Creature Comforts.

If you were packing for three-and-a-half months in a foreign country, what would you bring? I am not the world's best packer, in any situation, so this one flummoxed me a bit, and now that I've been here just shy of five weeks, I have come to a few realizations.

First, after the crying jag and emotional stress of last Friday and the alarm night... I soothed myself with The West Wing. Yes, that's right. My obsession with that show dominates the tiny, 12-disc carrying case I brought. The iPod and the iTunes mean you never have to waste space with a CD again, so I brought 13 DVDs:

High Fidelity

Almost Famous (the director's cut)

Marie Antionette

and ten discs of the West Wing. (In case you care, I brought the last two discs of season 1 and all of season 2.)

The West Wing is like chamomile tea for my soul, it's like a glass of whiskey at night or a toddler's la-la. It was definitely the right choice.

High Fidelity is my number one movie of all time (yeah, yeah, Bill, I KNOW, shut up! on the WW too!) and Almost Famous is a close second. Marie Antionette, the Coppola one, is the kind of thing I would normally hate, but it is a movie I love to watch when I need some mental reorganization. It's like a film version of meditation for me.

But I would have, should have, sacrificed two spots for Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. What was I thinking!?!?!? That's got talking, love, humor, foreign countries, and everything I need. Big mistake. I miss them.

On the clothes front... I didn't bring enough nice stuff - it's all beat up cotton tanks and boring tee shirts. I did not bring enough shoes, I am bored with my choices and one pair of sneakers? Am I an idiot? I did bring more than enough underthings (thank goodness) and I wish I had more light, cardigan-y things for the cool evenings.

I caught a little Oprah the other day, it was a special on how the recession is affecting real people. The people interviewed, living in shelters, cars and tent camps (or one couple living in their office after losing the house), were all former car-owners, homeowners, and employed in middle class jobs. The thing they all shared was, when asked what things they missed most: a hot shower whenever they wanted it. It made me grateful for my toothpaste, my hot shower, my soft bed, and also to have the luck to enjoy the silly, indulgent, time-wasting, reassuring desserts I brought with me: DVDs, two great long juicy books, a couple pretty scarves.

A Moment of Crazytown: Did I Dream This?

So the bruise picture above is a simple mosquito bite! I've always had sweet blood but boy oh boy. My bites right now are EPIC.

I share it because I find it kind of amazing, and I share it because maybe I am going crazy. Why, you ask? I remember hearing somewhere once that an east wind drives people mad. Was it an old wives tale, a Dustbowl Era saying, from a play or novel? (Maybe I dreamt it?)

At any rate, it's been a windy winter in San Jose... around dusk, and often in the early mornings, I am startled by huge gusts of wind, the kind of wind that's not too common in Portland. It's more like Livingston, MT wind! It comes from the east, and it feels foreboding. It cruises past the comfortable point... it rattles things a little too much, it blows doors shut loudly, it scratches the windows with big palm leaves. It peaks and I realize I was holding my breath, listening nervously.

I've never been so aware of the wind. Is it because I'm getting a daily dose of east wind - is it driving me mad? Or is it a mosquito bite side effect?

Bills, Bills, Bills.

Here's something new. Picture getting a bill... for the installation of your cable or internet, for a snowplow or yard service, for painting, for delivery of an item, for pretty much anything. What does it say on the bottom?

Payable in 30 days, payment within 15 days of receipt, something to that effect. Right?

In Costa Rica, all bills are Payment Due Upon Receipt. The minute it is handed to you, you have to pay. This requires carrying lots of cash, or making trips to a cajero automatico with vendors impatiently driving behind you.

It also adds a layer of serious stress... if the dishwasher repairman comes, fixes it, and then leaves with your payment, you have no time to see if it is truly working properly. His receipt, with contact info, may include a cell phone number that never works again. And your money's gone.

So there's a whole new level of "I've got a great handyman" type recommendations. They carry a lot of weight, and people do not lightly share the handyman, delivery service, cleaning crew, security consultant, moving company, courier, taxi driver or any other service they use. After all, their recommendation carries a lot of trust and high stakes with it. There's no Angie's List or Consumer Reports!!

It is a big mental adjustment, getting used to "Payable Upon Receipt." It adds a level of immediacy, a level of rush-rush-right-now that, funnily enough, adds to the days slipping by on "Central American Time"... which means that things get done when they get done, appointments are rough estimates, and things always seem to 'come up' that prevent the day's business from being completed. Like, running to the cajero to pay a bill! That sort of urgent thing gets done, but big grant submissions or workouts at the gym... not so much.

