now for the local news: i now have a resident cat and 2 of her friends often visit, to chow down and wrestle in my living room. last nite as i was on my computer i noticed my resident cat toying with the tail of a small snake which had crawled behind my bedroom door, which was opened flat against the wall. hum, thats not a good sign. where there is a snakes tail, there must be the rest of the snake. rather than investigate myself and perhaps scare it into a less accessible place, i decided to call pablo, who of course was in san jose, just when i need him, so sandra called abel, and we soon had a convention of the entire bustamante clan; adults kids, and dogs, as abel opened the door away from the wall, and killed the snake. it was maybe 12 inches long and its head was so small he wasnt sure what kind it was but his reasoning was that since a boa of that small length is usually thicker, it was probably a fer de lance, which in case you ignorant snow freaks dont know, is highly poisonous, so best dispatch it. Even after it was dead and motionless, the head was so small it didn’t exhibit the telltale triangle or round shape that differentiates poisonous from harmless. So we then lit incense, rang bells, said appropriate prayers wishing it a better incarnation , and put it into a bucket and i then dumped it down a crab hole for the crabs to feast. fun and games in the tropics. i enjoy having the cats around but had no idea they would be so valuable. maybe i should be worried, but im not. the universe is taking care of me.
semana santa [easter holy week]is fun so far. each day more and more people arrive, but the vibe is still mellow. i have a new favorite place to eat- maxi's soda, the little soda below maxis. in past years i avoided it as the girls working there seemed quite unfriendly. however this year the wife of one of maxis relatives from limon is working there. her husband works the bar, and she works in the soda. she worked on cruise ships out of limon and speaks very good english, and is fun to talk with. Just as important, she is willing to make me mashed potatoes, so I can escape the deep fried French fries that accompany all local meals. It helps that she is also drop dead gorgeous and has a body and bodice that bring me to tears. she is about 30, happily married but we talk, and i lust. Oh yeah- semana santa. when i went to dinner tonite, at all the [3] sodas the tables were almost all occupied, and there were lots of people in the street, and i suddenly realized that so far at least, it simply feels like puerto viejo, nothing bad at all, simply strange for our sleepy village. it is predicted to get much crazier tomarrow nite thru sat nite, but so far its entertaining, and nothing more. and of course the people who warn it will get crazy live in a sleepy village all year, so reactions may be relative to their norm. im looking forward to observing and being entertained. today it rained on everyones parade. Nice change after the almost repressive heat of the past few days. hope for clear nite skies for rest of week, especially since there is a regae concert fri and sat nites. there is an interesting twist on things. by law, in the entire country, no alcohol can be sold from sometime tomarrow [thurs] until midnite sat nite . seems like a very short sacrifice for lent, but then again, these folks dont take religion that seriously. the concert and party starts at 11:30 pm, the idea being that after working up a 3 day thirst, everyone will be dying to toss em down and party hard. at least that’s the talk. we shall see, if i bother to stay awake that long.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
a tale of two ants
A tale of two ants
Ants are often not what they seem to be. Amongst the many varieties of ants in the tropics, some have fearsome bites and are wisely avoided. The feared bullet ant is over an inch long and its bite is rumored to be extremely painful, and lasting for hours. Then there are a tiny variety barely seen by the eye, that can produce an irritating bite if you provoke them. But two varieties bear special mention as each is fascinating and our relationship to each is not what it first appears.
First is the leaf cutter ant, also called army ants. You are walking somewhere and suddenly you come across a veritable army of ants, marching along on a clear and defined path, each carrying a, for their size, enormous piece of leaf. Its quite a spectacle. They are bearing it back to their nest, as food for their colony. This remains merely fascinating until this event takes place in your garden and they strip every leaf off of your favorite plants and bushes. They are selective in their tastes, and don’t eat every living plant like a plague of locusts, but their preferred menu includes enuff of your favorite plants that you soon grow to hate them. So the emotions change quickly from fascination to anger, bordering on hatred. There are only two solutions. Live with them, and see them destroy all your gardening efforts, as I did for several years, or make the several hours journey to Bri Bri, march into the agricultural store, and purchase the special poison for leaf cutter ants. Organic methods? Don’t be silly. Remember they are also called army ants, and this is war.
