A Typical Day
Long day, but I think that it was pretty typical of how things go squirrely here and some of the beauty of living in Costa Rica.
I got up around sunrise to get an early start on the day and get a long list of things done. After making sure that I had the tools and junk that I thought I would need for the day, I loaded up the car and hit the road...
It took me nearly ten minutes to realize that I had forgotten my coffee. Dangit! I did not want to take the 20 or so minutes round-trip to go get it, but knew that it was going to be a rough morning without. Ah, well, such is life.
I arrived in Liberia after an uneventful 80 minute drive into the rising sun, and was sitting at the Revision Technica Gate when they opened for the morning. I need to do a 'voluntary' annual inspection in order to straighten my vehicle paperwork. The annual inspection is widely regarded as being slightly better than a dental exam, in terms of overall pleasure. So there I was, smiling and friendly, chatting with the Person Behind the Glass Divider to get my place in line. I was extra friendly and nice because I knew that I did not have an appointment (none available until end-of-month) and was thus at the mercy of said Person Behind the Glass Divider. I knew that the no-appointment detail was unfortunate, but when I had spoken to the Person On the Phone yesterday, she told me that no-appointment status would take longer but was not a problem.
It was a problem. In Liberia there is no provision for no-appointment status. You simply can't do it. Would have been good information *before* driving all the way there! Since the Phone Person was so wrong on the no-appointment status, I decided to ask the Behind the Glass Person to check for available appointments this week. Pure genius on my part. There *is* an available appointment. Tomorrow (Saturday) in Nicoya, which is only an hour from my house. Disco.
Slightly frustrated by my failure, but buoyed by my potential success on Saturday, I proceeded to the turbo mechanic. The nice folks at Laboratorio Turbo Diesel are becoming friends of mine. I see them twice a week this month. After fully rebuilding my injectors, and accidentally giving me the wrong seats, which required removing/replacing the injectors not once, but twice; then fully rebuilding my turbo, and not having a correct gasket which required a little fiddling, we were still right back as square one- my turbo was only producing 5lb of boost when it should give 13.6psi.
It was a head-scratcher, but we rather assumed that the problem was the turbo wastegate, which they did not specifically remember testing when they had the turbo on the bench. Too bad, the wastegate is pretty well hidden between the turbo housing and the motor and is thus a certified pain in the ass to access without pulling the manifold and turbo off of the vehicle (which is also a PITA, but at least it can be done whereas accessing the wastegate on-vehicle is closer to impossible).
I left the truck in their happy hands and went off in search of coffee. I was pleased to eat at the bus station for the second time in a week (not sure about the 'States, but in CR, some of the best cheap food is always at public transit hubs: cheap and delicious). The gallo pinto was fabulous, the coffee strong and hot, and my scrambled eggs with tomato were appropriately scrambled and tomato'ed. The hand-made tortilla on the side could not be improved upon.
After thoroughly enjoying my chow and watching the comings and goings of people at the bus station, I packed up and got ready to run some other errands. Just then I got a call from the LTD guys- they needed my ignition key to test the turbo. "Waitaminute. You've already re-installed it?" "Yep".
Now I'm worried. There's no way that anyone short of a top-flight race mechanic on amphetamines could pull, troubleshoot, and install a turbo in the time it took me to eat my breakfast, it just isn't possible. But instead of argue with the Office Guy on the phone, I walked back to the shop. Sure enough, they hadn't pulled/fixed/replaced anything, but just needed to run the engine to trouble-shoot. Okay. No worries. Here's the key, my bad for taking it (habit).
With that done, I walked back into town in the now-rising heat. I walked to the bank. Quick non chronological plot development: Between the RTV and the LTD, I drove out to the COSEVI (similar to the US DMV, in a very broad sense of the word "similar") to see what need be done to renew my soon-to-expire CR driver's license. Part of the process is to pay 10,000 colones ($20) at the bank and get a receipt. In typical Costa Rican urban planning, the nearest bank is 10 or so miles away from the COSEVI office. So I headed into town and here we catch the previous thread of our story....
