Sabado Gigante

Friday, Dec 7
My delightful bride sent me out of Minneapolis as the first of the snow came in. Sure, there was a little snow earlier in the year and while it was about as materially useful as my Spanish language skills this looked like it would stick. Apparently Jack will be inaugurating the snow blower season. Good man. I flew Spirit airlines into ORD and the seat had curled me into a semi shrimp shape that had my upper back aching before we were halfway there but at least it was a quick flight.

Staying at the O'hare Hilton on my long layover was a snap and eating at the Gaslight Club at the hotel was a gas. It was loaded with old people, and by old I mean in their 60s and 70s. They were all dressed in this kinda speak-easy bustierre (sp?) and garters thing and sang old vaudeville stuff and the whole thing was uber creepy. I ate and bailed. Funny line though, the piano player was making "I'm Old!" jokes and mentioned that he hid his own Easter eggs. I barked a laugh into the quiet room..
The hotel was definitely the high point though. The staff treated me like I was *somebody* and I slept like I was innocent.

Saturday 12-8
My flight out was at 5:30 so all the eateries were closed. I figured I'd eat something substantial later and just got McSomething at a McFast McFood place. Seat two into FTL had an immovable headrest that hit me directly between the shoulder blades that wasn't much better than the first ride but I spent most of the time in my book and just dealt with it. The layover at FTL was pretty short so I just grabbed some more light reading and rolled onto the next bird. If the seats were crummy the actual location of the seats were great. I was up front and didn't have to stand all stooped over staring at traveller ass while the flight attendants bumbled with the doors. The last seat actually wasn't that bad. It had that kinda retro-bus faux gray dolphinskin leather that was all crackly and weird but it was mighty roomy.

The flight into San Jose was pretty "facile", as I think they say down here. Actually the entry was too. The border guy asked in poor English if I spoke Spanish, to which I answered in perfect Castillian Spanish, "No" and that really seemed to grease the rails. After hanging out talking Florida fishing with a guy at the baggage barfer it was a quick run through the taxi gauntlet to my ride to the B+B Vista De Los Volcanes hotel. This is where the roller coaster started; literally and figuratively.

Up: Costa Rica is the first place I've been where the tropics were hilly. Florida/Louisiana are all flat, right? But this is way hilly country and I was really digging ride. Windows down, barking at traffic, the whole thing. Living it up.
Down: I'll preface this part by stating up front that I know I don't speak Spanish, I'm in a Spanish speaking country and that the point of this trip is just to see what happens when I throw myself into that situation. Well, here's what happens.
I learn that my hotel can give me a network password, but oh, the network doesn't work.
The complimentary ride to and from the airport is actually only *from* the airport.
I'm in a neighborhood where I've been encouraged *not* to leave the compound (turns out that was wrong advice after all), it's 4 o'clock and the last McThing I ate was at Mc4 McEffing:30 this morning. I'd burn an acre of rainforest right now for another one. Ironically, that's probably how the meat on my last McMeal was McMade.
These seem to be communications issues not strictly related to language.
I will say that in the future I will have a keen insight into people that don't speak English but bob their heads and smile when they talk to me. Buddy, I've been there now. Let's have a beer.
There's a few other people at this place. One is lone woman with a guitar who stays in her room. Alone. I hear no music. Or musica. Anyone seen that movie with Antonio Banderas? El Mariachi or something (Desperado!)? A gunfight would liven this place *right* up.
The other character I had some hope for because I heard her presenting broken Spanish to the crazy lady working here with her little daughter. Broken is about right.I think she's attending some spanish speaking school the people here run. I saw her with some kind of diploma but I'm not sure what it was for. Maybe for remembering 4 Spanish phrases? Anyhow she was useless to me. I get mean when I'm hungry

Oops, now here come a bunch more doughy white folks... let's see what happens.

UPDATE:
The white folks are also part of this Spanish school. They have found beer somewhere. Time to investigate!

UPDATE:
In short, they were all either French or midwesterners that took the class... but!
I found the English *speaker"!
He arranged beverages!
He helped get some killer Espaguetti Frutti di Mare from Banco de los Mariscos!
He booted the router.
I may have to cab it to el Airopuerto to pick up my wheels but as far as I am concerned I am SAVED.
(Thanks Carlos)

Oh, and here are some impulsive pictures from the flight and a couple of videos to make you motion sick.