Category: Traveler

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Don’t Be Afraid of Nude Beaches

Oops, did I say “nude”? I meant new. Don’t be afraid of NEW beaches.

With one week left in our Costa Rican trip, my husband and I decided to check out a nude (darn, did it again) new beach, Playa Panama, just five minutes from our home. No one around here really talks about it, but we thought that might be a good thing ~ no damn tourists! So we went.

We soon found out why no one talks about it. It’s not as nice as the beach we normally go to, Playa Hermosa. We walked all the way down, then back again, but decided that because it’s rocky and muddy, we wouldn’t go back. But we would finish our walk.

At the risk of sounding jaded, I chose not to take my camera with me. I thought that after 9 weeks, I’d seen so many bugs, birds, fish, and creatures that I wouldn’t bother. Every single time I say that, I regret it. (Like the day we saw a bull running down our street. A bull, with horns running down our street. Fortunately we were in our car, but this was a street where many locals walk or ride their bikes. No camera then either.) Today we saw dozens of pink crabs scurrying across the sand and diving into their little crab caves. We saw iguanas eating leaves off the low-hanging trees, turkey vultures eating garbage, and pelicans snapping up fish off the beach at low tide. We also saw snails, real, live, crawling snails in their shells. Walking seashells! This country never ceases to amaze me.

The same advice goes for life and literature. Don’t be afraid to try nude new things. Even if you think you don’t you’ll like something, say a new genre or author, there are oftentimes snippets that will amaze you. If nothing else, it’ll give you something to gripe about, like stepping on rocks at the beach.

It’s easy to stay in one’s comfort zone, but that sounds like living in a rut to me.

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It’s for Appearances’ Sake, Dear

Ah, vacation mentality: When you read books you wouldn’t normally read; wear clothes you wouldn’t normally wear; drink drinks you wouldn’t normally drink.

A few weeks ago my husband and I went to Panamá. The first two nights we stayed in Bocas del Toro in a jungle tree house, yes, with geckos, spiders, and toucans. Then we flew to Panamá City and stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, with 25 floors, marble entryway, and hot water. Well a funny thing happened when we arrived…

My husband went to check in, and I went to ask the concierge for a dinner reservation. We were hot and tired and it had been a long day getting there, but we were on vacation so it was okay as long as we had a nice dinner to look forward to. Ernesto was happy to help. “La Posta,” he said. “Bery good food. You lub it.” My husband came over and sat beside me, and I told him we had a reservation in one hour at a great restaurant. “We’re lucky to get in,” I said. “What kind of food do they serve?” he asked. “Good food,” I replied. Well, this hotel was full of business people dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, the polar opposite of our former tree house, and we were dressed in shorts. But we didn’t care, we were on vacation! So my husband asks Ernesto, “Can I wear shorts? That’s all I brought with me.” “Oh, no, señor. Not to La Posta.” So we thanked Ernesto for getting us in, but suggested he find us another restaurant. “I call them,” he said, “to cancel.” Okay, so my Spanish isn’t very good, but I did overhear Ernesto telling the hostess our problem. He said very loudly, “El hombre – tiene – no los pantalones!” My husband asked me to translate. “The man – has – no pants!” My husband turned red (not sure if it was anger or embarrassment). This had never happened to him before. You see, for the past 40 years, my husband has owned a chain of clothing stores. He sells pants!
(Fortunately, La Posta let us come anyway, happy to take our money.)

Here in Costa Rica, we live in a tiny beach town. We wear shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops every day. It’s fine because no one really knows us and we have no one to impress. In Des Moines, we work there, we’re on boards, we know people, we must keep up appearances! We wear real clothes, and we shower BEFORE we go out. (Here you shower when you get home because of the 95 degree heat.) But the people who live here in Costa Rica year round, the ones who work here and know people here, they wear real clothes and the women even wear makeup! The way people dress is acutely tied to the image they want to impart—everywhere.

So this got me thinking. As a writer, when my “value” comes from my words, from my brain, I should not be judged by my shoes, my clothes, or my purse. It shouldn’t matter what I wear. How liberating! But that’s not the way the civilized world works. We do judge people by their appearances (at least at first), and we do judge books by their covers. I wonder how many books lie in anguish on the shelves at Barnes & Noble because their covers are not enticing? I wonder how many people get overlooked because their appearance fails to impress.

Certainly there are exceptions. Bravo for those brave enough to be themselves at all times and let the world figure out how wonderful they are the hard way – by LISTENING to or READING or WATCHING – their skills. And what about when actors like Brad Pitt grow nasty beards in feeble attempts to downplay their natural good looks, or when Charlize Theron and Halle Berry make themselves look ugly to play certain roles? THAT is when they win Oscars.

