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Thinking of moving to Costa Rica?  7 Books you should read.

7/10/2014

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Costa Rica is one of the most amazing countries on earth, with natural beauty, beaches, and a warm culture that's unparalleled. Every year, almost 2.5 million tourists visit the nation that has no army, and thousands of expats and retirees from the United States and Canada move there annually. If you're thinking about moving to Costa Rica - or just going for a vacation - you definitely will want to read these books. They're not guide books, but real life narratives by people who actually moved there and experienced Costa Rica first hand. The books are listed by popularity and you can click on the titles to link to Amazon.com

Feel free to email me if you have any questions about moving to Costa Rica. Pura vida and happy reading!  

-Norm Schriever   :-)

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Happier Than A Billionaire.

In this humorous and witty account, Nadine Pisani shares what it is like to follow her dream of quitting her job and starting a new life under the sunny skies of Costa Rica. Along the way, she finds reliable utilities are not that reliable, quirky neighbors are unavoidable, and tackling red tape takes the strength of a linebacker. But with all its challenges, you'll learn why Costa Rica is ranked as one of the happiest places on earth--and you too may want to taste the Pura Vida lifestyle.

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South of Normal.

A gonzo blast of laughs and adventure about a year spent in the tropical paradise of Tamarindo, Costa Rica. Frustrated and unfulfilled with the rat race in the States, businessman Norm Schriever quits his job, sells and donates all of his possessions, and moves down to Tamarindo, Costa Rica, with nothing but a laptop and a surfboard. But Norm soon finds that paradise has its dark side. Whether it’s adapting to the local customs and the language barrier, dodging lawless drug traffickers and corrupt cops, or spending “quality time” in a Third World prison, Norm always keeps his sense of humor and forges ahead, intent on finding the paradise he has been looking for. 

To download a free sample, click here.


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In Search of Captain Zero.

In 1996, Allan Weisbecker sold his home and his possessions, loaded his dog and surfboards into his truck, and set off in search of his long-time surfing companion, Patrick, who had vanished into the depths of Central America. In this rollicking memoir of his quest from Mexico to Costa Rica to unravel the circumstances of Patrick's disappearance, Weisbecker intimately describes the people he befriended, the bandits he evaded, the waves he caught and lost en route to finding his friend. 


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Two Weeks in Costa Rica.

Have you ever been attacked by monkeys, hiked in one of the most biologically diverse places on earth, or had your wallet stolen, then given back? Matthew Houde and Jennifer Turnbull share these adventures and more in the book, Two Weeks in Costa Rica.


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Unraveling the Mysteries of Moving to Costa Rica.

Ever wonder what it would be like to leave the U.S. and move to the tropics? This book deftly blends the personal story of the author (who, along with her husband and parents, moved from Maine to Costa Rica) with incredibly helpful practical advice. A wonderfully readable resource for anyone considering moving to Costa Rica. First in the Mainers in Costa Rica series.


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Paradise Imperfect.

Margot and Anthony were ordinary parents. With two jobs and three kids, there was soccer and carpool and too much to do, and a little chronic stress about money. Then one night, following a day that was a regular amount of hectic, Margot had an idea: “I think we should move to Costa Rica.” Seven weeks later, there they were, jobless on top of a mountain, hours from the nearest paved road. This witty, insightful memoir of a family's struggle to right itself in a leafy new world is about parenting and privilege, loneliness and connection. It’s about what happens when a stressed-out technology professional escapes with her loved ones to an idyllic mountaintop...and finds that even when everything changes, some things remain the same.

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Hope, Happiness and Pura Vida.

Heart Attack = One Week Vacation = A Story of Adventure = Life Lessons = Is Your Life in Need of a Makeover? Go along on an adventure as Debbie Knight shares a seven year journey that she and her husband, Chuck, followed in pursuit of the “pure" life in Costa Rica. You will learn about the magic of Pura Vida in one of the happiest places on earth and learn sometimes why it can also be a rather frustrating experience. You will question if your life is on the right track or if it too is in need of a makeover.


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12 Inspiring quotes from Paulo Coelho's, 'Manual of the Warrior of Light.'

6/3/2014

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Brazilian author, Paulo Coelho is one of the most iconic writers of our time, his books exuding an almost mythical presence.  His most famous, The Alchemist, has been translated into 80 languages and his books have sold 150 million copies worldwide.

I recently read his book, Manual of the Warrior of Light, and found myself underlining, circling, and ear-marking pages like mad when I read a great passage, until virtually the whole book is beat up.  Of course I suggest reading his work, but some of these quotes are way too good not to share!

I amend some quotes only slightly just so they can stand alone in this different context. 