In the bank I had number 110, number 74 was at the window. There were eight windows with six of them staffed. Quick mental math told me "Leave. Come back later." Which is precisely what I did.
I walked further into town to find a part for a neighbor. That is it's own saga and I'll save the story for another day, but it involves many, many phone calls and several visits to Liberia to get a part fixed. The part was never fixed at all, despite them having said that it was, and we are back to square one. Ridiculous. Typical.
With no progress there, I walked back to the bank. Not having a car is good exercise. But hot.
In the bank again (nearly 45 minutes later) they were serving number 97, but there were only five tellers now. Still, there was AC, so I opted to wait vs. head out to do other errands. I enjoyed watching a four-year old boy who was playing soccer between the waiting-area chairs and the tellers. He had a little 4" rubber ball and was aiming at I-don't-know-what, but it involved hitting the backs of complete strangers' legs. Pay attention: this is one of the things that makes Costa Rica AWESOME: each time the ball would carom off of a wall and into someone, the Someone would usually look around for the offending object, smile, and kick it back to the young boy.
Can you imagine what would happen in most places?!?! I saw this little miracle of getting along played out a dozen times and was impressed by the gentleness and kindness of the people each time. Children are sacred in Costa Rica.
Eventually a little girl got in on the action, playing with the little boy, and the assault on people doing business came to an end. The parents? I don't know who they may have been. Various adults got involved at various points, but nobody seems to have been in charge. If I were more energetic, I would tie this story together and better illustrate the metaphor that this experience is for living in Costa Rica. Maybe in my novel someday.
SNAP: back to reality. The only reason I got to enjoy this heartwarming spectacle is that in order to execute a very simple transaction (pay $20 to the COSEVI to renew my license) I had spent 40 minutes sitting at the bank after a 45 minute walk around two while waiting for my number to come up.
My take-a-number-and-wait ticket said 9:08am. I walked out at 10:56am and was back on the now-stultifyingly hot street. TAXI!!!
I jumped into a nice, new taxi with a big stinky driver. On the ten minute drive to the COSEVI I asked him about why his meter wasn't running.... and got a mumbled, invented response. We arrived safely and he extorted too much for the fare. I talked him down some, but still got a bad deal. Such is life.
I got an even worse deal from the little "medical exam" place across the street from COSEVI. See, to get your license renewed, you have to have a doctor (nurse? quack?) fill out a form that assures that you are alive, and have enough limbs and digits to operate a vehicle. After checking my blood pressure, height and weight (I didn't write down the bp, but I think that there were numbers like 70 130/XX involved? I'm at the same 66kg that I've occupied for nearly 20 years and unfortunately I'm still 1,70 short with my shoes on) she asked me for my blood type (A+, I knew, because I had called my mother to check) and if I had any ailments. That was the "exam". Oh, wait, she also asked me if I could read aloud a poster that was part way across the room, I could, which was apparently good enough for her. 15,000 colones ($30) and I was on my way. Complete ripoff.
I got to COSEVI and the nice guard person behind the desk (GPBD) shepherded me into the inner building. He and I had talked earlier (remember the non-chronological twist a few paragraphs ago?) and he was very upset then that my driver's license number did not match my residence ID number. One thing that Costa Rica does well vs. the USA is that they try very hard to have all of your ID numbers *match*. It makes book keeping much easier for all parties. In comparison, my recently renewed USA passport number is totally different than my original passport number and also different than my CA driver's license and my Social Security number. My library card is different still, but that's ok, I don't go to the library much anyway. Side to my aside: you can't even imagine how inconvenient the change of passport number is, in a country where your ID number is yours from birth till death. It is inconvenient.