Aha! It shouldn’t matter what’s on the outside ~ we’ve all heard the cliché… But, it does to a degree. Therefore, when I get home, I’ll wear makeup again, and high heels. And when my book is published, I will care very much what the cover looks like.

Meanwhile, I’ll write the best book possible so it can live up to it’s appearance.

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Gr8xpectations

If you’ve been following along, you know my husband and I spend the worst of winter in Costa Rica. Now spring is here and our days in this beautiful country are drawing down, but we haven’t lost our adventuresome spirit.

For the past two years, we have heard about a Farmers’ Market just twenty minutes from our home, so we decided to check it out. Have you ever been to CR? It is LUSH with bananas, plantains, mangos, pineapple, cantaloupe, rice, sugar cane, coffee, and more. Boy did I have great expectations!

That’s not really a surprise though, it’s the story of my life. Hell, Gr8xpectations used to be my email address ~ not kidding. I don’t think anyone has gotten their feelings hurt more than I have (at least it seems that way). I always hope for the best, give people the benefit of the doubt, and generally count on people staying true to their word. The older I get though, the more I understand how life really works. Soon I will be cynical, skeptical, and pessimistic like the rest of you.

Ok, so today. The Farmers’ Market? Should have been called a Farmer’s Market. No joke. One (American) lady had one basket with a few heads of lettuce and some cucumbers. That was it. I don’t even LIKE cucumbers! Apparently there’s a “real, local” farmers’ market on Fridays in “the city” but we missed it. Guess we’ll try again next year.

But, think about it. Don’t we all carry expectations with us to some degree as we go on vacation/buy a new book/go to a movie/order a nice meal? Sure we do. We hope and expect things to be fun, good, or entertaining, especially if we’re spending time and money on them.

So here’s what I’m wondering about:

Why is it that we’re more likely to be let down by a “good” book that isn’t “as great as they said”, and we really enjoy work that had low expectations? Same goes for movies like Little Miss Sunshine and Sideways. They were small films that had huge box office and critical success.

This is actually encouraging news for me. Since I don’t have an MFA, since I haven’t written a blockbuster yet, and I spent most of my working life as an art dealer, the expectations for my debut novel probably won’t be too high, except my own of course. I won’t be happy until I’ve written the best book possible, one that perhaps Charles Dickens would be impressed with. Or maybe William Faulkner. He once said: “The only thing worth writing about is the conflict in the human heart.” That is exactly what my novels are about.

Meanwhile, I’ve really got my hopes up for the Farmers’ Market in Des Moines; it’s enormous, plentiful, and only one block from our home. It will be great!

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We’re Off to See the … Canal

I need a vacation! The King Family now clocks in at 66,000 words, some of them even worth keeping (I hope), and my poor bony fingers need a rest.

Remember those one-way tickets to Panama I mentioned a few days ago. We’re off!

See you next week; same bat time, same bat URL.

Adios, amigos. I promise to take lots of pictures.

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James Patterson, Save Me!

It’s easy to see how a writer can get distracted. “They” say that a writer dreams of the day he or she can escape to a mountain top to gaze over the ocean to write his/her masterpiece. Well, hello? Who among us could be plopped down in a foreign country and NOT want to explore a bit? It’s a different world here in Costa Rica, and there’s so much to see and do. Put me in a dark quiet room someplace boring! (I did not mention Des Moines.) (Jail wouldn’t be so bad if I had Internet access.)

I’ve been happily ensconced in my “office away from home” writing away. The first draft of my novel, The King Family, is now over 55,000 words (nearly 200 pages). On a good day, I write 1500 words, on a really good day I write maybe 2500. On a bad day, I take out most of those. At this rate, I could be finished with a strong first draft by the time we go home to friends, family, and freezing rain. (Please, no freezing rain in April!)

So what’s the problem? And why the hell would you ask James Patterson for help?
Excellent questions.

I have a good friend, Larassa Kabel. She’s my John Galt. Larassa is an extremely talented artist, one whom I formerly represented. (www.larassakabel.com) We usually meet once a month for coffee, and she alone can recharge me when I begin to flounder in my long trek toward “published author.” If only I were as good at writing as she is at painting! Anyway, she once told me that the really good inspirations we creative types get are the ones that you can’t get out of your head no matter what else is going on in life. That’s how an artist/writer knows what project to devote their precious time to. So, I have one of those.

Last June, my husband and I went to NYC to visit two of my sons, Ryan and Elliott. One night, a friend of Ryan’s joined us, Ariel. Ariel looks a lot like my son Ryan except for one distinction. I sat across the table from these young men and thought they looked like twins, with this one exception. I jotted a note to myself about my observation and thought ‘no big deal’. Ok, so that little note has become the idea that won’t leave my head! Those four words have germinated into a novel that begs to be written, complete with characters, names, places, crises, multiple crises. Now what am I supposed to do?! Whatever happened to writer’s block? I need to write faster! I need James Patterson to be my co-author!
(ooh,ooh, just kidding)

Anyway, that’s my life in a few sentences (450 words). That, and my husband and I just bought one way tickets to Panamá. We fully intend to come back, but…

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What I Did in Costa Rica Today

Mommy, Mommy! We went on a Safari today!