Now for the second of our ant surprises: house cleaning ants. You are in your house, going about your normal business, when you notice a few ants scurrying about. Hum, you muse, this is unusual, did I leave some food out to tempt them? Then you notice more, and then still more. Soon there are a veritable hoard of ants, which may cover an entire wall, or a bed. If you stay out of their way, you notice that they are methodically moving thru your house, area by area, room by room. They will eat anything alive they find. They don’t touch your food, but they will consume every bug, insect, lizard, rodent, snake that doesnt immediately flee their voracious path. In a few hours they have entirely cleaned your house of any unwanted vermin and they then move on, to perhaps visit again after several months. What do you do? You go to the beach, or if its at nite, go visit a friend, and leave them to do their thing. So what at first appears to be a nightmare, seemingly scripted by Alfred Hitchcock, turns out to be a blessing. A free and very thorough housecleaning, courtesy of your local housecleaning ants.
One caution: they will not bite you unless provoked. One time I did manage to provoke them, by stomping a few of their scouts before I realized just who had come to visit. Whilst stomping their scouts, I received a bite. In retrospect it was fair enuff. I may have bought and paid for that house, but for that moment I was on their turf, not they on mine Ants seem to have an incredible communication amongst them, and the message went out that they were being attacked, and I subsequently received several more bites, until I strategically made my retreat. The bites weren't overly painful and I soon forgot about them. As the number of ant visitors increased I soon realized who they were, and left them alone to their task. I went over to visit my neighbor Abel. As we sat on his porch and chatted, I noticed I was beginning to itch in odd places. When I mentioned this to him, and that I had received several bites from the ants, he said, of course, you are allergic to those bites, and sure enuff,the itching was getting worse and hives were beginning to develop. He gave me some antihistamine capsules. There may be a natural remedy for histamine reactions, but I’d be surprised if it can beat benedryl. Within an hour, the hives were disappearing, the itching had ceased, and I could return home to no ants, and no other creepy crawly things. My house was cleaned.
Ants are often not what they seem to be. Amongst the many varieties of ants in the tropics, some have fearsome bites and are wisely avoided. The feared bullet ant is over an inch long and its bite is rumored to be extremely painful, and lasting for hours. Then there are a tiny variety barely seen by the eye, that can produce an irritating bite if you provoke them. But two varieties bear special mention as each is fascinating and our relationship to each is not what it first appears.
First is the leaf cutter ant, also called army ants. You are walking somewhere and suddenly you come across a veritable army of ants, marching along on a clear and defined path, each carrying a, for their size, enormous piece of leaf. Its quite a spectacle. They are bearing it back to their nest, as food for their colony. This remains merely fascinating until this event takes place in your garden and they strip every leaf off of your favorite plants and bushes. They are selective in their tastes, and don’t eat every living plant like a plague of locusts, but their preferred menu includes enuff of your favorite plants that you soon grow to hate them. So the emotions change quickly from fascination to anger, bordering on hatred. There are only two solutions. Live with them, and see them destroy all your gardening efforts, as I did for several years, or make the several hours journey to Bri Bri, march into the agricultural store, and purchase the special poison for leaf cutter ants. Organic methods? Don’t be silly. Remember they are also called army ants, and this is war.
Now for the second of our ant surprises: house cleaning ants. You are in your house, going about your normal business, when you notice a few ants scurrying about. Hum, you muse, this is unusual, did I leave some food out to tempt them? Then you notice more, and then still more. Soon there are a veritable hoard of ants, which may cover an entire wall, or a bed. If you stay out of their way, you notice that they are methodically moving thru your house, area by area, room by room. They will eat anything alive they find. They don’t touch your food, but they will consume every bug, insect, lizard, rodent, snake that doesnt immediately flee their voracious path. In a few hours they have entirely cleaned your house of any unwanted vermin and they then move on, to perhaps visit again after several months. What do you do? You go to the beach, or if its at nite, go visit a friend, and leave them to do their thing. So what at first appears to be a nightmare, seemingly scripted by Alfred Hitchcock, turns out to be a blessing. A free and very thorough housecleaning, courtesy of your local housecleaning ants.
