Bombs away. . .

At breakfast a couple of days ago, the troupe of howler monkeys that shows up a few days a week made an appearance right over the rancho where breakfast is served.

One of the ladies got so excited, she leaped up on the rock wall to get a better look. She hopped back down muy rapido about a minute later when one of the monkeys let fly some scat.

She wasn't freaked out, even though the pile missed her by an inch or so. She was talking about how close it came, and then her husband came over and she told him.

"That will teach you to get right under the monkeys," he said.

"You know what? It reminded me of your favorite fishing lure," she replied, dragging him over to see the evidence that had just missed her.

"That doesn't look like the lure I use," he said. "Though the name is pretty close."

The name of the lure? Monkey Puke. Guess it's good for walleyes in the Great Lakes.

Dad drew the line when his son suggested he bag up the scat for a future fishing expedition.

Jungle mystery. . .

The other day while we were working outside around the grounds, there was a caterwauling that had everyone stumped. It lasted for a few hours, and the closest thing I could compare it to would be an old-time aaoo-gah horn.

Some thought it was a calf in distress, but it sounded like it was high up in the trees.

Personally, I was voting for Bigfoot, having grown up in the Northwest where the critter makes its home.

After a few hours, the mystery was finally solved: It was a howler monkey. Probably an older one, or one with a bad chest cold or two-pack-a-day habit.

Dodging a bullet. . .

Sweetie is the Grand Dame of the Tree House pooches. The vets figure she is aroudn 16 years old now. She was rescued off of the beach at Playa Bejuco by the owners four-plus years ago and has spent her time here at Tree Houses and down at the beach since.

Recently, Sweetie was starting to lag a bit and her stomach area was a bit on the turgid side. The vet suspected cancer, and recommended that she be taken to the university hospital in San Jose. There, it was found that she had cancerous growths throughout her belly. A friend called and was told that Sweetie had two to three months to live.

A pall settled over everyone here at the hotel as Sweetie is a favorite of everyone, including the guests. Plans were made for Sweetie to be taken care of at the beach and here, and one of the owners asked Lucy to follow up with the vet here, just to see how much pain Sweetie was in.

The vet hospital in San Jose must be a busy place, as it took several days for anyone to pick up the phone. Luckily, it was when Lucy was at the vet's office in Quesada, so she handed the phone over to Carlos.

The vet found out that Sweetie did not have three or four months to live. She had more (unless something strange happens); as the vet tech at the San Jose hospital told our friend that Sweetie needed to be brought in in two or three months; NOT that Sweetie had that amount of time to live.

Much celebration ensued and we're looking forward to more time with Sweetie.

Snake alert. . .

Now, this is nothing to get worked up about, though it did cause much mirth here the other day.

Miguel, Chiza and Mark were cutting back some of the foliage at Tree Houses the other day (it grows incredibly fast) when Miguel pointed out a snake to Mark (the original king of wusses when it comes to the slithering serpents). Miguel picked up the critter and assured Mark that it wasn't poisonous. No worries, Mark was fine (and he had a machete in his hand) and it was only about a foot long.

Backstory: About five minutes earlier, Chiza thought it would be funny to use a long branch that had been cut down, as a snake on Mark's leg. Mark did jump, but not too high (he is old), but Chiza got a chuckle out of it.

Forward about 10 minutes: The snake that Miguel had found had been transferred to a banana plant. Chiza came strutting down the driveway when Mark asked him to clean out the dead leaves on said banana plant. Chiza looked at Mark like he was nuts and asked a couple of times what needed to be cleared out. Mark calmly said, just the dead stuff.

Chiza, as he is wont to do, shrugged and reached in to clear out the dead leaves. Then he saw the snake. . . and jumped straight up, turned a lovely shade of red and ran. Mark and Miguel nearly fell over laughing while Chiza flailed away with his machete.

The snake survived (it was non-venomous) though Chiza's machismo took a serious hit.

Now, from our Editorial Dept.

If you see this, it means, there has been a breakdown in communication between the editorial and art department. For the three of you that check in here regularly, you will know what that means.