Home Sweet Home.

Starting out: that's the front gate to the office/my home. (As viewed from upstairs.) One of the first things you notice about San Jose, Costa Rica is that everything is gated, guarded, barred and barb-wired. (And electric-fenced.)

Next up, that's the back wall, if you look close: currently it is enhanced by a nice line of broken bottles and other sharp glass.

Then, that's the vista from the office conference room - looking S/SW into the hills of Escazu, the neighborhood of San Jose we're in. Finally, that's a second-floor shot of the bamboo stand outside my window. I admit, when it squeaks and whines, I still sometimes think it is a door opening, but I'm getting more relaxed each day.

And now, the story from Friday.

The introduction is important, because many things I took for granted come into play. For one thing, when you rent in CR, you don't get a stove or refrigerator. You don't get a phone line - your landlord owns the phone line and grants you access to it, with a hefty deposit. (S/he doesn't want to lose it and have to wait for another.) In our case, we don't know the voicemail code!! The last tenant changed it and didn't leave it behind.

The security system, too, is owned by the landlord and the responsibility of it is temporarily transferred to you, the tenant.

So, on Friday night, I got two kind but clearly determined visits from the street's night guard, who was concerned because my alarm was going off. (It was? I couldn't hear it.) His English was zero; my Spanish is that of about a three year old. For example, if "gorda" is fat and "gordita" is a cutesy pudgy person, then to me, it followed that if "ahora" is now, ahorrita would be right right right now, please. Uh, not so much.

(For your Spanish reference, ahorrita means in just a few minutes from now.)

Anyway, me and the sweet but concerned Miguel went back and forth twice about my alarm, which I then just disarmed for the night. (I still have locks. And broken glass.)

Miguel's third visit, with escalated concern, had him asking me, Entiendes? (You understand?) and me repeating, no, no, indeed I clearly DO NOT understand what is happening.

So, like so many of my dear friends and family, I hated to do it... but... I decided I had to ask for help. I called a co-worker, who was gracious and wonderful and zipped down the hill from her house, to translate, explain and ... upon seeing a friendly face who I could communicate with after a stressful, dark, foreign evening ... set me off into tears. Isn't it strange how when someone asks, "How are you?" you respond off hand, "Good!" But when someone looks at you, sees you, and asks with genuine concern, "How are you?" it can set you off into tears? Maybe its just me.

The problem was not clearly identified, but with three dogs, four neighbors, my coworker and her husband (who kept being so nice that it made me start crying again and again) plus me and a security guard, it was determined we would let it go till morning, and I would sleep with the system unarmed for the night.

After adding another dog, three more friends, and two more security guards to the mix the next day, we figured it out!!!

That previous tenant... she changed the generic setting of "People in the House but Keep Us Safe" button to mean "Well, Actually, Motion Sensors on the First Floor Are Always Armed and Will Go Off and Cause Emily to Cry and Security Guard to Freak". So NOW I have it figured out! I can set the "I'm Inside" alarm, but only be on the second story. If I want to go downstairs, I disarm for a bit, then re-arm at bedtime.

It is a relief and as United Statesy as it is, I slept better last night knowing the first floor was motion-detector protected. (Please do not send me any news stories about easily foiled motion sensors. Thanks in advance.)

Of course it already seems silly to dissolve into tears over not being able to communicate with the security guard. But that's the power of language. Whether it was god's wrath about the tower of Babel or something a tad more Darwinistic, language sure prevents humans around the planet from perfectly, clearly, effectively collaborating on common goals. And solving this eensy teeny puzzle took sign language (the landlord is deaf!!), English, Spanish and big dose of patience all around.

I'm off to watch the Oscars! Go Slumdog! Go Anne Hathaway!

Chicken. Road. Crossing.

Tonight was the first real tear-filled breakdown, a combination of language-isolation and frustration (a sink or swim when I sank!!), alone-ness and neediness. The story shall come this weekend when I'm in a better zone to tell it. I'm safe, I'm fine, and like losing my diary in France (remember, Meggie?!?!?!), it will be funny... LATER.

In the meantime, how do people cross the road in countries with no traffic signals? As they say, very carefully.

Here, you walk across the oncoming lane, stand on the yellow line, hope the cars are small and the motorbikes are few, wait till the next lane is clear, and run for it. I thought this was insane until I realized its a matter of daily course in San Jose.

