Rain and Bathroom Fixtures
I've just closed and locked the door to the office and the gf is waiting downstairs for the driving instructor to show up. Today then is the first official day of getting back to the work of writing; the blog gets first dibs, although I don't know if that's such a good idea.
It's the rainy season down here, which means it rains a lot, which kind of depresses the urge to do stuff. Having spent 15 years in So Cal waiting out the short and not so rainy season (using it as kind of a break to watch 'journalists' report from the bottom of Malibu Canyon Road as they rediscover the effect of gravity on water), this stuff just seems to go on forever. Going outside consists dodging potholes (wekos) and hoping to notice all the pedestrians and scooters before they attach themselves to the bumper of the car.
I think I'm settling in, sort of. I haven't been able to work out my residency status to my satisfaction (and the local government's) so I have to leave the country for a short bit to renew my visa. This means a trip back to California for a couple weeks of sunshine, which doesn't sound so bad at the moment.
Settling in is a process of getting used to not only arcane government regulations and adapting to local practices, but also getting used to what is or is not available. For instance, the gentlemen who installed the bathroom and shower in my office not only failed to include a critical part (enabling one to turn the water on and off with any degree of certainty), but also installed the shower door so that the water prodigiously leaks when in use.
The missing faucet part is a nylon bushing/key that stops the knobs from turning at the point when the water is either on-or off, instead of just spinning until you have the right combination. Having failed to enlighten the installers as to their lapse (they hadn't a clue as to what I was going on about) I embarked on a two-month odyssey in an attempt to locate said part. I wound up buying an entire fixture to cannibalize.
As opposed to other items not immediately available (such as the ceiling mount for my Epson projector, which can be available from Epson HQ in Costa Rica for one and a half times the US price if I would like to wait two months) this part was simply not to be had. The hardware store I finally found in central San Jose that was the official parts supplier for the manufacturer just stopped carrying it. End of story.
The funny part is that Price Pfister (the manufacturer in question) products are ubiquitous in virtually every hardware and plumbing supply store I've visited. Now you may be asking yourself, "why didn't he just order the part from the States?" This is where we get into another of those charming local quirks: there are no addresses here. There are directions.
From what I've gathered with my shotgun approach to learning the Spanish language, the term for address is: direccion. This is taken quite literally. For instance, my direccion is quinientos metros al sur Carrion de Multiplaza, Escazu. Roughly. Which means you have to know where the Multiplaza is in Escazu, then find the store called Carrion, then find the road directly south of it, then travel approximately 500 meters south.
This confuses hell out of people up north, and there is not usually space enough to write it, and it has to be in Spanish, and describing said direccion is more of an art form than settled science. One needs to choose the most likely recognized landmark to start from, and distances are arbitrary at best.
Anyway, I now have an address in Miami to send all this crap to which eventually shows up here on the back of a scooter.