So GPBD was in a little bit of a tizzy because the numbers were different and took it upon himself to Make Things Right. Which was just plain fantastic for me as I vaulted ahead of twelve other people in line, and instead of trying to talk through a 1" hole in the glass, I got to actually enter the office of the Person With the Computer. PWC and GPBD had a conversation that couldn't have been more inane, yet amusing, as he explained the situation, she repeated it, he confirmed it, she repeated it to me, I confirmed it with GPBD butting in to confirm my confirmation, then some sighs and literal head scratching, then finally PWC opened one screen, changed the license number to match my ID number, and this massive problem was instantly vaporized. Ten minutes of 'work' for ten seconds of actually fixing the 'problem'. But, hey, I was in the air conditioned inner sanctum under the protective wing of GPBD, so ten minutes watching other people sweating in 100*+ heat while my problem was solved... didn't seem so bad.
GPBD's kindness didn't end there. Perhaps he thought I needed special care after the perilous non-matching-numbers episode. I don't know. Maybe it was my winning smile? He took me from PWC to another Person with a Camera and Computer. I was genuinely impressed that PWCC managed to snap my photo, take my digital fingerprint, and get me to sign a little digital thingy all while speaking in a voice that I doubt even *he* could hear, inside his own head. Nice fellow, but boy it would help if he could speak up a little. At least the stuff I had to do was relatively self explanatory.
Maybe this is commonplace in some places, but the next part wowed me: the machine next to PWCC's computer and camera started whirring and clanking. It sounded like a sewing machine was mating with a VW bug. Less than a minute later, a minute filled with Mr. Quiet's lips moving but no way in this earth I could even hear his whisper, let alone understand him, and 'click', my new ID spits out of the machine. All done. Nifty! I signed a little book of his stating that I have my new ID, and I was off again- back into the now *painful* 106* full midday sun heat. I stopped to show GBPD my new license (correct number) and he seemed touched by my thoughtfulness. I imagine most people just walk on by. Poor guy.
Sweating through my shirt after just walking across the street, I took a seat under the shade of the bus stop, and awaited a bus. After a few minutes, a cabbie was pulling out and gave me a "What's Up?" gesture. Sort of a palm upturned with shoulder shrug thing. Very common here. He then point towards Liberia. I rubbed my fingers with my thumb in what I believe to be a more-or-less universal "money" gesture, and he showed me five fingers. I thumbs-upped him, he drove across the street and stopped. Still stinging from my earlier cabbie experience, I confirmed 500 colones to get to Liberia. He said yes, I happily entered the meat-locker cold of his taxi and we were on the way. He smelled nice, like inexpensive soap. This was an entirely more pleasant taxi experience and 20% of the cost of the "To" trip. Happiness reigned.
I got back to my truck (and was immediately drenched in sweat again- 105 with humidity just isn't fair) to find that they had made some progress in that they determined that the turbo was functioning perfectly. Being a turbo-repair place, they couldn't help but say that with a hint of smug. After a few more test drives (one without the exhaust in place, wow, that does make a difference on noise and power) we determined the problem: the fuel filter holder leaks air into the fuel line at a fitting.
Let me recap the basic situation here: I've just spent $1,000 on major repair items, as well as about a week of my own time doing the labor for 90% of the repair, only to discover that a $35 fuel filter housing needs to be replaced- about a 1-hr job if you move slowly. Happiness's reign had ended.
While they buttoned up the exhaust and removed the old fuel filter housing, I walked (and perspired, a lot) the two blocks to get a new housing. Along the way, just for giggles, I stopped at the Toyota dealer to find out what Toyota wants for a new housing. A mere $228 for the housing and filter and water sensor, and it'll take 24 hours to arrive. At least I got a delicious cup of coffee along with my comedy relief. I walked another block to the parts store and paid $34 for the housing and a new filter. I also got some hose, in case you were worried. And some clamps gotta have clamps.