1. 
“A prolonged war finally destroys the victors, too.”

2.
“Repeated experiences have but one aim: to teach you what you do not want to learn.”

3.
“All the rage and courage of a little bird are nothing to a cat.”

4.
“Intuition is God’s alphabet.”

5.
“Use fear as an engine, not a brake.”

6.
“You do not drown simply by plunging into water, you only drown if you stay beneath the surface.”

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7.
“The hidden enemy within us is someone we can no longer hurt.”

8.
“God uses solitude to teach us how to live with other people.  He uses rage to show us the infinite value of peace.  He uses boredom to underline the importance of adventure and spontaneity.   

God uses silence to teach us to use words responsibly.  He uses illness to underline the blessing of good health.  He uses death to show us the importance of life.”

9.
“Those who look on other people’s misery with indifference are the most miserable of all.”

10.
“You are not who you seem to be in these moments of sadness.  You are better than that…You are sad - that proves your soul is still alive.”

11.
“Problems seem very simple once they have been resolved.”

12.
“The most important words in any languages are the small words:
Yes. Love. God.

They are words that are easy enough to say and which fill vast empty spaces.”

***

Amazing, huh?  I recommend you give our buddy Paulo a read.  And let me know if you find any more great books or quotes by him!  

-Norm  :-)

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Surfing in Costa Rica?  Check DIS out...and pura vida!

4/27/2014

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Infographic by Manuel Antonio Beach Rentals

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Is Costa Rica in your future? Required reading for expats, vacationers, and backpackers.

9/11/2013

1 Comment

 
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Costa Rica is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world, with 60 million foreign visitors each year.  It's reputation as an eco paradise and beach lover's dream are well deserved, in the land with no army where the national saying is "pura vida," or pure life.  However, just like any place, there are challenging facets to life in Costa Rica, economic and cultural realities that are essential to navigate for anyone spending more than a week there.  

Since writing South of Normal, my nonfiction account of the wild, crazy, and immensely beautiful year I live in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, I get emails, Tweets, and Facebook messages from people all over the world.  The one thing in common is that they are thinking of moving down to Costa Rica, or at least going there for a nice sunny vacation, and would love some inside information.  So I've put together a compilation of the articles and blogs I've written about heading down to Costa Rica.  Most of these are from the Huffington Post Travel or my own blog, and in their entirety I think will really help folks in their transition to life in paradise.  Feel free to drop me a line if you have other questions or want to share your adventure! 

Email hi@NormSchriever.com   
Twitter @NormSchriever 

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Thinking of Moving to Costa Rica? 5 Questions and Answers You NEED to Know!

10 Secrets to Booking Cheap Airfare to Costa Rica.

Your Life in a Backpack; What to Pack For 6 Months Traveling Abroad.

Crazy Facts About Costa Rica.

10 Things to Consider Before You Move to a Foreign Country.

10 Tips to Stay Safe While Traveling Abroad.

The Border You've Never Heard About.

Fun and Facts About Costa Rica.

It's a Small World. 

25 Ways You Know You're in an Awesome Third World Country, Once Again.

45 Jobs You Can do From The Beach.

Virtual Jobs You Can do From The Beach, Part 2.

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Work From The Beach; an Interview With Elance.com CMO Rich Pearson.

Blue, Green, Breathe.  A bonus chapter from South of Normal.

TamaRumors.

I Was Born in The U.S., Yet I Did Nothing to Deserve That.

Finally, give a read to the Amazon.com best selling book, South of Normal, which has been called essential reading for any Costa Rican expat or vacationer!

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Want to be happy?  Practice subtraction in your life, not addition.

6/20/2013

6 Comments

 
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I’ve fallen in love with subtraction.  No, no, I’m not a math geek - in fact I only achieved a C+ average in school by cheating off the kid with coke-bottle glasses sitting next to me.  I’m talking about the concept of subtraction in my life.

When I look around it seems like everyone is focused on addition.  Our American obsession is to add things to our lives: a bigger house, a better job, a hotter boyfriend or girlfriend, and constantly chasing a boat-load of green paper.  From the moment we wake up, we scramble to pull things into our lives; adding that dream vacation, a nicer car, or even 1,000 more friends on Facebook for more social affirmation.  Turn on the TV and they’re hard-selling you addition: the new, improved diet pill (losing weight is adding to our self-image), a dating site to attract your perfect mate, or the seminar to teach you to become a millionaire.  We even say “I wish I could add an hour to my day,” so we could add more to our to-do list, of course.  Our national mantra is: look better, dress nicer, be wealthier, achieve more, and even have a better head of hair (ok, I wish I could add that one.) 

