Sunday 23 October 2011

It never rains but it pours...

wet, wet dogImage by Ilja via FlickrWe have the rainy season..the mornings are hot and sunny and then it pours and thunders in the afternoons.
The prudent housewife washes her clothes and bed linen early.

But now we also have depressions over the Caribbean.
Rain all day.
Rain  all night.

This house is in the clouds most of the day.

How do I bless the day that I grew up with the old tradition of washing clothes and linen...you had enough in your trousseau to ensure that you would not run out of sheets, shirts and chemises before the six monthly big wash took place.
Washerwomen came round to undertake the task...
After beating the fabrics on stones on the river bank to release the blood, sweat and stains,  the spots which were left would be lifted away by the home made soap and the supply of hot water which drove the farm hands frantic with the demands for yet more wood for the fires under the coppers...

I saw the last of that era in my early childhood...by the time I'd grown up the washing machine had taken over, even in the country, and easy care fabrics were all the rage.
But I still hoarded sheets and pillow cases...and I'm glad I did faced with day after day of rain and no prospect of drying things.

My troubles are as nothing compared to those of people in El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala...so many deaths, so many homeless as the continual rains produce landslips and mudslides....here in Costa Rica, out of the main blast of the weather system, there have been five deaths so far, evacuations to refuges and the Inter American highway is closed as often as it is open, but the worst thing that has happened locally is that the electricity lines came down, closely followed by the telephone lines.
I felt really sorry for the repair crews, soaked despite their oilskins, trying to replace posts in sodden ground, going from door to door to check on the service.... too busy even to stop for a coffee.

It is not encouraging to go out, so it was lucky that a parcel of books had arrived just before losing the internet...I had plenty to read and plenty of time to do it in as the coffee had been blown to the ground by the storms leaving nothing to pick until the next lot ripens in about a week's time.
By which time I hope that our chief picker has recovered from an insect bite which blew his arm up to five times normal size and sent him to seek attention at the local hospital.

The chickens disapprove and the ducks strongly dispute the claim that rain is 'fine weather for ducks'.
They sit gloomily on the edge of the tilapia tanks, only shifting slightly to release excrement and then resuming the hunched posture of deep misery.
They could go to shelter in their pens...but that would be too easy. They could not express as much resentment that way.

The pig doesn't seem to worry. She turns up in her pen at feeding times, then skids off down the hill again on her quest for roots, startling the cattle as she swooshes by like a four legged downhill skier.

The dogs definitely do not approve.
A dog who has nipped out in a dry moment to answer a call of nature does not appreciate being caught  in a downpour before completion of mission and is reluctant to repeat the experiment.
Shut out on the porch until forced to perform before being allowed back in the house is not their idea of life and it won't be long before their shop steward approaches me with the updated canine version of the contract of engagement of seamen on the sailing ships carrying coal from Newcastle to London....

'Duff out, dumpling home
Poop in the cabin foul weather'.....

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Thursday 13 October 2011

As not seen on the Web

View of San José from the Museum of JadeImage via WikipediaWe have done rural for years...countryside England, la campagne Francaise and now el campo de Costa Rica...and it has always been a delight to have space around us, to watch the colours of trees change under the shifting light, to listen to the birds and to grub around in the garden.

But, once again within reach of a capital city after so long away from London, the old Adam is resurgent.

There are theatres, cinemas, museums, art galleries.

There are expos...tours....fairs...even demonstrations!
Last Sunday we could have 'done' two of them...petition against animal cruelty first, from the Parque Central up to the Legislature, followed by OAPs against violence to the elderly once we'd got there.
The OAPs aren't daft...it's a sharp climb up to the Legislature from the centre....best to get the bus and start the demo at the top.

Last time I went shopping there the municipal parks department tried to give me a tree to plant in my garden to bring back greenery to San Jose and I had to decline, not having a house there.
Walking along to the shops from the parks department stand I became aware of numbers of ladies carrying not only shopping bags but also trees....as if Burnham Wood was come to San Jose.

But it all started us thinking...the upshot of which was that we decided to buy a small house  in the capital so that we could stay overnight, or for a few days, when there were things we wanted to see or do, not to speak of being able to regard with equanimity hospital appointments which can take place at 6.30 am.


So...househunting! Where to start?

It strikes me that if you are not looking for a particular location, for proximity to work, to schools, to family, then the housing market is a vast disorganised souk.

You want to move to France? You look on the agents' websites and find regions....some of which you've never heard of...and then departments in same with similar problem......
Where what you want is a site which gives you choices based on climate, shopping and airports offering cheap flights.
Or whatever else is important to you.

One day some enterprising estate agent will come forth with a site which gives you the information you really want....
Vineyards....colour of wine on offer....
British expat presence, ranging from zero (peaceful) to ten (smart work with chair and whip necessary to keep them at bay)....
Beaurocracy...watch out for Mme Machin in the sub prefecture...
Dentists...one has been sighted at...
Shopping....from IKEA to Noz...
And helpful hints....those thinking of moving to Deux Sevres  (two river Sevres) might find it significant that neighbouring departments refer to it as Deux Chevres (two goats).....

But thinking out of the box never characterised an estate agent and that goes for Costa Rica too.

Most sites offer you the choice of the seven provinces...some, daringly, offer you the choice of beach or mountain, but that's about as far as it goes.
Detailed research is down to you.

Like.....
Places to avoid.....
Barrio Leon XIII where no one can have an internet line because the technicians are too frightened to go in there to install anything.
Gated communities where the main occupation is bickering over the height of cut on your neighbour's lawnmower.
Yoga communities.

Transport.....
Unless you like watching accidents, nowhere near a railway crossing because there are no barriers and the only warning is the train hooting as it arrives.
Mark you, there aren't many railway lines so it's not a big bother...
Bus routes and buses. While in theory every bus has passed its annual vehicle inspection the black clouds issuing from some bus exhausts leave you wondering how this bus escaped the net...so you don't want a house directly opposite the bus stop.

Topography...
Barrio Aranjuez is quiet and cooler than the dead centre of town....but since you nearly kill yourself struggling up the hill to get home with your shopping it's a good thing that the hospital Calderon Garcia is sited there....
Barrio Amon is smart and stylish....but since you risk going base over apex getting back down the hill with your shopping it is a pity that no hospital is sited nearby...not to speak of its proximity to Gringo Gulch where men with antediluvian attitudes to women cluster in the hotels and casinos that cater to their tastes.

Shopping....
Little neighbourhood shops for everything from plantains to plantains....
Huge shopping malls where the mushrooms are inevitably mouldy and the food halls have fifty different names for fried chicken...
Specialist shops...
Farmers' markets
Proper markets...
Flea markets....
Men selling things of doubtful provenance on the kerbside...

And all this before you even get to thinking about the house itself....







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