Israel, the mechanic at LTD, and I put the new filter in, which required drilling some holes, but that only took a little while. Then took the truck for a spin. Wooo-hooo!! Power. Power like this truck has never shown before. Plenty of boost, and a whole new driving experience. The turbo and injector repairs, while not necessarily the cause of what had gotten me into the shop in the first place, have re-awakened this old diesel motor. I'm very pleased!
My being pleased didn't stop there, however, when I asked the guys at LTD what I owed them for them having put 1 and 1/2 guys on my truck from before 9a.m. until after 3p.m. they said "Well, you paid for the filter, right?" I said yes. "Ok. Thanks for your business, we're sorry it didn't work for you the first time. No charge." Now very very pleased, I left Liberia for the drive home, passing at every opportunity, just to enjoy the surge of power. I should re-iterate that the fuel filter was in no way their fault/bad call or anything, yet they appreciated my laid-back tolerance of their minor mistakes on the other stuff, and thus I got a nice freebie out of it. That's sort of how it is supposed to work here-- a lesson that is hard to learn, sometimes.
Unfortunately, the little rubber connector on my boost gauge tore while I was driving home. Perhaps too much manipulation during the various repairs. So I didn't get to enjoy watching the gauge zoom up to 13psi, but still wasted a lot of fuel charging up every hill available.
I also have to reset my idle setting. The lack of air in the fuel stream means that the injection pump is slighly overfueled now.
I got home before sunset, stopping along the way to pick up some more supplies. Still joyful, I grabbed the mutt and we had a nice romp on the beach, with a swim. After that I took my sandy self to a local cafe to deliver some stuff I had picked up on the way home, and enjoyed a nice martini on the outdoor patio, with sand on my toes and the dog happily greeting each customer who came through. Deposed Happiness leapt sprightly to the throne again.
After a martini, I took us to Sharky's for a burger and beer (where I bumped into some friends and enjoyed a great conversation, and another beer), before finally heading home and into bed, exhausted.
Just a typical day here in what isn't always, but always could be, Paradise.
I got up around sunrise to get an early start on the day and get a long list of things done. After making sure that I had the tools and junk that I thought I would need for the day, I loaded up the car and hit the road...
It took me nearly ten minutes to realize that I had forgotten my coffee. Dangit! I did not want to take the 20 or so minutes round-trip to go get it, but knew that it was going to be a rough morning without. Ah, well, such is life.
I arrived in Liberia after an uneventful 80 minute drive into the rising sun, and was sitting at the Revision Technica Gate when they opened for the morning. I need to do a 'voluntary' annual inspection in order to straighten my vehicle paperwork. The annual inspection is widely regarded as being slightly better than a dental exam, in terms of overall pleasure. So there I was, smiling and friendly, chatting with the Person Behind the Glass Divider to get my place in line. I was extra friendly and nice because I knew that I did not have an appointment (none available until end-of-month) and was thus at the mercy of said Person Behind the Glass Divider. I knew that the no-appointment detail was unfortunate, but when I had spoken to the Person On the Phone yesterday, she told me that no-appointment status would take longer but was not a problem.
It was a problem. In Liberia there is no provision for no-appointment status. You simply can't do it. Would have been good information *before* driving all the way there! Since the Phone Person was so wrong on the no-appointment status, I decided to ask the Behind the Glass Person to check for available appointments this week. Pure genius on my part. There *is* an available appointment. Tomorrow (Saturday) in Nicoya, which is only an hour from my house. Disco.
Slightly frustrated by my failure, but buoyed by my potential success on Saturday, I proceeded to the turbo mechanic. The nice folks at Laboratorio Turbo Diesel are becoming friends of mine. I see them twice a week this month. After fully rebuilding my injectors, and accidentally giving me the wrong seats, which required removing/replacing the injectors not once, but twice; then fully rebuilding my turbo, and not having a correct gasket which required a little fiddling, we were still right back as square one- my turbo was only producing 5lb of boost when it should give 13.6psi.