For those that don't, it means that the art/photography folks have taken another day off, so feel free to chime in with encouragement/derision (nicely, though) for the art department.

The Hunt for the Keys. . . Or the Search for the Keymaster

So, the other day Patricia (who has worked here for 2-plus years and has a wickedly-sharp tongue) announced that she had lost her keys.

OK, we said, no worries, where do you think you left them?

Without question, they are under the security safe in the Toucan tree house, was the pronouncement. Not a problem. Lucy asked the guests if they had come across any keys; they said no. The guests left, Lucy tossed the tree house: no keys.

At this point, we were wondering if we may have to have a locksmith out to replace the locks on the tree houses, as Patricia, Seidy and Darling all have keys to all of the tree houses.

Patricia then amended her story, to say maybe the keys were in the Monkey tree house.

Nope. Lucy tossed that tree house after the folks checked out.

Finally, when Lucy and I were setting up the laundry baskets for Patricia and Seidy to use for the cleaning of the tree houses, the keys were discovered: Under two laundry baskets and a cleaning towel.

Just another day at Tree Houses.

Crashing the gate. . .

Or at least trying to get it going again.

The other morning, I went out for a quick run and noticed that the front gate at the top of our driveway was a bit askance. It was early, I was in a hurry, and didn't pay it much attention.

When I returned from my run, Lucy informed me that the gate was indeed kerfuddled (to use a technical term).

We went up to investigate and sure enough, the doo-hickey was unhinged from the thing-a-ma-jigger (again, sorry for the technical language).

We hauled up a ladder and some tools, and finally got the doo-hickey hinged on the thing-a-ma-jigger.

Success!

Not.

The doo-hickey either was suffering from metal fatigue (or some jughead had rammed the gate) and had broken off from the thing-a-ma-jigger.

Long words short, we were hosed. We called Miguel, on Father's Day, no less, and he agreed to come out and check out the situation later that day. In the meantime, Lucy and I were forced to drive the ATV over the back roads to let guests in and out (forced being a nice way to say that we got to get our inner speed demons on on the back roads) to let folks in and out.

Now, being a tool- and mechanically-challenged fellow, my best guess was that someone had hit our gate and knocked it off the rails and hence the break in the doo-hickey.

I was right; though I didn't know what, exactly, to do about it. Miguel did, luckily, and within an hour (in between Gold Cup soccer matches) he had the doo-hickey welded back up to the thing-a-ma-jigger and the gate was working just fine.

Heads up. . .

There is a troupe of howler monkeys that roam the grounds here at Tree Houses a few days out of the week. They will spend some time around the tree houses and then head down to the waterfall and river for the rest of the time.

Guests are always clamoring to see them and we always say you may get lucky, but watch out from unannounced droppings from above.

The other day, some guests found out just how true that was. They were walking the shorter back trail around the property, following the screeches and howls of the monkeys. Coffee cups in one hand, cameras in the other, they were enthralled by the sight and sound of the critters jumping from tree to tree. There was even a baby, perhaps a few months old, that cut loose from the mother and was testing out its tree-climbing smarts.

While the couple was ooh-ing and aah-ing over the monkeys, several circled behind them and let loose with what we figure was a liquid stream of disapproval--just to show who was boss in the boonies here.

It made for a great story at breakfast and some extra laundry in need of being taken care of.

The travails of the jungle. . .

One of the more odious tasks of being in Costa Rica? Talking soccer, or futbol, football, etc.

Of course, everyone down here loves the sport; they love to talk about it, they love to think about it; read about it; watch it; listen to it.

Whenever someone asks if I like football, I reply with an enthusiastic "Si!"

Then they ask my favorite team.

"The Packers? Do they play in Spain or The Netherlands?"

"Have the Seahawks been promoted to the Premier Division?"

Alas, no. They soon realize that I'm a wizened infidel in a land of soccer and sadly shake their heads.

Unfortunately, most folks know of the Giants, Cowboys and Redskins. Luckily for them, being an expert, I can tell them that those are high school teams, not worthy of rooting for.

