specific point which they point out. Okay...earlier, butting in line was almost high treason. But now, in this DIFFERENT line, it's what we're supposed to do. Okay, my head hurts. I need a map, a work flow document, fish bone diagram, something which makes sense to my process driven object oriented brain. We dutifully join the queue and about 10 minutes later, it's picture time. I go first. Hand over the mountain of paperwork I've accumulated from the previous 3 lines to a "picture person", smile and sign as instructed. James goes to the booth next to mine and begins to do the same thing with a different "picture person". But "Holy Mixed up documents Batman!" Our "data entry one key at a time clerk" from upstairs mixed up our passport #s! Crap with a Capital C! She put mine on Jim's and his on mine. We tremble in fright. Will we have to start completely over? Will the "respect my authority" security guard refuse to let Hilda out of the parking lot? Will the "inspector" suddenly decree our documents fake and deport us? Will Corwin's Nintendo run out of power with who knows how many lines to spare? Will Audrey's ever effective charm suddenly stop working on all the civil servants in the building?

Thankfully and quite unexpectedly, no. Whew! There was actually someone logical somewhere in this entire process. The "picture person" from the booth James went to actually LOOKED at the documents he handed her. Quite the novel concept. But even MORE amazing, was the fact it was easily and quickly fixed. This patron saint of all civil servants somehow miracously and simply switched the numbers to the correct person, took our pictures, had each of us sign as needed and "Viola!" After 5 different lines and about 3 hours of excitement, we had our golden tickets, "licencia de conducir". Our first official documents of Costa Rica!

As a side note, those of you who actually read this entire post (I made it long to give you the true experience of something long, boring and tedious like this entire process was) may be asking, Why all the lines? Why couldn't they make the parking lot bigger? Why couldn't the documents be inspected, scanned, receipt printed, cost paid and picture taken by the same ONE person? Well it comes down to the concept of "time and space". In Costa Rica, there is NO concept of time and space. Your time and your space are not a concept anyone really considers. More about that in a future post. I need to go. Quite suddenly after recounting this experience I feel a sudden urge to double check the passport # listed on my "licencia de conducir" just to make sure I'm not dreaming and won't suddenly wake up in some line somewhere waiting for someone to do something I can't understand either in Spanish, English or concept. :)

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Our "little friend"

Hi all,

The other evening James and I met a new "little friend". This little friend was about 3 inches long, dark brown, with a curled up tail. We were a bit surprised to find this "little friend" in our dining room in the mid evening (around 8pm). Upon meeting this new "little friend" James promptly scooped him up in a glass and placed him high up on a shelf. While our "little friend" may not be able to get out of his glass (or at least we hope it was a "him" as a "her" would be worse!) we would prefer the kids not play with him. He really didn't see to be very friendly. After meeting this "little friend" and doing a few quick google searches on his background and personal references, we decided perhaps some chemical coercion from the local exterminator would be best in convincing any other "little friends" who may be lurking in the shadows, to perhaps move on to other more hospitable surroundings. Our "little friend" has subsequently been sent to "little friend" heaven as we preferred he not reveal his egress into our house to any other "little friends".

Who was this "little friend" you may ask?

Was he a spider? Nope.

Was he a cockroach? Nope.

Was he a snake? Nope.

He was a SCORPION!!

The exterminator comes at 2pm this Thursday. Or at least I think he will considering the conversation was all in Spanish and from his cell phone. For all I know I gave him directions to the local pub. (!)

Monday, February 1, 2010

Tico Farmers Market

Hi all,

Yesterday VERY early in the morning  (630am) I went with another expat and his mother in law to an incredible Costa Rican farmers market in Santa Ana (just north of Escazu where we live). This market is held every Sunday and is about 2-3 blocks in length packed with stalls on both sides of the street. The selection was incredible and the prices unheard of inexpensive. For the equivalent of $20, I bought 8 ears of sweet corn, medium clump of romaine lettuce, bunch of radishes, 3 large mangos, 3 pounds of bananas, a pound of strawberries, (but wait! There's more!)...a pound of green beans, 2 cucumbers, carrots, cantelope, a pound of small potatoes, 2 large tomatoes and a large bunch of rosemary. Basically enough fruits and vegatables for the better part of a week for a family of 4. I filled a large carry bag and still had a smaller bag on my arm full too. The weather was a little chilly as the wind was blowing. It was probably 60-65 degrees but sunny. I think this will now be our early morning Sunday habit. :)