In America, they have record snowstorms; in Costa Rica, scorpions, crocodiles, iguanas, monkeys, and snakes. But luckily, only the scorpions are allowed inside. (For the record, we’ve now been here 10 days, and the score is: Creepy Critters In Our Home: 0; Wayne: 3.)

Palo Verde National Park is a 75,000 acre preserve in the Guanacaste (northwestern) region of the country. To get there from our place: Drive south for 1 hour over the terrible gravel roads, turn left at the Del Monte cantaloupe distribution center, pass by the oxen-driven carts hauling sand from the river (wave to the hard working sand farmers), go through towns with “houses” you can’t even imagine living in (the one above is a “nice” house; the bad ones were so bad I couldn’t bear to ask the people hanging out on their “porches” if I could take a picture), then continue through the woods, and sure enough ~ you’ll come to Rio Tempisque!

We went on a cruise up and down a river looking at birds, monkeys, iguanas, bats, and crocs. Nice…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These three guys here, for instance, were all in the same tree. The snowy egret is in no danger from the orange iguana. The orange guy (no relation to John Boehner) is an herbivore, and only interested, at the moment, in the green lady on the left. When male iguanas are orange it’s like them putting on cologne. Get my drift? He’s hoping she’s got the drift.

These, left, are BATS, hanging out for the day (finding bats is a bonus, they told us). On the right is a tiger heron. They are one of the only animals that can control the crocodile population around here. No, of course they’re not EATING the crocs, they eat the crocodile eggs. They got the name “tiger” because of their coloring.

So tonight, I taught myself how to turn my little Sony camera videos into a movie. I shot the video below from our boat (sit down if you feel seasick!). Have I mentioned the monkeys yet? Don’t stop till you see the sweet little guy lickin’ his fingers at the end!

Enjoy! In the jungle

(Meanwhile, time for me to get
back to writing!)

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Where Her Great Novel Was Born

This view look familiar to anyone besides me? Wayne and I are back in Costa Rica, the same house where we stayed for one month last year; we’re staying 2 1/2 months this year. The same town, the same villa, the same view, the same routine. We’ve been here almost 48 hours. Our refrigerator is now full of food, our vegetable basket overflows with onions, garlic, potatoes, plantains, and limes. Yes, pico de gallo will be made soon. Fried plantains will be served at dinner.

It’s interesting to be back in the same place for a second time. I’ve never wanted to own a second home, a vacation home. I love to travel, see different places, see the planet. Why go back, repeatedly, to ONE place when there are so many others waiting for me?

Why? I’ll tell you why! (Now I know.) This year, there’s no culture shock. We know a few people, we know where the grocery stores are (and what items are cheapest in each store), and where to buy good meat. Yesterday, we went to the distribution center that sells beef and pork to savvy shoppers and to the restaurants near here. Mmm, real beef.

This morning, less than 48 hours into our trip. I’m already ensconced in my “office.” This is where The King Family will be written. This is where it was conceived last year, except, true to my form, it started out under a different name Left on Blue. And, if I can take a moment to make fun of myself, it very well might change names again. You gotta keep up, people!

In some regards, it feels as if we never left; in another regard, we’re marveling at how many restaurants have changed hands. My husband is now free to contemplate life (“Anything but Groundhog’s day in Des Moines, Iowa, please!”) (I told him, if we keep coming back here, one day it will feel like Groundhog’s day in Costa Rica, but he said that doesn’t sound so bad.) I will be writing in the mornings, reading in the afternoons, and swimming in between. I am currently in the middle of Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections as well as Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking. I HOPE they influence my writing!

I will also squeeze in a few blog posts to keep you up on my progress. This blog holds me accountable! Feel free to comment, PLEASE! I like this quiet life, but already miss my friends. Adios, amigos. Tener un buen dia!

P.S. See that rocking chair in my “office.” It creeps me out. Like there’s a ghost sitting there, facing me, watching me. If it starts rocking, holy cow, I don’t know what I’ll do. I have just decided that Aunt Rose (from the King Family) will have a rocking chair. You heard it here first.

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Ten Weeks to Live (it up)

That’s me on the surfboard.

Ah, who am I kidding? I can’t even swim. Seriously. Well, I’ve never drowned, but I’ve only had one swim lesson in my entire life, and it wasn’t pretty.

Tomorrow morning, before breakfast, before coffee (!), I will be on a plane to Costa Rica. My husband HATES the Iowa winters, and I’m lucky enough to be invited to tag along when he heads for warmer climes. We’ll be gone for ten weeks.