A woman doing a man's job. . .

Yes, that headline should ruffle one feather out there (not the other two!). . . However, we're in the middle of autumn cleaning here at Tree Houses and there are leaves and other junk that needs to be pulled out and taken away.

There are 8 acres, and only myself, Lucy, Miguel and Chiza to take care of it, and we're always in search of additional hands. Lately, Darling, Patricia and Seidy have been sticking around longer to pitch in and clear things out.

The other day, Seidy came in on her day off to work a few hours. She was a one-woman cleaning crew, clearing out a lot of dead stuff and gussying up the place by the Toucan tree house very nicely.

After she was done (about 3 hours of work), it took Chiza six loads with the ATV and trailer to clear away all the stuff that she had cleared (and it's a good-sized trailer).

Oh yeah: During her time, Seidy was bitten by the bullet ants on her leg (see previous entry), killed a venomous snake and didn't break a sweat. She barely raised an eyebrow when telling Lucy the details; just another day in the jungle for Seidy.

Happy Father's Day to Herb and Fred. . .

We interrupt our regular slack-ness on Sundays to wish a very happy Father's Day to Fred (California) and Herb (Wisconsin).

Two of the finest, most outstanding gentlemen that you will ever have the pleasure of meeting.

Rain, rain. . .

We're heading into another rainy season down here and when it does open up, it can really pour. We can't hear the telephone ring (let alone talk) at times as most of the roofs here are some sort of metal. It's really nice to have the skies open up and to have the rain come down and green everything up again.

Typically, it will cloud up and storm for an hour or two in this season, as well as toss out some thunder and lightning, which puts on its own show.

Luckily, there's not too much wind as the rain itself wreaks havoc on branches and everything and makes cleaning up the grounds the next day a chore. If there is wind, then there's a lot more stuff scattered about.

Putting up posts. . .

It has been a bit on the dry side to start the rainy season, which is
a good thing, since Miguel and I are putting up additional lightposts around the grounds.

The other day, had the poles all prepped and ready to plant. Then, it's time for cement. I don't know much about mixing cement (and still don't, truth be told) but Miguel does and we were able to knock out the two poles fairly quickly.

We had two wheelbarrows, a trailer (from the ATV) full of sand and two 75-pound bags of cement. The sand was brought up from the river; the rock from around the grounds and the cement from the local hardware store.

Everything gets tossed into a wheelbarrow (sand, cement, rock and then water) and stirred by a shovel until it gets to the right consistency. Then it's shoveled out and into the hole where we're holding the light pole in place. We also tossed in some fist-sized rocks to stabilize everything and after a couple of hours, the posts were in place and the two bags of cement were gone.

We have seen people pouring cement for roads all over Costa Rica and have seen very few cement trucks. Most of it is mixed by hand, in wheelbarrows, and carted to where it needs to be.

Electric problem, solved??

Now, we think we're on the right track. Two visits by electricians, some words of wisdom from Wisconsin and we should be good to go.

Turns out that the two transformers here on the property are 10 kilowatts each. Not enough to handle the juice we're bringing into the hotel.

We have a couple of solutions: Privately buy a transformer, have it installed and hope for the best;

Or, have Coopalesca come out, do a study, study it, then come out and do the work.

Of course, the second option is the most expensive (around $5,000.00) though Coopalesca guarantees the work for as long as we'll be around, so not a bad deal. They will come out and fix it if/when it goes down.

The hitch is that there are layers of bureaucracy to slither through to get everything done. Luckily there is Gustavo, who lives in Santa Clara and works for Coopalesca. He can help us push things through a bit faster. At least that's the word on the street; we shall see.

In theory, sometime in the middle of July, we should have a new transformer (either 37 or 50 kilowatts) with new lines up and running here at the hotel, which will take care of the problem--again, in theory.

And for all the wags who posted suggestions earlier, the winner is: ask Lucy to take care of it. Never underestimate the power of a woman without full electrical capabilities who can speak Spanish.

Planting time. . .

Now that the rains have started to return, it's time to plant.