It was a head-scratcher, but we rather assumed that the problem was the turbo wastegate, which they did not specifically remember testing when they had the turbo on the bench. Too bad, the wastegate is pretty well hidden between the turbo housing and the motor and is thus a certified pain in the ass to access without pulling the manifold and turbo off of the vehicle (which is also a PITA, but at least it can be done whereas accessing the wastegate on-vehicle is closer to impossible).
I left the truck in their happy hands and went off in search of coffee. I was pleased to eat at the bus station for the second time in a week (not sure about the 'States, but in CR, some of the best cheap food is always at public transit hubs: cheap and delicious). The gallo pinto was fabulous, the coffee strong and hot, and my scrambled eggs with tomato were appropriately scrambled and tomato'ed. The hand-made tortilla on the side could not be improved upon.
After thoroughly enjoying my chow and watching the comings and goings of people at the bus station, I packed up and got ready to run some other errands. Just then I got a call from the LTD guys- they needed my ignition key to test the turbo. "Waitaminute. You've already re-installed it?" "Yep".
Now I'm worried. There's no way that anyone short of a top-flight race mechanic on amphetamines could pull, troubleshoot, and install a turbo in the time it took me to eat my breakfast, it just isn't possible. But instead of argue with the Office Guy on the phone, I walked back to the shop. Sure enough, they hadn't pulled/fixed/replaced anything, but just needed to run the engine to trouble-shoot. Okay. No worries. Here's the key, my bad for taking it (habit).
With that done, I walked back into town in the now-rising heat. I walked to the bank. Quick non chronological plot development: Between the RTV and the LTD, I drove out to the COSEVI (similar to the US DMV, in a very broad sense of the word "similar") to see what need be done to renew my soon-to-expire CR driver's license. Part of the process is to pay 10,000 colones ($20) at the bank and get a receipt. In typical Costa Rican urban planning, the nearest bank is 10 or so miles away from the COSEVI office. So I headed into town and here we catch the previous thread of our story....
In the bank I had number 110, number 74 was at the window. There were eight windows with six of them staffed. Quick mental math told me "Leave. Come back later." Which is precisely what I did.
I walked further into town to find a part for a neighbor. That is it's own saga and I'll save the story for another day, but it involves many, many phone calls and several visits to Liberia to get a part fixed. The part was never fixed at all, despite them having said that it was, and we are back to square one. Ridiculous. Typical.
With no progress there, I walked back to the bank. Not having a car is good exercise. But hot.
In the bank again (nearly 45 minutes later) they were serving number 97, but there were only five tellers now. Still, there was AC, so I opted to wait vs. head out to do other errands. I enjoyed watching a four-year old boy who was playing soccer between the waiting-area chairs and the tellers. He had a little 4" rubber ball and was aiming at I-don't-know-what, but it involved hitting the backs of complete strangers' legs. Pay attention: this is one of the things that makes Costa Rica AWESOME: each time the ball would carom off of a wall and into someone, the Someone would usually look around for the offending object, smile, and kick it back to the young boy.
Can you imagine what would happen in most places?!?! I saw this little miracle of getting along played out a dozen times and was impressed by the gentleness and kindness of the people each time. Children are sacred in Costa Rica.
Eventually a little girl got in on the action, playing with the little boy, and the assault on people doing business came to an end. The parents? I don't know who they may have been. Various adults got involved at various points, but nobody seems to have been in charge. If I were more energetic, I would tie this story together and better illustrate the metaphor that this experience is for living in Costa Rica. Maybe in my novel someday.
SNAP: back to reality. The only reason I got to enjoy this heartwarming spectacle is that in order to execute a very simple transaction (pay $20 to the COSEVI to renew my license) I had spent 40 minutes sitting at the bank after a 45 minute walk around two while waiting for my number to come up.
My take-a-number-and-wait ticket said 9:08am. I walked out at 10:56am and was back on the now-stultifyingly hot street. TAXI!!!