Do you see what I’m getting at?  It’s all about addition: attract, gain, possess, increase, achieve, augment, enlarge - better, more, more, MORE.  Our motors are running 24-7 to pull everything possible into our lives, like junkies who need that next fix.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t have these things in your life, and certainly wanting to make money to support your family or be in better shape are noble pursuits, but the unconscious craving for addition leaves us surprisingly empty.

No wonder why, as a country, we’re exhausted, stressed, depressed, addicted, angry, hopeless, and overwhelmed like never before.  But we try to self-medicate by adding drugs, booze, sex, work, and more shiny new things, and when that doesn’t work, little pills from our doctor.

Why doesn’t addition make us happy like we think it should?  Constant addition brings self-judgment, always making us feel like we’re not only failing, but failures as human beings, incomplete and inadequate.  We compare ourselves to others, but that’s a comparison we’ll never win.  Addition brings us constant desire, attachment to outcomes, and therefore suffering.  The more we get, the less value it has.  So we try to add even more to make up for it.  That’s like trying to multiply bigger and bigger numbers by zero, but expecting a different outcome.     

But how many things in our lives are actually subtraction? 

What might we deduct from our whole?  We can start small by subtracting some possessions we don’t need, donating clothes to charity or cleaning out the garage.  We can subtract some time from our never-ending To Do list and spend it with loved ones, or even with a complete stranger who needs company.  We can subtract a little from our bank accounts and give it to someone who needs food or doesn’t have a place to live, or subtract some of our energy and volunteer.  Any of these things will make you feel richer because when you give, instantly there is more value to what is left in your life.  

I would say love is subtraction, because we are giving of ourselves to others.  So too, then, are empathy, compromise, and compassion.  We can endeavor to subtract from our egos, to shed our fears, deduct from our endless well of anger.  We can place a minus sign in front of our stereotypes, our prejudices, and, so importantly, subtract those images of perfection in our minds that we reach for, thinking they will make us whole.  I promise you – none of that can be achieved through addition.  Try subtraction.

It will feel uncomfortable at first – your reptilian brain is so addicted to addition that you may hear a little voice whispering: “I need to start doing yoga.  I really need to meditate every morning.  I should be more appreciative of what I have.”  Get rid of that mental junk, too – you’re only trying to add subtraction, and that is more of the same.  You need to let go of addition, first, for this process to work, or at least be conscious of it.

So right now, give yourself 5 minutes and turn your motor of addition off, which has been running so long you probably don’t even hear it rumbling anymore.  Give yourself permission out loud: it’s ok to stop.  Be still.  Let go of worrying about your ‘to do’ list, your bills, the house, the car, the perfect body, the perfect spouse, the perfect job, more money money MONEY.  My God, give yourself a little break!  The world is already spinning fast enough, you don’t need to try and speed it up more.  "But things aren’t perfect," you say, and "I'll relax when I just get this next thing done?"  Guess what?  They never will be perfect.  So just stop, breathe, and release it all.  Subtract.

When you stop clawing for more in your life you’ll begin to feel acceptance.  It will dawn on you that you already have everything you need.  You have life, breath – the gift of self-perpetuation to grant you another moment.  And another.  You’ll start to surrender the idea that you have control over things – believe me, you don’t.  Once you make room in your life, the universe will give you everything you want and need.  Wish nothing more.  Try to go nowhere.  THIS is your life.  Yesterday is over – it’s only a memory, and tomorrow doesn’t exist yet – it’s just a concept.


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What might that look like?  Think about children – how purely joyful they are.  Doing what?  Just being.  Running around on a sunny day with some friends provides a child more pure, unadulterated bliss than most adults feel in their own lives.  They need nothing but each other and laughter.  But somewhere along the way we teach them to worship the God of addition (about the time the TV goes on), that they should compare themselves to others, and strive to add things to their lives at a fervent pace.  We strap that heavy motor to their backs and switch it on for them, and actually think we’re doing them a favor!      

"But Norm," you may be saying, "all those things I’m adding will GIVE me a better life, they'll BRING me happiness!"  Bullshit.  You’ve just become a master at fooling yourself that this is why you were put here on earth.  What you’re looking for with all that addition isn’t the material thing itself, but the feeling you think it will give you.  It won’t, or that feeling will be very short lived, fading out quickly and leaving you ravenous to fill that void.  I promise, you can find that pure feeling much easier elsewhere. 