Costa Rica is an amazingly fertile place where you can (no kidding) cut/trim a piece off a tree/shrub and stick it into the ground and it will start to grow most times.

Here at Tree Houses, the ground is a soft clay-like material (kind of like the pineapple fields in the Islands) and things really take off.

You can even see the evidence on fence posts that the local farmers use to line out their property and to keep their cattle fenced in. They will cut down trees, stick them in the ground and run barbed-wire around their land. After a bit, most times the logs will start to grow, sprouting offshoots that will take off and give the impression that the wire was strung along live trees.

Of course, the rainy season does have its drawbacks in keeping the hotel clean and trees and shrubbery from encroaching onto the road or trails. We can cut back the driveway with machetes mercilessly, only to have everything grow back in a couple of weeks.

Breaking, electric boogaloo. . .

Rarely in the blogosphere does an actual subject dovetail so nicely with an unknown gem of a movie.

OK, unknown gem may be a bit on the strong side, but the title is up there with any other: "Breakin' 2, Electric Boogaloo."

In the past week, we have been having some electrical woes at the hotel. We weren't really sure (and that is the "royal we" meaning me) what was going on.

Coopalesca (the electric company) said it wasn't their problem, so we gutted it out over the weekend (with several trips to the electric box on the front of the road to flip the breakers) until Miguel came and took a look at it.

Seems that the breaker we had up front wasn't powerful enough to handle the wattage we have been pumping into our cottage; and it clicked off at the wrong time. Once Miguel got a look at it, we pulled the offending breaker, bolted up to Ciudad Quesada and got a breaker that will withstand our power needs.

Additionally, we did have to take down a small tree on the grounds that was branching out and touching the lines. There were some fried leaves (especially during this wet and windy season), so that was a clue to part of the problem as well.

As for the flick? I believe I saw it in my junior/senior year of high school. The plot? Couldn't tell you. . . The title? Timeless.

Movie time--Phhfffffbbbbbttttpppppppp

So, the other night, Lucy and I are actually free from all responsibility at Tree Houses.

I had to run up to Quesada in the late morning/early afternoon with Miguel to pick up a new breaker for the hotel (more on that later). While we were up there, I swung by the theatre to see what was playing in hopes of Lucy and I going to see a show.

Most of the movies, as the three of our regular readers remember, are dubbed in Spanish. However, on this day, when I checked out the movies that were playing, they were all subtitled in Spanish--jackpot!

The movies were:

X-Men (the latest);
Pirates of the Caribbean (the latest);
and The Hangover (the latest).

All were starting around 4 p.m., which is perfect for us, as we can get out of here and get Seidy, Darling or Patricia to watch the hotel while we are out and about.

We got to the theatre around 3:40 p.m., and were ready to go. The ticket window wasn't open yet (not unusual for here at all) so we walked around the mall for a bit. And by mall, I mean a giant cement block building with a tin roof with about two dozen stores.

We wandered back after our quick circuit around the mall and the theatre still wasn't open. No smell of popcorn (nothing popping); no aroma of the yellow cheese-like stuff for nachos; no rotisserie of fried pork things. . .

Finally, we saw a fellow, sans shirt, come rolling out of the bathroom area pushing a bucket of suds and a mop.

"Excuse me, what time will the box office open?"

"Closed on Mondays."

Phhfffffbbbbbttttpppppppp

No worries??!!??

So, the other day, I'm heading out to pull more of the bushels of leaves back out of the jungle with Chiza and Miguel. No worries, we have the rakes and we have on snake boots.

After about 30 minutes of pulling the jungle junk back into a pile, I noticed that there was about a foot-long root that was wriggling away from my rake, not getting hung up. Another stab, another furtive movement away; (repeat and repeat).

Then I saw the full flash as the black body snaked away. It was a viper (a young one, called a blood viper that is all black until it becomes an adult like in the picture above).

Fortunately for it and for my drawers, it slithered away with no damage done to anyone. Chiza, who was helping me haul the junk away, chided me for slinking away. He asked if the tail was yellow (which is a mika snake, non-venomous) but when I told him that, in fact, the entire body was black, Chiza wasn't too keen on raking up the rest of the leaves in that area. Can't say that I blame him.