I jumped into a nice, new taxi with a big stinky driver. On the ten minute drive to the COSEVI I asked him about why his meter wasn't running.... and got a mumbled, invented response. We arrived safely and he extorted too much for the fare. I talked him down some, but still got a bad deal. Such is life.
I got an even worse deal from the little "medical exam" place across the street from COSEVI. See, to get your license renewed, you have to have a doctor (nurse? quack?) fill out a form that assures that you are alive, and have enough limbs and digits to operate a vehicle. After checking my blood pressure, height and weight (I didn't write down the bp, but I think that there were numbers like 70 130/XX involved? I'm at the same 66kg that I've occupied for nearly 20 years and unfortunately I'm still 1,70 short with my shoes on) she asked me for my blood type (A+, I knew, because I had called my mother to check) and if I had any ailments. That was the "exam". Oh, wait, she also asked me if I could read aloud a poster that was part way across the room, I could, which was apparently good enough for her. 15,000 colones ($30) and I was on my way. Complete ripoff.
I got to COSEVI and the nice guard person behind the desk (GPBD) shepherded me into the inner building. He and I had talked earlier (remember the non-chronological twist a few paragraphs ago?) and he was very upset then that my driver's license number did not match my residence ID number. One thing that Costa Rica does well vs. the USA is that they try very hard to have all of your ID numbers *match*. It makes book keeping much easier for all parties. In comparison, my recently renewed USA passport number is totally different than my original passport number and also different than my CA driver's license and my Social Security number. My library card is different still, but that's ok, I don't go to the library much anyway. Side to my aside: you can't even imagine how inconvenient the change of passport number is, in a country where your ID number is yours from birth till death. It is inconvenient.
So GPBD was in a little bit of a tizzy because the numbers were different and took it upon himself to Make Things Right. Which was just plain fantastic for me as I vaulted ahead of twelve other people in line, and instead of trying to talk through a 1" hole in the glass, I got to actually enter the office of the Person With the Computer. PWC and GPBD had a conversation that couldn't have been more inane, yet amusing, as he explained the situation, she repeated it, he confirmed it, she repeated it to me, I confirmed it with GPBD butting in to confirm my confirmation, then some sighs and literal head scratching, then finally PWC opened one screen, changed the license number to match my ID number, and this massive problem was instantly vaporized. Ten minutes of 'work' for ten seconds of actually fixing the 'problem'. But, hey, I was in the air conditioned inner sanctum under the protective wing of GPBD, so ten minutes watching other people sweating in 100*+ heat while my problem was solved... didn't seem so bad.
GPBD's kindness didn't end there. Perhaps he thought I needed special care after the perilous non-matching-numbers episode. I don't know. Maybe it was my winning smile? He took me from PWC to another Person with a Camera and Computer. I was genuinely impressed that PWCC managed to snap my photo, take my digital fingerprint, and get me to sign a little digital thingy all while speaking in a voice that I doubt even *he* could hear, inside his own head. Nice fellow, but boy it would help if he could speak up a little. At least the stuff I had to do was relatively self explanatory.
Maybe this is commonplace in some places, but the next part wowed me: the machine next to PWCC's computer and camera started whirring and clanking. It sounded like a sewing machine was mating with a VW bug. Less than a minute later, a minute filled with Mr. Quiet's lips moving but no way in this earth I could even hear his whisper, let alone understand him, and 'click', my new ID spits out of the machine. All done. Nifty! I signed a little book of his stating that I have my new ID, and I was off again- back into the now *painful* 106* full midday sun heat. I stopped to show GBPD my new license (correct number) and he seemed touched by my thoughtfulness. I imagine most people just walk on by. Poor guy.