With practice and patience, subtraction in your life will yield amazing results.  Once that motor turns off, the anxiety in you chest will slowly ease.  That nagging voice in your head will get weaker.  You’ll sleep better, feel more clear and calm, and actually notice you’re breathing deeply.  Your mind will work better, like a computer that’s trash bin and cache have finally been emptied after way too long.  A sense of peace will filter down into your life as you realize that everything and everyone is connected.  What’s truly important will glow – family, friends, laughter, helping others, enjoying the ride.  “Why didn’t I see this before?” you’ll ask, smiling because you’re finally in on the cosmic joke. 

I’m not telling you NOT to work hard, hustle, or enjoy nice things.  Not at all.  Enjoy the hell out of them – buy a helicopter made of gold and wipe your bum with 50-dollar bills if you want.  Just make sure you are their master, not the other way around.  Like the philosopher Frederick Nietzsche said, “That which you possess, possesses you.” Or, another way of looking at it: 

Don’t love things that aren’t alive, because they'll never love you back.

How do I know this?  Because my life has turned from addition to subtraction, too.  A few years ago I was an addition junky – the big, beautiful house, two luxury cars, seven TV’s (including one in the bathroom), so much material crap that I needed two storage sheds to hold the overflow, and a business that kept me hustling from sunup to sundown trying to pay for it all.  I used to go shopping every day and fill my cart just to buy something, then bring it all home only to decide I didn’t like it, and go back the next day to return it.  Who does that?  This dipshit!  

The feeling I really loved was sharing time with good friends but I couldn’t relax and do that anymore, I was too busy juggling chainsaws trying to maintain it all.  I stressed more and smiled less, so I kept adding things to fill that void: work, money, women, superficial friends, more women, food, alcohol, and more food.  I was running as fast as I could but getting nowhere, trying to drag 1,000 anchors with me.  


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So I did something about it.  

I gave it all up – ALL of it.  I sold the house, sold the cars, and sold the seven TV’s.  I stopped being a workaholic, stopped buying stuff, and gave up the wom…well, I gave up most of it.  What I didn’t sell I donated to charity in the biggest karmic garage sale of all time.  I even cut some people out of my life who were toxic.    

After shedding all of my possessions I moved down to Costa Rica, to a little seaside village called Tamarindo, to live in perfect stillness among palm trees and monkeys and that beautiful beach, where I would chase my life’s dream of writing a book.  

I knew it was a solution, but at first it still felt alien.  I was like the guy with one foot on the dock and one on the boat.  As the boat pulled away I got stretched until I was doing a split and ripped my pants and had to decide.  So I jumped on the boat, and my life changed, forever.  

That was two years ago and I’m still trying to practice subtraction – to let go of my ego, my fear, my judgment, my desires.  It’s a life long journey that I’ll never get perfect, but do you know what?  The less I have, the less I want.  Seriously – you could hand me a million dollars or the keys to a brand new BMW right now and I’d say “no thank you,” because I really don’t give a shit.  From the outside looking in, those things just look like anchors to me.  I have everything I need – a few changes of clothes that fit into one duffel bag, more than enough food, I get to sleep indoors (most nights,) and, most importantly, I am free to share my prayer for the world, my writing, with all of my wonderful friends, new and old.  By creating so much space in my life I’m ready to receive the most amazing experiences and warmest, most wonderful people – all of YOU, and I have no desire to add anything that will jeopardize that.  I’ve grown to accept life, to embrace detachment from outcomes, to slow down.  I’m open to everything but want nothing.  


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Before you accuse me of being a traveling Dali Lama with a surfboard (as my friend Tamara joked), please realize that I’m still as full of it and flawed as everyone else.  It’s still a struggle, but I do feel with certainty that I’m stumbling forward in the right direction, and that’s enough for me.  So when I hear that voice from my reptilian brain clamoring for addition, which it still does every day, I remind myself to focus on subtraction, because that is where I’ll find true happiness.  And then I give my brain the middle finger and smile and chuckle and everyone on the bus looks at me crazy and moves over a seat. 

Please understand that I’m not trying to be preachy, because no one likes “that” guy, and I’m not trying to sell you anything.  I only wanted to share the concept of subtraction with you because I think it will enrich your life, as it has mine. If you love this advice and it helps you, just buy me a beer some day down the road (which I will gladly subtract from the bottle.)   

Well, I’ve taken enough of your precious time, so I’ll leave you with this: it’s easy to be all about addition, to worship the bling.  I understand that better than anyone.  Believe it or not, it’s also easy to do what I did – to give it all up and start from zero.  I’m certainly not encouraging you to sell all your possessions and drop out of society and move to the beach, too.  That was my true path, and you’ll find your own, I promise.  But I do know that the most important journey in life, for all of us, is to find that perfect compromise between addition and subtraction, our equal sign, for that is where we’ll balance the equation of our happiness. 


