"I had a farm in Africa. I had a farm in Africa at the foot on the Ngong Hills."
Whoops. Wrong movie. Wrong hills. And not exactly a farm. But we almost did purchase a farm . . . or a finca . . . Finca Los Mangos to be precise.
And how did this Costa Rican house-hunt madness begin? Well, I'm an RPCV . . . Returned Peace Corps Volunteer; and there was a time when we intended to retire in Africa, seriously. My beloved Burkina Faso was simply too hot. But Southern Africa still beckoned with its myriad wildlife and wet-and-dry seasons, Alas, such was not to be, and so we began house-hunting in Zihuatanejo, Mexico. But this notion, like the crime in the State of Guerrero, proved too questionable.
So the words Costa Rica were mentioned. We had vacationed in Costa Rica, northern Guanacaste, to be precise, two or three times. And like so many countries in Southern Africa, Costa Rica offered an enormous variety of wildlife, beaches, and views to make one gasp . . . give me a glimpse of the Southern Cross and I'm on board. Better yet, give me a monkey and count me in! And so on October 10, 2014, we flew via San Jose to Liberia and made the two-hour drive south on the Nicoya Peninsula to a unique little hotel near Samara . . . The Flying Crocodile. From our charming two-story bungalow we based our house-hunting adventures . . . before, after, and during the torrential rains of the Samara rainy season.
Join us on this adventure of selling all worldly possessions (except the Villedieu-les-Poêles cookware that my sweet niece toted around France for two weeks . . . and my 1000 thread-count bed linens), packing-up one 17-pound Lakeland Terrier and a nine-pound cat (age 16), and moving to Costa Rica . . . Montana Samara, to be precise. Are we crazy? Arguably. Will it be an are-we-up-to-it adventure? Probably. But as they say in Samara . . . Lo Que Hay. It is what it is! Let the adventure begin.