I admit, I'm not a big fan. But it was sort of thrilling this morning with a backpack on, computer and wallet inside, orange juice in one hand and toasty bagels for CAVU peeps in the other. The cars took no notice of my big accomplishment. ; )

Me Gusta Vino.

They sell liquor, wine and beer at the grocery store in Costa Rica... unlike Oregon, where it's only beer and wine, and unlike Massachusetts (where I lived before that), where none of it is available in grocery stores, gas stations, convenience stores, anywhere. Only "package stores".

Anyhoo, before I try to fall asleep in the new digs, which is a little scary and I'm looking forward to getting curtains!, I just have to share that so far, I've seen Duck Pond wine from Oregon in TWO stores, and Erath Pinot Noir in one! Cool! The Duck Pond 2007 pinot noir? $40. The Erath, about $30 or $35, I think. Obviously I'm enjoying Argentinian and Chilean wines most of the time, but it gave my heart a little proud beat for Oregon, reprazent! here in Costa Rica.

Pura vida, pura vida.

Next Phase!

Tomorrow I move from the cozy home of my bosses into my "own" place... I will, literally, be living at the office. There's a little suite in the office for visiting staff, and I'm the first to make it mine. Like Willie's Room of the Wives, I suppose I should christen it with some kind of cool name.

I will post pics soon, but for now - it's on the second floor and outside the window is a huge stand of bamboo. I never knew that bamboo rattles and creaks in the breeze, it's a great noise. Since I get up around 6:30 or 7 these days - I know?!?! right?!?! - I'm glad to have a east-facing window to help with that transition. There's a river down below... and this being an emerging economy, that's less romantic and more ... uh ... sewagey ... than it sounds, but there's an element of pleasure to hearing the water, as long as I don't think too much about it.

I'm within two blocks of all sorts of eating options and a three minute cab ride from the MultiPlaza with its Hollywood movies, Argentinian version of Forever 21 and McD/Subway/Pizza Hut/KFC.

But it's going to be a big shift, and an interesting phase on this adventure... I'm being pushed out of the safety of others' language skills and cooking habits, and smack into living on my own in a foreign country really-truly. I should also have evening access to a Vonage phone, complete with an USA phone number! Details to follow.

I have learned this week: it's not nice to say "American" when referring to something unique to the United States.

Also: I am considering a boycott on the blog until Dr. Meg posts an update to hers. (MF was almost in this category but snuck by this evening.)

Favorite Sound?

That's Bruno, at the office today. (Our office at CAVU, not his office at the airport.) I felt he deserved a nice head shot after his internet introduction with the ol' wheels-up. Stately, isn't he? El Famoso, claro que si! And now the guards at the office gate greet Bruno, more than me, with a "Buenas" at all times of day. Sigh.

So... you know on "Inside the Actor's Studio" how the ab-fab James Lipton always asks, "What's your favorite sound?" as part of the final questionnaire part?

Don't tell me you don't try to think of yours. You do. We all do.

Mine change each time I watch the show.

So today, I hate to be cheesy, but I thought of all the things I miss hearing in real life or on the phone, about a month into my trip, and though this is FAR from a complete list, a few of my favorite sounds are the voices of my friends, and I'm thinking of them tonight...

When John says almost anything - when he laughs, when he growls, when he sighs in his sleep. When he says I love you, and when he calls me pie.

When Torry says "Fantastic!" (This is the best. I am sad for you if you don't know Torry telling you something is fantastic.)

When Bill laughs.

How Brigitte laughs.

(I wonder if its part of their magic as a couple, or that they just both happen to have wonderful, explosive, genuine, heart-tugging laughs? But when they laugh, you feel satisfied. End of story.)

When Jordan says "NO!" in disbelief. (In a Spanish accent.)

How Hanna says hi on the phone. Honestly. She gives a great, sad, funny, we've-been-friends-almost-twenty-years "hi."

When Micheal says "Goodbye Emily" at the end of every phone call, no matter how quick the call.

How Dad says "Oh, hi!" when I call.

Meggie's French, but in particular: TopCool. (Also, when she and Eric speak fake-French to each other. Ahhhh, blissful.)

When Erin says "What...?" with disbelief and anticipation about a story I'm gonna tell.

When Lisa says "ab-fab."

How Nikola says "Oh! It's like..." (Do you know what I mean? You have to have had a very late conversation with Nikola to know when she wonderfully links two thoughts, two theories, two world experiences...)

How Julie greets me at CK. "Emily!!"

When Arthur sings in the car on the way to wine country.