-Norm   :-)

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25 CRAZY Facts About Costa Rica!

3/24/2013

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1. Prostitution is legal but possession of pornography is illegal.  They even have unions, membership cards, health benefits, and police protection.

2. In most areas people cannot flush toilet paper because the pipes are old and only 1” wide, so toilet paper goes in the trash basket.  

3. Pedestrians have very few rights in Costa Rica.  They joke that Ticos love to use their horns but hate to use their brakes!  It’s so bad that the Tico word for “speedbumps” is “Son muertos,” or, “The dead people.” 

4. When raising your glass or beer to say “cheers” to Ticos you are supposed to look them directly in the eye, or else you’re cursed with seven years of a bad sex life. (apparently I haven’t been making very good eye contact, then). 

5. Costa Ricans have no addresses and very few street signs.  When mailing something or giving directions, they just point out proximity to nearby landmarks.  So when I lived in San Pedro, a suburb of the main city, San Jose, my address was “50 meters south and 100 west of the church of San Pedro.”

6. Earthquakes are common in Costa Rica.  They may get 2-40 per month depending on the movement of techtonic plates.  Almost all of them are small, though they got a 7.6 last time I was living there.

7. Costa Ricans are not good at soccer compared to their Central and South American neighbors!

8. Ticos put coffee in their babies bottles along with milk, and also give it to young children.   

9. The most popular national beer is Imperial.  They drink it over ice with lime and salt, called a “michelada.”

10. "Guaro" is the national liquor, sort of like a fire-water sugarcane tequila. There is no denying it's strong,  but I find it kind of nasty.   

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11. Fast food restaurants like McDonalds, Burger King, and Kentucky Fried chicken do home deliveries.

12. The meter in a taxicab is know as the “Maria,” which is a loose reference to the Virgin Mary and her honesty and virtue.

13. Cheap brand cigarettes are only about $1.65 per pack. 

14. You aren’t allowed to wear sunglasses or hats inside of the banks (due to so many robberies)

15. The slang is much different than proper Spanish.  Slang is called “pachuco.”  

16. One slang word is to call someone “Mopri.”  This is supposed to mean “primo,” or cousin, backwards.  In the 90’s Costa Rican teen culture went through a phase where they were saying words backwards.  Maybe around the time of Kriss Kross here in the US?

17. A lot of popular bands play the main stadium in San Jose, most recently the Red Hot Chili Peppers and then Lady Gaga.  

18. Scientist actually named a species of Costa Rican fern after Lady Gaga after she played there.  I’m not making that up!

19. They have bullfights in CR but instead of the bull being harmed, it runs free around the ring and tries to harm the brave teens and men who jump in there for sport.  Almost every little town has a festival with bullfights during the holidays.  

20. CR is one of the biggest cocaine transit nations in the world, as 90% of the cocaine that ends up in the US comes from Columbia to Costa Rica, and then up through Central America into Mexico and across the border.  

21. There are roughly the same criminal penalties for marijuana as there are for cocaine and all drugs

22. Robert August brought the surf scene to Costa Rica with his 1968 documentary, Endless Summer, and then Endless Summer II.

23. If you get pulled over in Costa Rica the police can probably be paid off for around $40.  

24. You are not allowed to wear shorts in a government or public office in Costa Rica - they see it as disrespectful and may turn you away. 

25. They say there are Three Great Costa Rica Lies.  It took me a year of living in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, to find them all out.  They are a bit secretive but I do reveal them in my new book, South of Normal.  

-Norm  :-)

If you liked these, check out
 30 Fun and Wild Facts about Costa Rica. ​
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'Jungle Bush,' an excerpt from South of Normal.

3/20/2013

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     Can I be honest with you? I was really worried about dating in Costa Rica for another reason. When I finally did get the chance to meet a lovely nice young lady and we courted and went on seventeen dates and I met her family and got her father’s permission and we got matching tattoos and Googled each other and were finally ready for a special, intimate night together, there was one possibility that could scare Little Norm right back into my drawers: Jungle Bush. You’ve heard of 70s Bush, right? Well Jungle Bush was (in my mind) the tropical equivalent of 70s Bush. I won’t go into too much detail, but for my readers who weren’t born until Puff Daddy started rapping, here’s a snapshot: In the continental United States in the 1970s there was a whole generation of young people who were…how can I say this with the utmost sensitivity…they were all DIRTY. It was hip to wear filthy bellbottoms and man-blouses and everyone went barefoot and slept with each other because, of course, STDs weren’t invented until the second term of the Reagan administration. They listened to horrible music with finger cymbals and three-hour sitar solos and did a lot of drugs. Somehow that was all supposed to stick it to THE MAN and bring the troops home from Vietnam. In my opinion, they should have made THE MAN listen to the music and they would have signed a peace treaty the next day. Anyway, a horrible byproduct of their lax hygienic life choices was that they didn’t have time to focus on personal grooming south of their equators, if you know what I mean. So everyone walked around with 70s Bush, and when they took off their undergarments they all looked eerily similar to Kareem Abdul Jabbar when he fought Bruce Lee in “Enter the Dragon.” Somehow they found this attractive and kept copulating with reckless abandon—it must have been the drugs.

