La Casa de Tibas

After a couple of weeks, Yahaira (our amigueta primero) hooked us up with a house to live in (She also hooked us up with a cell phone, a near impossible thing to get in CR). Her father had a rental in the same neighborhood that she lived in. It was called Tibas. I`m sure we were the only gringos within miles, most stayed in the neighborhood of the embassies where Eric lived.

The 3 bedroom house was completely bare and without any appliances except a small stove. We each bought a mattress for the floor of our room and we bought a hard wood couch for the living room, and that was it (it made for great late night soccer matches). We didn`t have a fridge, so every morning we`d walk down to the market (3 houses down) and pick up milk for cereal. At night we`d have the infamous arroz, maiz y atun.

We did our washing by hand until we found a lady who`d do it for us. She charged about 1$ for as much as we could pile into 1 laundry bag. This was a bargain even in CR, but she thought we were the funniest things ever (I`m sure she never had any interaction with gringos before).

Our shower was just a hole sticking out of the wall in the bathroom, which only put out cold water. At first this was a shock, but after a while I found it quite refreshing.

When we moved into the house the yard was bare. However, after a few months the grass grew to be taller than us, then doubled over and grew again to be overhead. If it was straight it`d have been about 12 ft tall. We were the only ones in the neighborhood that didn`t keep our yard up, so one day we decided to buy machetes and cut the grass like the locals. We tucked our pants into our jeans (scared of what might be in the grass) and went outside hacking away. After about an hour and almost nothing accomplished, the construction workers down the street came over and offered their service. Thinking it`d be expensive, we declined. The man asked for about 5$, so we jumped at that, laughing because he hadn`t seen the backyard yet. About 15 minutes later he had finished the front and backyard and piled it all in a corner. I think we need some practice with those machetes.

All houses in Costa Rica are like jails. There are about 4 gates you must get through in order to get into a house. Ours was no exception. We first had the carport gate to get into, then a cage outer gate and the wood door and finally the inner cage gate. It was a hassle but necessary. Costa Rica is a very safe country, but the poor will break into a house or car if they see something worth taking. However, if there is any deterrent then they`ll leave it alone.

One other safety feature was the neighborhood watchman. Every block had a small shack where a watchman would sit. He had a baton and would walk around occasionally and basically keep watch over the street. They were paid by tips and usually there were only 2 guys that rotated shifts. They worked 7 days a week and 12 hours a day. We paid them about 25$ a month, if you add up all the houses on our street and divide it by the 2 workers, they probably made around 250$ a month each.

There were also watchmen for the cars at bars, restaurants, supermarkets etc. They each had their space that they somehow claimed and received about .50c tip from each car. If we were the last ones out of the bar the watchman would be sleeping on the hood and graciously take the small tip we gave him. Since there is no violence in CR, a skinny man with a baton is all the protection you need.