Now, before all you weenies get up in arms and decide not to head down here, keep in mind that we were pretty deep in the jungle cleaning out the leaves, etc. It's not an everyday occurrence that we see the slithery snakes, but rather the exception.

Electrical help?

OK, out of the three regular readers and a couple that are infrequent visitors (Waikiki and Janesville, I'm talking to you), we're hoping for some insight here.

We're having electrical issues here at the hotel, and we're not quite sure what to do about it. It has even stumped Miguel, which is no easy feat at all.

We're having power fluctuations, specifically when we're running the dryers and oven (all 220 volt--we're on 110 and 220 just like back in the States).

How do we know we're having fluctuations? We have a new drink cooler outside the house, and it's a digital model (they don't have the good-old, simple drink coolers any longer) and when it's not getting enough power it emits a high-pitched whine that will drive anyone to take a shotgun to the thing.

A tech guy came out and actually measured the voltage when the dryer/stove was going and it dipped down to 104 volts and went as high as 114.

We have cleared away branches and limbs from the power lines; we have cleaned the outside of the transformers and put up some new wires; we have replaced the breakers out front that regulate the power coming in (and no other breakers are tripping). It's the same old whine every day.

Any thoughts, suggestions, hints (helpful, preferably) to the problem? We may need a new transformer and if that's the case, that's some big bucks down this way.

Something different. . .

Recently, over by the Monkey tree house, there has been a young two-toed sloth hanging about.

There are quite a few sloths hanging about here at any given time, it's just a challenge to spot them. And, for every 10 that we see, eight or nine are the three-toed variety. So getting to see a two-toed bugger is a nice surprise.

Yes, the claws are the giveaway with the two- and three-toed varieties. Also, the two-toed has more of a white face and the fur is a bit more brown, whereas the three-toed are more of a uniform gray color all the way around.

Our best guess is that this little two-toed critter has just been cut loose by its mom (it's mating season and there is a young three-toed sloth up by the gate as well) and is staking out its territory.

Mmmmmmmmmmm. . . Fried pork

One of the best treats that we pick up for dinner down here is Chicharones, or fried pork.

Fried pork, though, doesn't really do these morsels justice. It's tender, greasy, full of flavor and will probably knock a few years off the old lifespan.

But, oh so worth it. We're not really sure which part of the pig/hog is used and sometimes it's better not to ask. There is a new place that just opened up down the road and will give you a big ol' basket of the pieces for around $12.00 for a kilogram (a bit more than 2 pounds).

It is usually served with some fried plantains and occasionally some salsa on the side, though the pork doesn't need any extra seasoning at all.

An anniversary missed. . .

We interrupt the normal blog rant/chat/discourse for a purely personal note:

On June 5, there was a gathering in a house in Kahala on Oahu in Hawaii.

As for the number of people involved, it was barely a ripple. For the occasion, though, it was a tsunami of memories fading, but friendships unbroken.

On June 5, 2010, The Honolulu Advertiser closed its doors and became part of the Star-Advertiser. Countless people were without jobs, including some of the best I have worked with over 20 years at several newspapers. Needless to say, the Islands are not served as well without two newspapers.

This was primarily a gathering of the folks who worked in sports at the 'Tiser. Some are working at the Star-Advertiser; some are still searching; some are keeping in contact from afar.

One of these days, we hope to catch a reunion back in the Islands.

Mahalos to Bart for the picture that I just poached without asking and to Clyde for as good a closing statement as the headlines he wrote every Saturday night during football season:

"It was nice seeing everyone again, some of whom we haven't seen in a while, and catching up on what's going on in their lives.There were times when I just sat back and watched how everyone was interacting. I think it's kind of neat that while we no longer have a work/gathering place in common, the bonds that were built over the years remain strong enough to sustain a degree of friendship and cordiality."

Safety first. . .

There has been a big push of late here in Costa Rica for safe, sanitary and clean food preparation.

