Random Things I Will Miss from CR

I know, I know. Why am I getting ahead of myself here? Thinking about things I will miss when I should still be indulging in them while I’m here. I don’t know, that’s just the way I am. I will be leaving my internet addiction/availability in about 2 weeks, and as I prepare for relocation to a more rural part of Costa Rica (details soon!) I could very well be trying to post as much as possible while I still have the opportunity to post-as-I-feel-it.

Some things I will miss when I move from Costa Rica:

  • Los cariñitos. Otherwise known as ‘affections.’ In Costa Rica, it is very common to address people, especially strangers, in countless of creative ways that may seem way too affectionate for someone you hardly know. Words like: mi amor (my love), mi chiquita/o (my little one), pa/ma (short for papi or mami), and mi corazon (my heart) can be used to address you by any tico/tica in the following posts: waitress, store vendor, street vendor, or any old sweet woman that has sparked a conversation on the bus with you. I’m going to miss being called ‘Ma.’
  • Cheap Services. Since here, I’ve indulged in services I would never do with frequency at home. I’ve tried a gel manicure for $26, an hour and a half massage and mini-facial for $24, a dental “scraping” (the most effective cleaning that I’ve ever had done in my life) at the dentist for $46, and a navel piercing for $10. I’ve also had my hair washed, blow-dried and flat ironed for $12-$20. I’m spoiling myself because I know these luxuries are unheard of in New York. Since discovering how much I like piercings, I intend to pierce my tragus (the little mountain that sticks up out of your ear) before I leave.
  • Cafecito. The time of day (anywhere from 5-8pm) after dinner when you devote time to some freshly brewed coffee, some sweet accompaniment and relay the latest gossip about yourself or your neighbor.
  • Not thinking twice about Taking a Taxi. Only a life or death situation would lead me to take a taxi in NYC. That’s just never an option that crosses my mind in a City that is so ridiculously overpriced. In Costa Rica, base fare is 550 colones, which is roughly a dollar and some cents. The most I’ve paid for a cab ride in Chepe is 6 dollars. My co-worker calls me high-class for wanting to be driven around everywhere, but I don’t agree. I like not paying $4.50 for driving down 2 avenues.
  • Meats. Red meat here tastes so different. I don’t know if it’s because everything is so overprocessed back home, but I can’t turn down my plate anytime it has any type of skirt flank steak, meat stewed or smothered in sauce or anything with a bone made for some serious sucking- MMM!
  • The Views.Costa Rica is more than beaches, surfing and diverse wildlife. It’s got its hidden treasures everywhere! Many people would argue that compared to the rest of the country, San Jose is the least flattering. There’s pollution, too many crazy drivers on the road who don’t yield to peds, petty thiefs, and overcrowding. My question is, how many cities Latin American countries don’t suffer from this? Whatever your opinion is, I know I will miss this view over any in any major city in the States. For me, mountains are pretty much irreplaceable.

    I’m sure this list will grow with time, as will the list of comforts I miss from home. But for whatever reason, I don’t miss NY enough.

Su corazon, (Your love)

She Traces

Random Things I Will Miss from CR

Man Hands

It’s been awhile since I’ve had some man hands on me. Stripped down to my lacies with only two sheets lying on a bed, a little anxious…

Sex for the first time with someone is comparable to getting a massage in two ways: you become self-conscious about your body and you hope the person you get is good. Well, today I indulged in the latter of the relaxation forms and since I’ve only gotten about 2 professional massages in my life, there’s always a hesitant giggly attitude I get when I think about a complete stranger with his/her hands all over me. My first experience with a massage was so painful and dreadful that it made me reserved about ever purposely seeking one again. I will save you that story but I will share with you my experience with the first of many of my birthday gifts to myself this year!

About my treatment, taken straight from the ad:

Earth Energy Grounded: Receive a hot-stone treatment and a mini-facial that includes cleansing nutrients, exfoliation, and facial massage with a hydrating mask.

I chose a male masseuse because I wanted some firm gentleness. I wasn’t even expecting a hot guy with perfect pecks and no shirt on when I got there, but I still wanted to treat myself to my own visual once my eyes were closed! (Can a girl live?) So I enter the room, my masseuse explains to me exactly what the treatment entails, he asks me if I have any problem areas, and then proceeds to leave the room so that I can get undressed. I strip down to bra and panties and lay face down on the bed, and pull the covers over me. He knocks on the door, I respond ‘Pase!’ (Come in) and then I lay my head in the little horseshoe looking nook. He asks me if I mind removing my bra, I snap it off under the covers, and hand it to him so he can put it with my clothing on the chair.

The thing about massages to me is that I’m not sure about the politics of what’s normal behavior, what kind of nudity is expected, what’s behavior only a regular customer knows, and what’s not. The whole time I’m praying that I won’t be asked eventually to turn over and have my teresitas all out in the air (it’s happened to me before). I’m already thinking about my rebuttal, because hot masseuse or not, I need a drink or something first before I start exposing these goodies.

He begins with me laying on my stomach, pulling back the covers so that they are a bit below my waist, and then he pulls my lacies down a tad so that I got a little crackage going on. I’m a little weirded out, but not enough to say anything. I’m not necessarily self-conscious about my body, but then I start getting these weird thoughts about if I’m turning him on and what I would say if he makes an inappropriate comment or tries to come on to me. Thankfully, nothing like that happens. The hot stone massage is feeling good, he alternates back and forth with just his hands, and then massaging with the stones in his hands. The stones are hot, not scorching hot, but enough to feel good and I start to try to let my mind go blank instead of nursing my paranoia-ridden thoughts. Eventually I don’t mind that he’s sorta feeling on my booty while working because they are fast movements for the most part. What does make me uncomfortable is when he places his hands on top of mine so that our fingertips touch momentarily. I never realized how intimate that was; it’s true what they say about fingertip stimulation.

After my shoulders, back and top part of my bottom are all loved up, he proceeds to do the right and left leg. Then the anxiety rises again. Time to turn over. I do so. He then pulls the covers right up to my neck almost, Whew! Time for the facial. It was my first time getting a facial, and I’m sad to report probably my last. It seemed like a major session of put one cream on, wipe it off and try the next. I didn’t know what I was expecting really, since there aren’t really that many ways to massage a face. After all that, a mask was applied and then he proceeded to just massage my arms and legs, one at a time, before safely tucking them back into the covers. I was satisfied, felt super oily and had an Erykah Badu natural essence when I left, floating back home almost. Before I floated though, I paid my $28 (for at least an hour and a half of work!) and prayed to God he send me a husband with some hands that can work magic like that!

Man Hands