I remember when I first went to France and was so completely frustrated with how often I had to start a conversation with Desolee, je parle pas francais. Eventually though that flourished into more comprehensive ways of telling people I couldn’t speak the language until I realized one day that communication is not restricted to language. So many times I cut myself out of even trying to comprehend, feeling a lack of confidence in my ability to convey what I wanted to say. I had an epiphany of sorts one day, with regards to my ability to creatively express myself as a result of my impressive vocabulary. It doesn’t amount to much when that vocabulary is only impressive in one language.
So here I am again, different location, exact same phrase over and over again. Lo siento, no hablo espanol. Actually the first few times I said it, I’m pretty sure I said no hablas espanol, which I believe means you don’t speak spanish, which obviously just isn’t true. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this communication problem!
I’m a huge fan of never checking bags. I’m also a huge fan of spinning fire. Fire toys and carry on do not go so well together. I decided at the last minute to throw my fire hula into the mix and check my backpack. I arrived in Costa Rica, my backpack did not. Suddenly all my best laid plans were for naught because I would have to spend the night in ALajuela, near the airport and wait for my bag. Fortunately I had the sense to reserve a car yesterday and while waiting for the shuttle to get me, I asked the rep if he knew of a good place to stay. He got on the phone and called Melrost B&B. They not only had a vacancy, they had someone meet me at the car rental place so I could follow him here. Then they directed me to a shopping mall a very long block away, through a neighborhood where all the houses have bars on the windows, but all the neighbors and very friendly. It’s an interesting contrast. Plus, there is a huge field in the centre of this residential area with half a dozen horses and a bunch of cows milling about. When I stopped to take pictures of the horses, a cool old dude wandered across the street and told me all about the neighborhood, regardless of the fact that I have not a clue what he was saying. He knew I didn’t understand, but that didn’t phase him in the least. I believe he and his sister own a block of apartments but everything else was lost on me.I told him I wanted to go to the market, he gave me very thorough directions in spanish and off I went.
I was a little disappointed that it was very much a mall in every sense of the word, but set out to find what I needed until my pack arrives. Most of the stores cater to the young adult scene, as malls often do, and even the grande was far too pequeno for this busty gal. The funny thing is, I would walk into a store, immediately cut short the sales pitch with lo siento…try to explain that I have no clothes, get blank stares and my reasonable, not reactionary at all response? I buy the first thing that looks like it will fit me, look like a complete jackass trying to figure out if i’m getting ripped off spending 20,000 colones on a shirt and leave. (20,000 is about 36 bux I discovered later.) Plus I had to go to the bank machine three times because the first time I took out 6000 which won’t buy one pair of panties (depending on where you shop I’m sure) the second time I took out 20,000 thinking I was alright this time. Spent that on a shirt. But I’ll learn, it’s only my first day after all.
I’ve got to gush a whole bunch about how awesome the people are who run the b&b I’m staying at, as well as the people I’ve been in touch with in Nosara, but right now I’m going for dinner with the awesome people here in alajuela!
Mwah darlings. Hasta luego!