Yes, it was thirty-something years later, but I was in Costa Rica, a Third World country of rainforest where their main economic exports were bananas and sugarcane. Where were battery-powered personal shavers on that list, I wondered? It was called a Brazilian Wax and not a Costa Rican Wax for a reason. They couldn’t even pave their own roads, for Christ’s sake. Pornography wasn’t legal and I had to smuggle in vibrators for the local women! I was terrified that when I finally get intimate with a nice Tica, she’d suffer from a case of Jungle Bush and I’d have to excuse myself from the festivities by faking a groin pull and climb out of the bathroom window naked and run away and possibly move out of town.

Yup, times we're tough on the dating front in Costa Rica. Tamarindo, Costa Rica, surf, ski, snowboard, diving, pura vida, Central America, Nicaragua, San Juan del Sur, Amazon best seller, travel, adventure, backpack, hiking, sharks, Endless Summer, Robert August, memoir, fitness journey, globetrotting, perfect beach, paradise, spring break, expat, live abroad, work abroad, summer reading, around the world, great read, humor, laugh out loud, South of Normal, Pushups in the Prayer Room

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The dude who invented Daylight Savings Time, and 30 others throughout history who were stoned.

3/10/2013

4 Comments

 
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That day has arrived, the highly anticipated moment that only comes twice a year and completely rocks your world.  No, I’m not talking about the two times a year you have sex, I’m talking about Daylight Savings Time.  

I’m not a big fan.  The morning of the time change we run around the house furiously, trying to set every clock back as if a giant comet will slam into the earth and wipe out humankind if we don’t get it all done by 8 a.m.  Just when we think we’ve adjusted every clock, watch, radio, and appliance timer in the house, we’re reminded that there’s the matter of the dashboard clock in the car to attend to.  That in itself takes 45 minutes, trying to cram the end of a paperclip into a microscopic opening while simultaneously pushing the correct buttons with the other hand, crossing us up and eliciting curses that aren’t appropriate for a Sunday morning.

I highly recommend leaving the clocks alone and just waiting six months until they move back one hour again, but that doesn’t seem to be a popular opinion.  

Instead, everyone complains about the hour of sleep they’re going to lose, so much so that they lose 2.3 hours just talking about it.  I have to admit, when someone cheerily tells me “Don’t forget to spring forward eight Sundays from now!” I want to slap them.  And if I hear another bad joke about how we lost an hour, I’m going to kick someone in their balls.  We did not lose an hour.  You can’t just “lose” an hour (other than by watching Burn Notice.)   And we don’t ever “get” an extra couple hours of daylight.  They’re all out there anyway, no matter if we set our clocks backward or forward or stand on our heads and speak in tongues. 

I understand it used to be a “sunlight thing,” but why didn’t people just wake up one hour earlier?  Wouldn’t that have been easier than all of this nonsense?  Imagine if aliens came down and examined our society from an objective, clinical viewpoint.  There would only be one conclusion they could come up with about the bizarre concept of Daylight Savings Time, before they got in their spaceship and went back to the planet Zerthion Phobius 9.2 and sent another flaming comet down to blow us up: whoever invented Daylight Savings Time was really, really high. 

You have to smoke something pretty strong to come up with: “Dude let’s just pretend that it’s an hour earlier, and we’ll tell everyone to change their clocks at exactly the same time, all over the world.  Yeah, that will work.  Now light that incense and roll up another one.”

A little internet digging reveals that a nice fella named George Vernon Hudson from New Zealand invented Daylight Savings time in 1895.  I’m telling you, Georgie was smoking the good shit.  He's #1 on our list.  DST was used on and off in Europe during times of war, but didn’t even become universal in the United States until the 1970’s, to help cut electricity usage during the energy crisis.  The 1970’s?  People talk about DST like it was some biblical mandate.   

This all led me to thinking, as it often does, who else throughout history probably smoked marijuana.   

Some of them seem obvious…

2. Whoever came up with the spelling for “Wednesday” was definitely hitting the pipe.  (I recommend we officially change it to “Humpday.”)