Sweating through my shirt after just walking across the street, I took a seat under the shade of the bus stop, and awaited a bus. After a few minutes, a cabbie was pulling out and gave me a "What's Up?" gesture. Sort of a palm upturned with shoulder shrug thing. Very common here. He then point towards Liberia. I rubbed my fingers with my thumb in what I believe to be a more-or-less universal "money" gesture, and he showed me five fingers. I thumbs-upped him, he drove across the street and stopped. Still stinging from my earlier cabbie experience, I confirmed 500 colones to get to Liberia. He said yes, I happily entered the meat-locker cold of his taxi and we were on the way. He smelled nice, like inexpensive soap. This was an entirely more pleasant taxi experience and 20% of the cost of the "To" trip. Happiness reigned.
I got back to my truck (and was immediately drenched in sweat again- 105 with humidity just isn't fair) to find that they had made some progress in that they determined that the turbo was functioning perfectly. Being a turbo-repair place, they couldn't help but say that with a hint of smug. After a few more test drives (one without the exhaust in place, wow, that does make a difference on noise and power) we determined the problem: the fuel filter holder leaks air into the fuel line at a fitting.
Let me recap the basic situation here: I've just spent $1,000 on major repair items, as well as about a week of my own time doing the labor for 90% of the repair, only to discover that a $35 fuel filter housing needs to be replaced- about a 1-hr job if you move slowly. Happiness's reign had ended.
While they buttoned up the exhaust and removed the old fuel filter housing, I walked (and perspired, a lot) the two blocks to get a new housing. Along the way, just for giggles, I stopped at the Toyota dealer to find out what Toyota wants for a new housing. A mere $228 for the housing and filter and water sensor, and it'll take 24 hours to arrive. At least I got a delicious cup of coffee along with my comedy relief. I walked another block to the parts store and paid $34 for the housing and a new filter. I also got some hose, in case you were worried. And some clamps gotta have clamps.
Israel, the mechanic at LTD, and I put the new filter in, which required drilling some holes, but that only took a little while. Then took the truck for a spin. Wooo-hooo!! Power. Power like this truck has never shown before. Plenty of boost, and a whole new driving experience. The turbo and injector repairs, while not necessarily the cause of what had gotten me into the shop in the first place, have re-awakened this old diesel motor. I'm very pleased!
My being pleased didn't stop there, however, when I asked the guys at LTD what I owed them for them having put 1 and 1/2 guys on my truck from before 9a.m. until after 3p.m. they said "Well, you paid for the filter, right?" I said yes. "Ok. Thanks for your business, we're sorry it didn't work for you the first time. No charge." Now very very pleased, I left Liberia for the drive home, passing at every opportunity, just to enjoy the surge of power. I should re-iterate that the fuel filter was in no way their fault/bad call or anything, yet they appreciated my laid-back tolerance of their minor mistakes on the other stuff, and thus I got a nice freebie out of it. That's sort of how it is supposed to work here-- a lesson that is hard to learn, sometimes.
Unfortunately, the little rubber connector on my boost gauge tore while I was driving home. Perhaps too much manipulation during the various repairs. So I didn't get to enjoy watching the gauge zoom up to 13psi, but still wasted a lot of fuel charging up every hill available.
I also have to reset my idle setting. The lack of air in the fuel stream means that the injection pump is slighly overfueled now.
I got home before sunset, stopping along the way to pick up some more supplies. Still joyful, I grabbed the mutt and we had a nice romp on the beach, with a swim. After that I took my sandy self to a local cafe to deliver some stuff I had picked up on the way home, and enjoyed a nice martini on the outdoor patio, with sand on my toes and the dog happily greeting each customer who came through. Deposed Happiness leapt sprightly to the throne again.
After a martini, I took us to Sharky's for a burger and beer (where I bumped into some friends and enjoyed a great conversation, and another beer), before finally heading home and into bed, exhausted.
Just a typical day here in what isn't always, but always could be, Paradise.
Labels: Costa Rica, dog, land cruiser, liberia, repair, tamarindo, weather
# posted by Steve Broyles @ 4/10/2010 08:21:00 AM 
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