One caution: they will not bite you unless provoked. One time I did manage to provoke them, by stomping a few of their scouts before I realized just who had come to visit. Whilst stomping their scouts, I received a bite. In retrospect it was fair enuff. I may have bought and paid for that house, but for that moment I was on their turf, not they on mine Ants seem to have an incredible communication amongst them, and the message went out that they were being attacked, and I subsequently received several more bites, until I strategically made my retreat. The bites weren't overly painful and I soon forgot about them. As the number of ant visitors increased I soon realized who they were, and left them alone to their task. I went over to visit my neighbor Abel. As we sat on his porch and chatted, I noticed I was beginning to itch in odd places. When I mentioned this to him, and that I had received several bites from the ants, he said, of course, you are allergic to those bites, and sure enuff,the itching was getting worse and hives were beginning to develop. He gave me some antihistamine capsules. There may be a natural remedy for histamine reactions, but I’d be surprised if it can beat benedryl. Within an hour, the hives were disappearing, the itching had ceased, and I could return home to no ants, and no other creepy crawly things. My house was cleaned.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
THE ROAD
The road
Our Caribbean coast really has only one main road. There are a few parallel side streets in Puerto Viejo , 2 in Manzanillo, and a many small feeder roads going off of the main road to clusters of houses, and then ending in jungle. They are all dirt. The only paved road is the main road. It was paved. It still is, sort of. The road from Puerto Viejo to Manzanillo may be the worse paved road on planet earth. Dirt roads are what they are, and one can expect gulley’s, washboards, a multitude of bumps, and a basically uneven surface. But when the road is paved, and then develops pot holes, it can be an entirely unexpected experience. And here the potholes are legendary. Mind you, none of our potholes will swallow a cycle or car, but they are deep enuff to soon render your suspension system in dire need of repair. Perhaps a war zone has more potholes per inch on its roads but im sure not by much. Our road has smooth pavement for stretches, just to lull you into complacency, and then look out, there is a 2- 6 inch deep pothole. Usually several placed strategically across the road. This creates an exciting game of dodge em, which is sort of fun in the day time if there is no oncoming traffic. Its rather like skiing moguls, or a very tight slalom course. However if there is ongoing traffic, and be assured they are also weaving all over the narrow road trying to avoid similar potholes, the game instantly becomes quite challenging. Are they watching for on coming traffic [which is you] as well as avoiding potholes? Are you sure? How can you be sure? So you slow way down as you watch them approach and whoops, you hit every pothole on your side of the narrow road. If this adventure in mayhem is at nite, we get to factor in how bright and well aimed your headlite[s] is, if it can still be aimed at all, or was glued into place when the plastic mounts gave up the ghost after constant pounding from hitting potholes. [have I mentioned that the road has potholes?]. Then there are the oncoming cars headlites to consider, as a few drivers have mastered the concept of dimming their hi beams, but most seem to have slept thru that lesson if they ever went to driving school.
Well, you might ask, why doesn’t the govt do something about this mess? After all, this is a tourist destination. Don’t they know tourists and potential land purchasers will be put off by our terrible road and spend their money elsewhere? The govt must know, as everyone talks about it. Well they do, and they have done some things, sort of. They put in street lites along the entire 10 miles from Puerto Viejo to the end of the road in Manzanillo. The lites are wonderful when they work. Notice the phrase “when they work”? Need I say more? Once they burn out, or simply take a vacation, no one seems to repair them. Maintenance-what a concept. Perhaps a slight miscalculation in the govts planning but a not insignificant one.
But there is an even better story here. Money was allocated to repair our road. The money went to the alcalde or mayor of bri bri, our provincial capital. He kept it. He is now in jail awaiting trial for absconding with that money, and we are left still dodging potholes. Justice is developing in Costa Rica, and so are the pot holes.
Our Caribbean coast really has only one main road. There are a few parallel side streets in Puerto Viejo , 2 in Manzanillo, and a many small feeder roads going off of the main road to clusters of houses, and then ending in jungle. They are all dirt. The only paved road is the main road. It was paved. It still is, sort of. The road from Puerto Viejo to Manzanillo may be the worse paved road on planet earth. Dirt roads are what they are, and one can expect gulley’s, washboards, a multitude of bumps, and a basically uneven surface. But when the road is paved, and then develops pot holes, it can be an entirely unexpected experience. And here the potholes are legendary. Mind you, none of our potholes will swallow a cycle or car, but they are deep enuff to soon render your suspension system in dire need of repair. Perhaps a war zone has more potholes per inch on its roads but im sure not by much. Our road has smooth pavement for stretches, just to lull you into complacency, and then look out, there is a 2- 6 inch deep pothole. Usually several placed strategically across the road. This creates an exciting game of dodge em, which is sort of fun in the day time if there is no oncoming traffic. Its rather like skiing moguls, or a very tight slalom course. However if there is ongoing traffic, and be assured they are also weaving all over the narrow road trying to avoid similar potholes, the game instantly becomes quite challenging. Are they watching for on coming traffic [which is you] as well as avoiding potholes? Are you sure? How can you be sure? So you slow way down as you watch them approach and whoops, you hit every pothole on your side of the narrow road. If this adventure in mayhem is at nite, we get to factor in how bright and well aimed your headlite[s] is, if it can still be aimed at all, or was glued into place when the plastic mounts gave up the ghost after constant pounding from hitting potholes. [have I mentioned that the road has potholes?]. Then there are the oncoming cars headlites to consider, as a few drivers have mastered the concept of dimming their hi beams, but most seem to have slept thru that lesson if they ever went to driving school.