3. The astrologists who all of a sudden decided Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore were baked.  How are you a planet one day and then you’re just a 5,000 mile round ball of rocks the next day?  That’s like saying one day, “Sorry New Jersey, you’re not a state anymore.”  Well, bad example – that would actually make sense.  But you know what I mean.

4. Who else?  Albert Einstein?  What do you think?  Have you seen his hair?  He shagged Marilyn Monroe.  That dude could party.  

5. Mother Theresa probably hit the bong every once and a while – she was WAY too nice. 

6. Ben Franklin was as high as a kite.

7. Michael Jackson was an alien.

8. Whoever built the pyramids had to be smoking reefer.  In fact, the Egyptian Pharaohs did use marijuana for its health and transcendental benefits.  

9. Christopher Columbus carried cannabis sativa seeds on board his ships, and thus takes credit for introducing marijuana to the Americas.  No wonder why he sailed hecka slow and kept getting lost.

10. Queen Victoria’s private physician prescribed marijuana when she had bad menstrual cramps. 

11. Joan of Arc led the French army to victory over the British in the 15th century when she was only 19 years old, but then was accused of using “witch drugs” (including cannabis) and burned at the stake.  She probably fucked up the rotation.  Puff, puff, pass, Joan.     

12. They’ve found residue of cannabis on clay pipes unearthed from William Shakespeare’s garden in England, though he would claim “Doth thinketh it belongs to yee landscaper.”  

13. Jesus was a hippie, walking around the dessert with Birkenstocks and stinking of patchouli oil, never having any money or bringing enough food, but somehow still making do.  I saw him selling hash brownies at a Dave Matthews show in Colorado once – true story.

14. Buddha?  He sat around naked except for a loincloth with half-closed eyes as people brought him incense and snacks as offerings.  Yeah, that’s an easy one.

15. Michelangelo had to be stoned when he painted the ceiling of the Sixteen Chapels.  That’s a lot of manual labor. 

16. Thomas Jefferson grew marijuana.

17. So did George Washington.

18. Michael Phelps, who won more Olympic medals than anyone else in history, had the munchies so bad that Subway signed him as a spokesperson.  

19. Clinton tried it but couldn’t figure out the inhale thing correctly, 

20. Where Barrack Obama got it right.  

21. Not only did George Bush smoke weed, but Mr. “War on Drugs, God talks directly to me,” was a sloppy drunk and a big cokehead when he went to Yale. 

22. Al Gore invented marijuana.

23. The ancient Greeks gave marijuana to teenage boys to try and calm their sexual urges enough to sleep through the night 

Who else are some documented marijuana smokers throughout history?

24. Winston Churchill,
25. Walt Disney,
26. The Chinese emperors,
27. John F. Kennedy,
28-30. Mega-wealthy entrepreneurs Bill Gates, Ted Turner, and Sir Richard Branson.

That’s pretty good company.  Me, personally?  I can care less about smoking or not smoking these days, but I’m glad to see the U.S. is starting to get its head out of its ass and loosening up on a plant that’s been on earth as long as we human beings have.  

But either way, please, I’m begging you, someone get stoned enough to come up with a better idea than the Daylight Savings Time thing.  

Wait…what’s that?  What did you say?  Someone just reminded me cheerily to “remember to spring forward today, buddy, because we lost an hour.”  Please excuse me for a second – I have to go kick someone in the balls.  


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*****
To read more semi-funny writing by Norm I would recommend picking up his new book, South of Normal.  Click on the book cover to see more.

 Tamarindo, Costa Rica, surf, ski, snowboard, diving, pura vida, Central America, Nicaragua, San Juan del Sur, Amazon best seller, travel, adventure, backpack, hiking, sharks, Endless Summer, Robert August, memoir, fitness journey, globetrotting, perfect beach, paradise, spring break, expat, live abroad, work abroad, summer reading, around the world, great read, humor, laugh out loud, South of Normal, Pushups in the Prayer Room

4 Comments

Blue. Green. Breathe.

3/9/2013

1 Comment

 
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The proper word for “the sea” in Spanish is “el mar,” a masculine-gendered noun. However, the fishermen call it “la mar,” making it feminine, because they believe that the sea is a woman. She’ll take care of you, provide for you, even give you life, but if you ever cross her she can unleash a tempest so furious that you might disappear forever. 

The fishermen had it right—the ocean was to be respected, and I called her la mar as well, even though my Spanish-speaking friends always corrected me. She was my refuge, my loving esperanza whom I could spend a few eager hours with every day. The thrill of her company never once diminished.

