::Tropical Honey::

Why Costa Rica is different...

Costa Ricans don't wear shoes in their houses. Our neighbor Ingrid told my Mom she should start wearing shoes because she would “get a cold.” I don't really see how that works, because it's not like the floor is cold—and if it is that's kindof a good thing because it gets pretty warm. Our lanlord, Renzo, whenever he comes over he's like, “You should put your shoes on when you come outside—you could step on something—there are nails over there.”

James: Ok... I'm on the porch... and I'm not going 'over there.'

They have awful bread. I don't know why. My mom has made some amazing rolls and stuff, and Alexandra (my mom's friend) said about her daughter: “Paula no le gusta pan (doesn't like bread),” and she won't eat it, but she'll eat my mom's rolls. I really have no idea why they don't have good bread. I think they import this shreddy bread called “Blimpie” that is the kind of cheap $1 bread I bought once and vowed never to buy again. They have amazing candied breads at their bakery—but not normal bread. The French bread is good too, but it's not normal bread. That's my staple food!

I did not know there was such a thing as different kinds of honey! My mom was like, “Yeah, it just depends on where the bees were getting pollen.” So in the States we have Clover honey and Orange Blossom (more expensive) honey. I have no idea what the heck gets into the Costa Rican honey—but I don't like strange-tropical-mixture honey. To me, it's sickly sweet. Like any punches—I hate it. Some things were just not meant to be mushed or pollenated together.

Paula and All Her Little Friends

I got acquainted with Alexandra's daughter, Paula, when we were visiting Alexandra for some reason or other. Paula runs around in dirty shoes and she sings and talks in a whiny voice, and says this like: “Hasta la vista, bebe!” There was a little white bunny along the side of their house, and I was kindof surprised when she just ran up and grabbed it—it's her bet. It lives in these... I-don't-even-know-what-concrete-ditch-type-pipes and... eats grass, I guess.

So Paula grabs it and comes up to us, singing to her bunny, holding it awkwardly with its feet up and cradled like a baby. It's a cute little rabbit, but it has pink eyes with white irises. I thought that was pretty cool. I guess it's an albino bunny. There is a little black, weiner-style dog that runs around their house and barks at the bunny and licks people. That was the most docile bunny I have ever seen. I don't know what it must have been through with all of four-year-old Paula's loving, but as soon as it's being held still, it almost instantly falls asleep. I learned one word: “Conejo” means “rabbit” or like “cony.”

Paula got another pet while we were coming back from the temple. She had stayed at her grandmother's, and when we came to get her, she wanted to keep a dog that was at her grandmother's, but I guess her grandmother didn't want it. (I don't usually know what's going on unless my mom or dad explains it to me).

So, we put this dirty, gray, shaggy mutt on some cardboard in the back of the car.

“Pobrecito,” I said, and they laughed when I did. The dog was sliding around, its nails scraping against the cardboard as we weeved around on the roads. The roads are awful. When Andrew, our cousin, came with us he threw up—Matthew's thrown up at least once too.

That was one good-tempered dog. He didn't bark once. Not once for the whole trip, which ended up being like an hour because the missionaries didn't understand what the front of the old chapel was, and we couldn't find them forever. The old Catholic chapel is a real tragedy. To them it's something like the Salt Lake Temple—it took about forty years to build and was done by oxcarts driving from San Jose (the capital) to Puriscal, but it was not well made for the earthquakes, so it is now too dangerous to enter, and too expensive to be repaired. No one wants to tear it down though, even though it's dangerous and they don't have the money, and the Catholic church won't give them the money, to fix it. I've been wanting to take pictures of it. I wish I could go inside. One of our English-speaking visitors was telling us about this amazing painting on its dome.

Well, anyways, now Paula has two dogs and a rabbit, and I met her kitten last time we went over for her brother's baptism celebration thingy. (I think that was last week). Anyways, its this runt, gray kitten that is always scared and meows like crazy if Paula leaves it for long.