Well, you might ask, why doesn’t the govt do something about this mess? After all, this is a tourist destination. Don’t they know tourists and potential land purchasers will be put off by our terrible road and spend their money elsewhere? The govt must know, as everyone talks about it. Well they do, and they have done some things, sort of. They put in street lites along the entire 10 miles from Puerto Viejo to the end of the road in Manzanillo. The lites are wonderful when they work. Notice the phrase “when they work”? Need I say more? Once they burn out, or simply take a vacation, no one seems to repair them. Maintenance-what a concept. Perhaps a slight miscalculation in the govts planning but a not insignificant one.
But there is an even better story here. Money was allocated to repair our road. The money went to the alcalde or mayor of bri bri, our provincial capital. He kept it. He is now in jail awaiting trial for absconding with that money, and we are left still dodging potholes. Justice is developing in Costa Rica, and so are the pot holes.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Unexpected results
Unexpected results
I kept noticing small piles of rust colored granules on my cottage floors. oh yes abel says when I point it out to him. Those are from the bugs who are eating your house. When I built this house I used very cheap wood, and the bugs love that wood. Remember I warned you when I sold you the house. Bugs, eating my house, huh? That’s not good. Are they termites? no, they are not termites, they are pulillas. Eating my house huh? . What can I do to stop them? Poison, abel replies. Spray the wood with poison. Under the house you can spray used diesel oil, locals call it burn[ed]s oil and it will rid you of termites, but for pulillas you must use a poison you can only get at the vet and ag supply store in bri bri. So, last week I caught a ride with Richard, sauntered into the ag supply and stumbled thru enuff fractured Spanish to purchase two items: one was folier fertilizer for my baby flowering plants in my ever filling front yard. Sandra, who has lived across street from when abel owned it and the yard was bare, teases me, calling it my jungle. The second purchase was poison for pulillas. Two spray bottles completed my shopping, and I hitched back to Puerto, had a meal and then walked and hitched on home. The poison sat until this morn when I suddenly decided today was the day. I needed a sunny day, as if it smelled, meaning it was probably giving off toxic chemicals, I wanted it to dry by nitefall. I would hang at the beach until nitefall if necessary. The day began with full sun and I got mixed it with water and began to spray, only where the exposed wood showed evidence of bug damage. It was fun, and I went thru the whole house, the porch and hammock deck, and window shutters. There was no real feeling of poison and kill. Rather, it soon began to feel like caressing or cleansing the house, sort of like smudging with water. There was no smell at all, and I went about my day. I wasn’t expecting to feel anything, it was simply a maintenance chore that needed to be done. As the day went on, a curious phenomena slowly seeped into my consciousness. Ibegan to feel different. At first I thought is was simply relief that this semmingly major chore was finished and with relative ease. But then a new awareness came forth. The cottage itself felt different. Its hard to put it into words, but the cottage felt lighter, softer, almost happier. Could the departed pulillas have carried that negative a vibe? Or was the cottage itself responding to what it could only consider an act of loving kindness, in prolonging is life. I don’t want to get too woo woo on you, but as I sit and type this, it still feels different, and even tho I sprayed poison, its not a feeling of death, but of revitalized life.
