Written at the end of January, 2012
In the interest of not getting sued, blackmailed or attacked, from here on the names are mostly fictitious. And of course, we must remember that history is written by the victors and everything I say here is colored by my own imaginings. I have great interest in making my life more interesting—to me-- so take all this with a grain of salt. Maybe it is true, maybe not. It is based on truth, because life is varied and wonderful and strange. Especially in the tropics, it seems.
Miss Vida lives in the apartment on my right as I face out my front door.
Marte lives in the apartment on my left as I face out my front door.
The other two apartments are unoccupied.
So it is we three behind our blue gate, safe, secure and private. And seriously weird. This includes me, but I will save my story for last.
Marte
At 9:00PM. Marte, showed up and very quietly crept into her apartment. Marte had been in a rehab place in San Jose, where she had planned to stay 3 weeks or maybe 3 months. She wasn't sure how long it would take, but she wanted to get clean and sober. She said. Marte was gone 5 days, this time. During her absences, her dog and cat are in the care of the compound. Miss Vida feeds them and locks the dog in Marte's apartment at night.
The previous week Marte went to the same rehab, for the same reason. That time she stayed 6 days before she came back here.
Each time she returns she furiously cleans her apartment, washes, it appears, everything she owns. By dark she is shut in her room with a box of wine, on the sly—she asserts that she is sober now-- watching TV or talking on SKYPE.
She calls it getting organized. Getting ready to get ready to change her life. There are AA slogans on typing paper taped all over her walls. One Day at a Time, etc.
This time though, she has decided that this primitive rehab thing is not for her. They won't let her call her family, who live in various other countries. They insist she arise at 5am, participate in the activities of the rehab center every day (Gym workouts, classes in recovery, group discussions, AA meetings-- the normal rehab center drill), and bedtime is 9pm. So she is sleep deprived, she says. Mostly this style of rehab won't work for her. She is different, special, above all these rules and routine and loss of autonomy. She doesn't say this, but she thinks it. She has a sister who lives a five star life and the sister says Marte deserves to live a 5 star life also.
Marte arrived here in Quepos a year or so ago from a different rehab center located an hour or so north of here. This particular rehab center was run by an expat whose father lives in the states. The expat, Ron, had no credentials and no training.The center was a joke to those of us who knew him, and it turns out this rehab was a far away place for Ron's rich father to stash his ne'er-do-well son in a pseudo business. That is not unusual here. We call them "trustafarians." They are the drinkers, the druggies, and the HIV plus, the problem children whose families pay them to stay away. And pay them well, I might add. The house was luxurious, lax, a nice place to kill time for a runaway like Marte.
She had spent a month there, recovering and had planned to stay longer, but she left because they gave away her kitten and broke her heart. Marte is a drama queen.
Marte is 50 or so, tall, thin, energetic, perhaps hypo-manic. She is originally from one of the smaller European countries where she grew up in idyllic circumstances, lacking nothing. She sees herself as, if not nobility, at least entitled, in the common sense of the word. She is highly educated and speaks Spanish, English, Italian, French, Flemish and German.
After immigration to the US, she worked in Internet Technology there, had an important job and made good money.
All this is her story of course and here in Costa Rica one can invent (and many of us do invent) whatever history one chooses.
She had lived in LA, has been married to a Latino for 20 years or so. I think she met him in a rehab center back then, but she had outgrown him. From the beginning, she spoke of her pending divorce, but the spouse in the US was unaware of this. He was willing to support her because he wanted her to be well and happy. After over a year, he still supports her activities, believing that she is recovering and just needs time to get better. To date, he still has no idea of the pending divorce.
She has had one unfortunate affair with a Latino she met at an NA meeting. This lasted 2 months. Her money, or the money the spouse in the US provided, supported the guy. Finally, when she discovered a myriad of porn sites and emails from the Latino to other women on her computer, she kicked him out. This took a while. A day together, a day apart, I'll take him back til he repays what he owes me, til I make sure the people in NA know what a shit he is, etc etc.
The night before she decided to go to rehab in San Jose, the ex lover fled to San Jose, out of reach. In retrospect, I realize, or suspect, that this is what precipitated her visit to San Jose. Rehab? God knows where she really has been.