So what would you do for TEN WEEKS? My husband is one of those people who can sit still, watch the Pacific Ocean, and contemplate life. I’m not. I’ll be taking my laptop (of course), my iPad, (of course) (my husband has one, too… we both plan on reading a ton of books). But this year, I actually bought a Speedo swim suit, a swim cap, and goggles. I’m going to SWIM! I figure, if fish can teach themselves how to swim, so can I. The good news our villa has a private pool (please see Dec. 8th post: Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Lucky). I’ll be able to swim laps without anyone around to laugh.

I will also be working on my new book, The King Family. I have officially put On A Midnight Street to bed. “Good night, sweet book. Your agent will find you one day, I promise.”

It seems I do have a plan… My last post said I’m not making any plans. That’s the best part of being me ~ when I look back on my life, even one day ago, I provide myself with so much to laugh at. I make ridiculous, declarative statements, then I do the opposite. Oh well. That’s me.

All right. Off to finish packing. It’s 92 degrees in Costa Rica right now. This time tomorrow, the sand between my toes won’t be from what the dog drags in from our snowy sidewalks. It will be from the Pacific Ocean.

Ah….

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Here We Go Again, Literally

In 38 hours (yes, I’m counting), my husband and I leave for Costa Rica. You may recall, we went last year for nine weeks. This year we’re going for ten weeks. Last year we had all seven of our kids (plus two or three friends) join us; this year, zero kids.

Last year, we did every adventure possible: zip lining, surfing, sailing, zip lining again, horseback riding, hiking to waterfalls, even a trip to one of the volcanoes. This year? Who knows. Maybe nothing, not a gosh darn thing!

Last year, I posted a dozen or more stories on my blog (see Feb – March 2010), plus an essay I’m not ashamed of (Vacationally Challenged). This year? Who knows. What if we don’t do anything exciting?

My plan this year is to not have a plan. Sure, I know I’ll write. And, we both got iPads for Christmas, so I know we’ll do a lot of reading (I already have 6 books downloaded, 6 LONG books). Other than that, we plan to sit by the pool and relax.

Guess this will test my skills as a blogger… how to make sitting by the pool for 70 days in a row sound exciting… ?

I promise I’ll do my best.

Hasta luego!

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A Scorpion In Your Bed

Go on, name the scariest things you can imagine.

Earthquakes and car wrecks and fires, for sure. Sharks, snakes, lions, tigers, and bears, oh my. How about a scorpion? How about a scorpion in your bed that stings you in your sleep?

That’s what happened to my husband last night. Sound asleep, nearing the end of our peaceful, relaxing vacation ~ only it’s been so long, so nice, that we don’t consider it vacation. “We live here,” at least for part of the year, we say. “We’ll live here even longer next year.” But, back to last night… sound asleep we were when my husband screams out, “I’ve been bit! I’ve been bit!”

Everyone has a scorpion story, we’ve learned. People here compare their scorpion stings stories like veterans compare war stories. Apparently, (thank goodness I can take others’ words for the truth) it hurts like an SOB… Excuse me, it hurts like having a knife stabbed into your body.

So, back to my husband’s war story. There we are, sound asleep, dead of night, and BAM. On his hand, pain like nothing else. He screams; I jump, run for the light, and up onto a chair. He thinks it was a snake. But as he’s leaning over to pull back the sheets and find the python, I see a scorpion crawling up his back toward his neck. I scream even louder than he did, and start swiping it away with a pillow. The nasty creature falls to the floor, but barefoot, I wasn’t about to step on it. My husband grabbed an errant shoe and smashed it. My hero.

Wikipedia, my hero web site, told us there probably wasn’t anything to worry about. We washed and dressed his wound. Next year, we’ll have Benadryl handy, but the venom isn’t deadly unless you happen to be allergic to it.

The WORST part (okay, for ME) was trying to fall back to sleep. Are scorpions like cockroaches and deer? If there’s one, there’s sure to be more? Do they have nests with babies? Or lifetime mates, like swans and vultures, so there’s sure to be at least one more lurking under our bed? We pulled back the sheets, looked under the bed, stomped and banged on the walls to scare any hidden cohorts out from hiding, but fortunately or unfortunately, got no response, no scampering flashes of slimy critters, no proof one way or the other. It took nearly two hours before exhaustion made the decision for me and I fell back to sleep.

This morning, my husband gallantly asked, “So, still want to come back next year?” I replied, “If you do,” considering myself magnanimous since I wasn’t the one who got stung by a scorpion in my sleep.

We have now just returned from the Property Management office (unpaid plug: a wonderful company: www.milagrorentalscostarica.com ). We signed a lease for this exact same house for next year.

Pura vida.