I kept noticing small piles of rust colored granules on my cottage floors. oh yes abel says when I point it out to him. Those are from the bugs who are eating your house. When I built this house I used very cheap wood, and the bugs love that wood. Remember I warned you when I sold you the house. Bugs, eating my house, huh? That’s not good. Are they termites? no, they are not termites, they are pulillas. Eating my house huh? . What can I do to stop them? Poison, abel replies. Spray the wood with poison. Under the house you can spray used diesel oil, locals call it burn[ed]s oil and it will rid you of termites, but for pulillas you must use a poison you can only get at the vet and ag supply store in bri bri. So, last week I caught a ride with Richard, sauntered into the ag supply and stumbled thru enuff fractured Spanish to purchase two items: one was folier fertilizer for my baby flowering plants in my ever filling front yard. Sandra, who has lived across street from when abel owned it and the yard was bare, teases me, calling it my jungle. The second purchase was poison for pulillas. Two spray bottles completed my shopping, and I hitched back to Puerto, had a meal and then walked and hitched on home. The poison sat until this morn when I suddenly decided today was the day. I needed a sunny day, as if it smelled, meaning it was probably giving off toxic chemicals, I wanted it to dry by nitefall. I would hang at the beach until nitefall if necessary. The day began with full sun and I got mixed it with water and began to spray, only where the exposed wood showed evidence of bug damage. It was fun, and I went thru the whole house, the porch and hammock deck, and window shutters. There was no real feeling of poison and kill. Rather, it soon began to feel like caressing or cleansing the house, sort of like smudging with water. There was no smell at all, and I went about my day. I wasn’t expecting to feel anything, it was simply a maintenance chore that needed to be done. As the day went on, a curious phenomena slowly seeped into my consciousness. Ibegan to feel different. At first I thought is was simply relief that this semmingly major chore was finished and with relative ease. But then a new awareness came forth. The cottage itself felt different. Its hard to put it into words, but the cottage felt lighter, softer, almost happier. Could the departed pulillas have carried that negative a vibe? Or was the cottage itself responding to what it could only consider an act of loving kindness, in prolonging is life. I don’t want to get too woo woo on you, but as I sit and type this, it still feels different, and even tho I sprayed poison, its not a feeling of death, but of revitalized life.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
of dreams and opportunities
Of dreams and opportunities
i never dream of people i know or recognize. in fact, i seem to be a charter member of the obtuse and inscrutable dream club, as they usually make so little sense to me that i often believe im tuning into someone elses dreams. they cant be mine. so last nites dream was unique, as i dreamed i was sitting at an outdoor cafe with lyle and he was explaining to me why he is not coming down here and probably will not build down here. he did not outline his vision, but it seemed to not include here, at least not for now. end of dream. we shall see what transpires on the material plane. the interaction was easy, friendly, pleasant. That is a nice omen in itself.
met the Mexican peyote shaman last nite, amidst a porch full of very nice people from all over the latin world. fell in love of course, this time with a young guatamalan. not with the shaman. he seems a nice friendly guy, but i see him as a means to my experience rather than a wise guide. we shall see who he becomes. he seems the local embodiment of our friend up north, the itinerant ayahuasca road man T. ceremony is tonite. Should I do it? the mind chatteres away with a litany including: its vile stuff to have to chew on, who would chose to get nauseous and perhaps vomit or even have to fight the urge, who wants to stay up all nite, struggling to stay awake, while he leads us in a native north american peyote ritual, and im not really into ritual, and its at the beach and the capper is that it might rain. didnt think of it last nite, but this morn had vivid memories of carl and my adventure while we were in peru, on the isle of the moon in the middle of lake Titicaca, nite time ritual under the stars in the ancient ruins of the temple of the moon, and the fierce storm that assailed us while we were out of our skulls on san pedro, and no shelter to be found. do i really want to repeat that one?
but all this being considered, the universe is presenting me with this unexpected and rather unique opportunity, and that must mean i should go for it. what are the odds that, at the end of the road in costa rica, i meet and am enamored with this young honduran who prefers women but is still fun to hang with, who has a spanish friend, who is hosting a mexican shaman, who is offering a healing/cleansing ceremony using a medicine and ritual from the mexican desert, and my translator if i need one is a young guatamalan? Just too much synchronicity to ignore. so i prepare for tonite and pray it doesnt rain. Pray with me.
i never dream of people i know or recognize. in fact, i seem to be a charter member of the obtuse and inscrutable dream club, as they usually make so little sense to me that i often believe im tuning into someone elses dreams. they cant be mine. so last nites dream was unique, as i dreamed i was sitting at an outdoor cafe with lyle and he was explaining to me why he is not coming down here and probably will not build down here. he did not outline his vision, but it seemed to not include here, at least not for now. end of dream. we shall see what transpires on the material plane. the interaction was easy, friendly, pleasant. That is a nice omen in itself.
