Ceramic Chickens Groped and Marchamo
The last few days of our trip with our kids went by too fast. On the last day we took a horse drawn buggy ride through the narrow streets of Charleston, and I have to say I was reminded of New Orleans. Same old type of city below sea level with a large outdoor market and houses dating back before America was founded.
The tour guide was a local historian, which is genuinely the best type of guide to get. I overheard other guides pointing out shopping and drinking establishments to their clients, but this man knew his history all too well. I've always known that there was a difference between Flemish bond laid bricks and American bond, but not the why, or how. I did not know that American bond replaced Flemish because it used far fewer bricks and used more metal support.
Sadly as it was an overcast day I did not get decent photos.
The funny thing that last day was my son showing me conspiracy theorists/internut ponderings over who I actually am. He and I both laughed at how far off they are as to where I live, and my real name. The funny of this is that I do use my real name at No Longer Quivering and I make no secret over living near Playa Grande in Costa Rica. I guess some folks do not have enough to do in their real lives, which leads me even further to consider going off line more than not now, stopping engaging with anyone much more than my family and real friends. Where do people come up with this stuff?
Yesterday we flew back, and it was a day filled with flight delays and TSA gropings no matter how nicely the airline experience started. We met the nicest young lady at the Delta counter. She even comped some of our bags without either of us asking for it.
Then we got to TSA. Again, I was pulled from the line and got the nearly deep cavity search, which I understand, is not uncommon if you write for a living I am hearing more and more writers I know that end up getting pulled aside and hassled. I don't know if this is that, but it seems suspicious that someone that travels frequently back and forth to the U.S. with Clear and TSA Prechek is suddenly getting heavily screened for no reason she can figure out.
But I kind of had the last laugh. As they were going through everything in my laptop bag the nice clean cut young man was elbow deep in that thing. He kept saying, "What is this? What is this?" I deadpanned, "It's my ceramic chicken cookie jar wrapped in my dirty nightgown and underwear.." He came up out of my laptop bag like it was loaded with plutonium instead of dirty undies.
Second flight oversold, and very late leaving. We rolled into the gates to our finca around midnight. Got up this morning and completely unpacked before doing laundry and discovering that we're somehow forgotten to pay the marchamo.
The marchamo is the yearly tax you pay to register your car and the yearly insurance. It runs us on our old clunker about eight hundred bucks a year.
Got into the hell that is downtown Tamarindo on the one week of the year everyone from San Jose decamps for the beach and it was crazy. A ten minute ride to the bank turned into nearly an hour. Parking was chaos, and I ended up parking way way down the street, past all the people who've suddenly emerged to wear orange vests and demand parking fees from those stupid enough to think they are official and pay them.
Newsflash: Most Ticos demanding parking fees at beaches during peak times do not own, rent or lease the land they are demanding you pay them for the privilege of parking on. It's their yearly fleecing of the tourists fiesta.
We ended up waiting about four hours total to pay the marchamo today, the last day you could pay it, in a sea of Ticos doing the same thing as us.
Next year I already have it programmed into my calender to remind me to pay the marchamo the first day you can, which is early November, and to make sure we stay out of Tama entirely until after the New Year.
Cannot even begin to describe what shopping was like this morning. Imagine Wal Mart on Black Friday but everyone is buying booze and a pile of foreign languages are being spoken.
Oh, and my chicken cookie jar made it all the way home without being cracked or suffering from being groped.
Combination thrift store find and Christmas present that I love, even more than I loved my next favorite gift, a "People of Walmart" coloring book.
The tour guide was a local historian, which is genuinely the best type of guide to get. I overheard other guides pointing out shopping and drinking establishments to their clients, but this man knew his history all too well. I've always known that there was a difference between Flemish bond laid bricks and American bond, but not the why, or how. I did not know that American bond replaced Flemish because it used far fewer bricks and used more metal support.
Sadly as it was an overcast day I did not get decent photos.
The funny thing that last day was my son showing me conspiracy theorists/internut ponderings over who I actually am. He and I both laughed at how far off they are as to where I live, and my real name. The funny of this is that I do use my real name at No Longer Quivering and I make no secret over living near Playa Grande in Costa Rica. I guess some folks do not have enough to do in their real lives, which leads me even further to consider going off line more than not now, stopping engaging with anyone much more than my family and real friends. Where do people come up with this stuff?
Yesterday we flew back, and it was a day filled with flight delays and TSA gropings no matter how nicely the airline experience started. We met the nicest young lady at the Delta counter. She even comped some of our bags without either of us asking for it.
Then we got to TSA. Again, I was pulled from the line and got the nearly deep cavity search, which I understand, is not uncommon if you write for a living I am hearing more and more writers I know that end up getting pulled aside and hassled. I don't know if this is that, but it seems suspicious that someone that travels frequently back and forth to the U.S. with Clear and TSA Prechek is suddenly getting heavily screened for no reason she can figure out.
But I kind of had the last laugh. As they were going through everything in my laptop bag the nice clean cut young man was elbow deep in that thing. He kept saying, "What is this? What is this?" I deadpanned, "It's my ceramic chicken cookie jar wrapped in my dirty nightgown and underwear.." He came up out of my laptop bag like it was loaded with plutonium instead of dirty undies.
Second flight oversold, and very late leaving. We rolled into the gates to our finca around midnight. Got up this morning and completely unpacked before doing laundry and discovering that we're somehow forgotten to pay the marchamo.
The marchamo is the yearly tax you pay to register your car and the yearly insurance. It runs us on our old clunker about eight hundred bucks a year.
Got into the hell that is downtown Tamarindo on the one week of the year everyone from San Jose decamps for the beach and it was crazy. A ten minute ride to the bank turned into nearly an hour. Parking was chaos, and I ended up parking way way down the street, past all the people who've suddenly emerged to wear orange vests and demand parking fees from those stupid enough to think they are official and pay them.
Newsflash: Most Ticos demanding parking fees at beaches during peak times do not own, rent or lease the land they are demanding you pay them for the privilege of parking on. It's their yearly fleecing of the tourists fiesta.
We ended up waiting about four hours total to pay the marchamo today, the last day you could pay it, in a sea of Ticos doing the same thing as us.
Next year I already have it programmed into my calender to remind me to pay the marchamo the first day you can, which is early November, and to make sure we stay out of Tama entirely until after the New Year.
Cannot even begin to describe what shopping was like this morning. Imagine Wal Mart on Black Friday but everyone is buying booze and a pile of foreign languages are being spoken.
Oh, and my chicken cookie jar made it all the way home without being cracked or suffering from being groped.
Combination thrift store find and Christmas present that I love, even more than I loved my next favorite gift, a "People of Walmart" coloring book.
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