The government closed down a large resort over on the Nicoya Penisula in Tambor after 100-plus people came down with jungle tummy after eating in the restaurant. The inspectors have closed down several McDonald's, Taco Bells and other places down in San Jose as well.

Wanting to keep on top of things, Patricia, Darling and Seidy figured it would be a good idea to go to a class and get certified, so if an inspector came to Tree Houses, the certificates (which are required by food workers) would be here at the hotel.

They found a class in Ciudad Quesada (about 25 minutes away) and off they went. It turned out to be 7 hours of a woman reading from a binder. No breaks for coffee, refreshments, etc., just 7 hours of droning.

All three did learn a lot, though, as I found out the next day when I went into the kitchen of the rancho to get some guests some more of Lucy's banana muffins. You would have thought I had ran over a puppy when I put the muffins on the same plate (at times like those, I wish I didn't understand so much Spanish!).

Everyone passed their test and are happy they went to learn some new things.

However, when I asked what color hair nets they all wanted, I was given the triple look of death.

Here we go again. . .

This is the day when folks are enlightened by the art department and can learn much more about the intricacies of the hotel than from the ordinary day-to-day drivel that the three of you are forced to put up with.

However, just in case the art department stumbles upon a log in the jungle, we have this fine art-representation for you to all reflect upon.

Going green III

Not entirely sure what this stuff is on the leaf here. All I know is that it coats the driveway like snow down here this time of year. And once it rains, it turns into a sticky, green muck of a mess that is tough to get off the grounds.

It could be pollen? Fungus? Solyent Green? Best guesses, anyone?

One time through with the blower daily will take care of most of it, unless it's wet then all bets are off.

Though 24 hours later, it looks like nothing has been done as there's a green/yellow film over everything.

Going green II

So, the other day I'm using the leaf blower (if I haven't extolled the virtues of this handy device enough in the past, it's a great little invention) and I'm clearing away the leaves, pollen and other detritus that accumulates around the 8 acres the hotel is on.

It's a never-ending battle and thanks to the trusty Echo Blower (gratuitous and wishful endorsement here; thank you Morgan Spurlock) it makes it a 3-hour chore instead of a much longer one with just a rake.

Anyway, as I was going up the driveway and clearing stuff away a brilliant green flashed in the corner of my eye as I blew the rubbish into the drainage ditch. I stepped back (OK, I jumped) and hit it with the blower again. The snake wriggled, moved and inched back to the ditch. I hit it with the blower again, and the critter did the same thing.

Hopped up on adrenaline, I bravely walked closer and proceeded to blow the bugger into the ditch. Then it got hung up on a branch.

Snakes don't get hung up on branches. A closer look revealed that the critter had previously been run over by one of the cars coming/going from the hotel; hence the lack of movement aside from the blower.

Later on, after some research (and some ridicule) I found out it was a non-venomous snake, so the crisis was averted.

Ambidesxtrous-challenged or just a goof?

Being a Yankee fan, of course Jim Abbott is the greatest pitch of all time. Technically, he wasn't ambidextrous, but he was a marvel. And switch-hitters are amazing.

Personally, I can perhaps scribble my name with my left hand if I had to. Throw a baseball or football? Forget it. I'm way past the time of being an even mediocre athlete and the days of Luke and Murphy Jensen (look it up, you tennis infidels) are way behind me.

However, recently I ran into a conundrum while watering plants around the hotel. Keep in mind that we have 8 acres here and we're still in the dry season, so we need to take hoses and sprinklers around to keep some of the more fragile plants green.

With my trusty Ipod Shuffle strapped to my left arm (I am right-handed), I was out watering plants the other day. After it was time to roll up the hose and move the sprinkler to another locale, the Ipod was in the way. No worries, I figured I would roll up the hose on my right shoulder using my left hand.

It was like trying to figure out a Rubik's Cube, to be honest. The left hand did not know which way to go to get the hose wrapped up on the right shoulder.

Now, before you all crack wise, give it a shot--particularly the fellow in Maile who is into gardening and is probably the authority. It ain't easy.