met the Mexican peyote shaman last nite, amidst a porch full of very nice people from all over the latin world. fell in love of course, this time with a young guatamalan. not with the shaman. he seems a nice friendly guy, but i see him as a means to my experience rather than a wise guide. we shall see who he becomes. he seems the local embodiment of our friend up north, the itinerant ayahuasca road man T. ceremony is tonite. Should I do it? the mind chatteres away with a litany including: its vile stuff to have to chew on, who would chose to get nauseous and perhaps vomit or even have to fight the urge, who wants to stay up all nite, struggling to stay awake, while he leads us in a native north american peyote ritual, and im not really into ritual, and its at the beach and the capper is that it might rain. didnt think of it last nite, but this morn had vivid memories of carl and my adventure while we were in peru, on the isle of the moon in the middle of lake Titicaca, nite time ritual under the stars in the ancient ruins of the temple of the moon, and the fierce storm that assailed us while we were out of our skulls on san pedro, and no shelter to be found. do i really want to repeat that one?
but all this being considered, the universe is presenting me with this unexpected and rather unique opportunity, and that must mean i should go for it. what are the odds that, at the end of the road in costa rica, i meet and am enamored with this young honduran who prefers women but is still fun to hang with, who has a spanish friend, who is hosting a mexican shaman, who is offering a healing/cleansing ceremony using a medicine and ritual from the mexican desert, and my translator if i need one is a young guatamalan? Just too much synchronicity to ignore. so i prepare for tonite and pray it doesnt rain. Pray with me.
its only a tee shirt
Don’t get all hot and bothered chamba, Its only a tee shirt
Ricky just completely blew my mind. The French café couple are in san jose for a week, so I had my breakfast down in the center of our metropolis, by maxis. As I was leaving I saw ricky, son of and proprietor of maxi’s and ambled over to say hola. He greeted me warmly, as ever, and as he or someone had this year produced a tee shirt advertising his restaurant, of course I had determined to buy one, I decided now was the time and asked to buy one. What was the cost? I enquired. I had heard they were $10, but wanted to make sure as I get local discount when I eat there. His reply astonished me. For you its free. This is your home here. He went on at some length in the local form of English but this is the gist of what he said. When I first saw you I knew you belonged here. The way you walk, the way you conduct yourself, you fit in here. These tee shirts are not a business for me. Look around. I don’t have them on the wall, advertising to sell them. Its not a business. They are for special people. You have a home, and this is your other home. What is your size and I’ll get one for you. And he did. I almost cried. In past I had wondered if his effusive manner with me was perhaps just part of his business persona, glad handing his customers. Boy was I wrong. He sees me for who I am and its genuine. What a blessing.
Ricky just completely blew my mind. The French café couple are in san jose for a week, so I had my breakfast down in the center of our metropolis, by maxis. As I was leaving I saw ricky, son of and proprietor of maxi’s and ambled over to say hola. He greeted me warmly, as ever, and as he or someone had this year produced a tee shirt advertising his restaurant, of course I had determined to buy one, I decided now was the time and asked to buy one. What was the cost? I enquired. I had heard they were $10, but wanted to make sure as I get local discount when I eat there. His reply astonished me. For you its free. This is your home here. He went on at some length in the local form of English but this is the gist of what he said. When I first saw you I knew you belonged here. The way you walk, the way you conduct yourself, you fit in here. These tee shirts are not a business for me. Look around. I don’t have them on the wall, advertising to sell them. Its not a business. They are for special people. You have a home, and this is your other home. What is your size and I’ll get one for you. And he did. I almost cried. In past I had wondered if his effusive manner with me was perhaps just part of his business persona, glad handing his customers. Boy was I wrong. He sees me for who I am and its genuine. What a blessing.