How Lin doesn't say anything and sits down for a blueberry unicorn with A Nod. (Stories shall begin.)

The way Bennedetto/B Love/B/Bennett pronounces Emil.

The sound of any voice mail message I have ever received from Jason Malone.

When Pickel says "I love you" or "Thanks."

The start of a happy Adrienna about to tell me a story.

When David says, "Oh. My God." during a story.

How Molly's smile comes through over the phone. (And her frowns, too.)

When my text messages ping with a greeting from Sean.

The sound of it in my head when Tony says something awesome on IM.

Meg saying "WooHoo!" ... especially when out dancing.

Shannon calling me a pet name.

When Leighton says, "Yeah, son!"

Kelly describing a crafting idea. (Something I know nothing about, yet, the passion is contagious.)

Megan talking to Marcus. (And now, I imagine, to Daphne.)

And, to end on the squishiest of squishy notes... pretty much anything my mom says, from niceties to worries to my favorite, "Hi Honey!" is the best sound ever.

(I am too tired to keep writing. I am, not, however, out of sounds I love. You are not forgotten or ignored, and will probably be on the next list.)

Interlude.

At my apartment in Portland, every day at noon I can hear church bells from a few blocks away. Now, every sundown here in San Jose, and all through the day (and night) on Sunday, I hear church bells. Soon, I'll post a picture of the Spanish-style church in the neighborhood and it'll just break your heart with how perfect a setting it is, imagining a Central American Catholic church, bells echoing down the hillsides and over the bougainvillea.

Like Living Nostalgia.

Do you ever think to yourself, life moves too fast in the United States. It would be nice to return to a simpler time, a time when someone always helped me to the car with my groceries... a time when the cashier wasn't always trying to up-sell me a larger soda or a silly trinket... a time when it felt like employees were "people" and not "human capital" or "human resources."

Well, in some ways, the developing world (they're not called that, actually, anymore - now they're emerging economies) has that slow pace you're seeking. It has a personal touch, and less (or no) bureaucracy.

But to quote John McCain... my friends, this is not always better.

Yes, there are young men at every grocery store who pack your bags or boxes and bring them to your car. For between 50 cents and a $1 tip, it's a nice piece of times past.

But, what about buying, say, a set of dishes - the kind that come in a box, a simple set for an office? Well, each dish will be removed from the packaging, inspected for chips or breakage, then stamped OK, then you fill out a paper agreement, and all this is because you can't dream of returning it. The CUSTOMER SERVICE counters we know and love in the States don't exist here... you can't buy a cookware set, get home and realize you forgot it wasn't oven safe, and then return it simply. Oh, no.

So, the checkout line is slow. OK. But the employees aren't really interested in giving you a good impression of the store either - because they're people, not Guest Associates. It took three employees nearly ten minutes at the register to help us purchase kitchen items for the new office yesterday - opening, inspecting, paperwork, packing into plastic bags, getting receipts, finding a cart, walking to the car.

(Of course, Americans are famous around the world for being nice - whether we mean it or not, we smile, say please, we are cheery folks who love commerce. This, ahem, may be getting us in some trouble.)

But it's an adjustment. Nothing happens quickly. A refrigerator was delivered on Friday evening. The men did not have a dolly. Yes. That's correct. They lifted a fridge out of a truck (with no ramp) and carried it inside - no dolly, no supportive belts for their backs, and good thing we have cement floors, otherwise pushing a fridge through the house would have slayed a carpet or wood floor.

It reminds me that it might be annoying when a restaurant won't let you block the aisle with an extra chair, to squeeze one more friend around the table, but those laws are there for a reason - they come from a time when fire escapes or legal windows or occupancy laws led to some terrifying, preventable, scary disasters. It might seem nutty to require four men to carry a fridge out on delivery... but boy, it's better than watching a new fridge teeter back and forth in the hands of two guys who are probably very tired at 6 PM.

So, I try to not to have the impatience of the Ugly American. I calmly fill out paperwork, agreeing that my silverware set does, indeed, have 4 forks, 4 spoons, 4 knives. I look down when walking so I can spot the uncovered drainage ditches, places the sidewalk stops (which is about half the time), and sundry messes I may not want on my shoes. I work on not thinking of either way of life as better, and I remember that if I miss some customer service, if I miss the motivation and above-and-beyond attitude that so many, many Americans have, I know I'll also miss getting to sit in a cafe for an hour, chatting, and not being nudged to leave and yeah, OK... I'll miss the guarantee of help out with the groceries.