As I write this Marte has retired to her room for the night. I wait to see what new events tomorrow will bring.
Miss Vida
Miss Vida has a money making project in process. I think she is living in serious la la land now. It is a little scary and I have no idea what will happen to her eventually, but my sense of foreboding grows daily.
Last night Miss Vida arrived home having lost her keys. I let her in the gate and she piled several large sacks of purchases on my porch and headed out into the streets to find the landlord so she could get a copy of her keys. This was at 7:30 and, of course, dark. She did not return until this morning.
Miss Vida's project is to open an assisted adult residence near here. Her goal is to make money. The pitch sounds noble and enticing, but may the powers of the universe help the poor fool who moves into her care. The victims must pay their social security, however much it is, turn it over to her. She will dole out $100.00 per month to each, if the family provides it, over and above the SS. Can you say vulture?
Miss Vida will provide no investment in this project. She is wheeling and dealing and charming a tica who has a big house and grounds and who, it seems, is the money woman for all this. Miss Vida will generously give her expertise, experience, and 3 days a week. Her proposal also states that she will be the manager and have charge of all funds, none of which, remember, have been invested by Miss Vida. The plan is to hire ticos to do all the work.
Miss Vida has spoken to many locals who dream of pie in the sky provided by the largesse of the gringa and can be induced to work cheap. Miss Vida is out and about, managing business affairs, from dawn till long after dusk. Miss Vida tells me these stories with great enthusiasm and I think she believes what she says. Although, more frequently as time goes by, a denigrating phrase or an unkind remark, reveal her unconscious intentions. At least to a skeptic like me.
Mr Vidal to Miss Vida-- History
Miss Vida was born Vidal Murphy somewhere in the northeast of the US. Vidal experienced a harrowing childhood, the middle child of an Irish family. He was the scapegoat and the lost child rolled into one. After regular beatings by his drunken father his mother would deny that the beatings took place. Vidal constantly received conflicting orders. Unable to figure out what his father wanted him to do,Vidal was confused and helpless.
Upon graduation from high school, Vidal entered seminary. It seemed a safe place with understandable rules. These rules, unlike those of his father, were written and immutable. Vidal would have a rulebook to go by. More of Miss Vida and Marte in a later installment...
On January 31, 2012 Tuesday I moved away from Marte and Miss Vida. The constant instability, the heat in Quepos, the lack of privacy and the distance from the beach were all factors.
Now I live in what was once Hotel Casa Blanca. It was a gay hotel and a fabulous place in the day. There are two small, privately situated small pools, where, I am told, love abounded. Twelve apartments, ranging from bedrooms with baths and desk to two bedroom apartments. There is an overlook facing the Pacific ocean and several grassy areas. Near one pool is an outdoor service bar, covered but open on one side, with sound system, TV, stove, oven, sink, frig, bar and tables. It is not supplied. I guess it is for private parties. The coolest thing would be for the whole family to stay her, according to each one's selection of rooms.
I am in one of the bedrooms with bath and desk and frig, as I don't want to cook and the smaller my space the less complicated my daily life. For the money it would cost
to get an apartment with kitchen I can eat out comfortably. And my location in the hotel is very private. No one needs to pass by my room to get to another.
How did this happen? You ask. Or you don't. Brian, a friend from Ottawa—the capitol of Canada-- took a one bedroom apartment here. I went to see it and, after seeing the grounds and the privacy and the WIFI and the TV, all included, I asked about the cheapest place here. Buy the least expensive house in a fine neighborhood, right. So, for 450USD* per month I live in a really fine resort like hotel just South of MA. Yesterday I asked if they would reduce my rent if I stayed a long time. No hesitation. $300.00* per month for all this.
Out the front door, around the grassy area, out the front gate and across the street, is Cafe Milagro. Perfect coffee. Hot or iced. Heavy whole grain toast burnt to my taste, a small table looking out to a street or back to the courtyard. WIFI and a newspaper. The location is Manuel Antonio and I can walk—quickly--to the supermarket, many restaurants, the bank machine and, of course, Cafe Milagro.
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