Friday, February 5, 2010
THE AMAZINGLY EVIL INTELLIGENCE OF THE COSTA RICAN PIPA
A MORNING SUBSTITUTE FOR COFFEE, OR
THE AMAZINGLY EVIL INTELLIGENCE OF THE COSTA RICAN PIPA
In manzanillo there are at least 2 kinds of coconuts. One produces the conventional coconut. Hard meat inside and no liquid, at least none when it decides to fall. Locals only value it when they need to grind the meat to make coconut milk for cooking. But its far easier to just buy the pieces of already shelled meat, and proceed from there. The extravagant, or the truly lazy, like most foreigners, can even buy the milk. Let someone else do the work. The other kind of coconut is called pipa. When it falls or is coaxed from its tree, it has no meat, but contains liquid that is refreshing, with just a hint of sweetness, and supposed to be very good for the health. As a further enticement, each pipa seems to contain just about exactly one cup of liquid. Abel planted several pipa trees in the yard when he built the house. So it is enticing indeed to drink a pipa every morning as ones wakeup beverage. There are three ways to obtain the juice nesting within. The first requires a machine shop equipped with band saw or drill press. Since few of us travel with such paraphernalia, We will eliminate that option from our consideration. The 2nd requires the deft manipulation of a machete. You must slice off the top, till you expose the cavity, this without spilling the nectar within. Not as easy as it seems and one could lose fingers in the process. The 3rd way, and we are not invoking the principles of georges gurgief here, is if you know the piba’s secret. Which is that where the stem comes out, the stem that joined the pipa to its branch, is the soft spot. If you twist off the stem, and then simply poke a somewhat sharp instrument into the soft spot, you can pierce the otherwise impenetrable shell and get to the nectar. Therein lies the evil. If nature were kind, she would have a notice printed on each pipa: caution, contents under pressure. But nature is not kind. She is bountiful, but she is neutral, and can at times be rather unforgiving. This is one of those times. A pipa is round. Rather difficult to hold while pushing your sharp instrument into the soft spot. You do not have a table with large vice. Drat. No willing accomplice is nearby. Double drat. You have strong desires to drink the nectar. The natural thing at this point is to sit down with your round piba held between your feet and pierce the soft spot. And now the evil intelligence shows itself. For no matter how you position the piba, no matter from what direction you apply your instrument. The pipa, will always, always manage to spray you right in the crotch. There is no escape. Accept it. Expect it. Live with it. Such is the price for your morning drink from the pipa. Call it a double wakeup call.
THE AMAZINGLY EVIL INTELLIGENCE OF THE COSTA RICAN PIPA
In manzanillo there are at least 2 kinds of coconuts. One produces the conventional coconut. Hard meat inside and no liquid, at least none when it decides to fall. Locals only value it when they need to grind the meat to make coconut milk for cooking. But its far easier to just buy the pieces of already shelled meat, and proceed from there. The extravagant, or the truly lazy, like most foreigners, can even buy the milk. Let someone else do the work. The other kind of coconut is called pipa. When it falls or is coaxed from its tree, it has no meat, but contains liquid that is refreshing, with just a hint of sweetness, and supposed to be very good for the health. As a further enticement, each pipa seems to contain just about exactly one cup of liquid. Abel planted several pipa trees in the yard when he built the house. So it is enticing indeed to drink a pipa every morning as ones wakeup beverage. There are three ways to obtain the juice nesting within. The first requires a machine shop equipped with band saw or drill press. Since few of us travel with such paraphernalia, We will eliminate that option from our consideration. The 2nd requires the deft manipulation of a machete. You must slice off the top, till you expose the cavity, this without spilling the nectar within. Not as easy as it seems and one could lose fingers in the process. The 3rd way, and we are not invoking the principles of georges gurgief here, is if you know the piba’s secret. Which is that where the stem comes out, the stem that joined the pipa to its branch, is the soft spot. If you twist off the stem, and then simply poke a somewhat sharp instrument into the soft spot, you can pierce the otherwise impenetrable shell and get to the nectar. Therein lies the evil. If nature were kind, she would have a notice printed on each pipa: caution, contents under pressure. But nature is not kind. She is bountiful, but she is neutral, and can at times be rather unforgiving. This is one of those times. A pipa is round. Rather difficult to hold while pushing your sharp instrument into the soft spot. You do not have a table with large vice. Drat. No willing accomplice is nearby. Double drat. You have strong desires to drink the nectar. The natural thing at this point is to sit down with your round piba held between your feet and pierce the soft spot. And now the evil intelligence shows itself. For no matter how you position the piba, no matter from what direction you apply your instrument. The pipa, will always, always manage to spray you right in the crotch. There is no escape. Accept it. Expect it. Live with it. Such is the price for your morning drink from the pipa. Call it a double wakeup call.
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