I wasn’t a fast swimmer and I certainly wasn’t graceful, but I plodded along, steadfast, unsinkable, like a tugboat. When I was out there no one could bother me, no one could reach me; it was just me and my thoughts. I’ve never felt as good as the times I was swimming in the ocean. 

On the surface the water was blue—a thousand points of light reflecting off every crest, blinding if you looked straight at it like trying to count diamonds. But once I dipped my head underwater everything was green—the color of shiny apples. 

Blue. I took a deep breath.

Green. I plunged beneath. Eyes open because I wore goggles, I could see my hands, my arms, and the periphery of my shoulders as I paddled, frog-kicking easily. The sea floor wrinkled like wind patterns in the desert. I could see shells and the horseshoe outlines of flounder hiding on the bottom. 

Breathe. I came up and took in air, the one and only biological imperative at that moment. 

Blue. And then back in, timed perfectly as the crest of the next wave swelled. 

Green. When the sun was overhead rays of light pierced the water and reflected off the bottom, an explosion of glass suspended in time.

Breathe. 

The sheer magnitude of the ocean was hard for me to comprehend. It went on and on forever. And the waves? Where did they originate? I guess the technical answer is off the coast of Japan—the Kuroshio Current swirling counterclockwise south of the equator, pushing up against the cold water Aleutian Current from the north. The result is that the water off the Nicoya Peninsula, where Tamarindo sits, is an average of 82 degrees year-round, bathwater. As long as I kept moving I wouldn’t get the slightest chill, even if I stayed in there for hours. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

I thought about how human beings have explored the cosmos even more than the depths of our own oceans, and yet water covers 71% of the earth. The Pacific Ocean alone covers a third of the Earth’s surface, far greater than the size of all the continents jammed together, with an extra Africa to spare. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

The deepest point, the Mariana Trench, is 6,000 fathoms deep, over 36,000 feet. If the Mariana Trench were a mountain instead of at the bottom of the sea, it would be on the edge of where the troposphere turns to the stratosphere—what we call “space.” Unbelievably, there’s life down there, somehow able to withstand the massive pressure and live in an environment where a beam of light has never once penetrated. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

Zoom upwards at 1,000 miles an hour to the surface and my act of swimming was basically skydiving into liquid sky, a subtle tweak of elements the only difference between liquid and gaseous form. When I floated on the surface, it was like I was suspended somewhere between free-falling out of the plane and the ground far below. I was swimming in sky, or flying in water, depending how you want to look at it. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

There are enough natural resources in our oceans: food, minerals, and energy ready to be harnessed, for every human being on Earth. It’s teeming with life, an energy force so big and ancient that it’s hard to deny that the ocean isn’t just a host for organisms, but an organism itself, possessing a soul. Why not? If a 300-year-old tree in the rainforest has a soul, if something as small and fleeting as a human being has a soul, then who can deny that la mar possesses a universal spirit that we can’t even comprehend. 

Blue,

Green,

I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that the wave coming toward me was all the way on the other side of the Earth just a week ago. It traveled all that way just to meet me, at this very place and time. Or maybe I spent my whole lifetime getting to this exact point so we could come together. Did I create that destiny? Or did something else? 

Breathe. 

I put my warm and fuzzies on hold because I was in the kill zone, so I needed to focus. I’d learned to duck-dive the waves—paddling straight into them and diving into their face, cutting through them to negate the tons of kinetic energy that each wave was eager to deliver straight down on my head. I knew that coming back through the foam in the kill zone would be harder; sometimes the tide turned against me or I’d be fatigued, so the same swim to shore would feel like twice the distance. 

If I mistimed a wave I’d find myself paralyzed in the trough, staring straight up at a curling wall of water. If that happened, I knew what to do: 1) form a cannonball, protecting my head and the back of my neck in case I get dragged over rocks or a sharp reef, 2) take a deep breath, 3) pray.

So to get through I looked for the sets, groups of waves that came in sevens, according to an old surf legend, but in reality the number of waves depended on the storm that formed them. When I saw a break, a temporary calming in the sea, I swam hard, abandoning my breaststroke for freestyle to gain speed, hoping that my timing was right and my shoulders were strong enough to make it through. 

When a big set came in I swam straight up the pitch of the wave and did a barrel roll at the top, like an aikido move to diffuse all of that force, just enough to let it spin me skywards. I had fun, flip-kicking like a dolphin and swimming along the exact parallel where the waves broke so I was continuously high on their crest. I even tried doing flips off the back of the waves, but usually I got only halfway around before performing a comical wipe out, straight down into the valley of the next wave like I was jumping into an elevator shaft. When the wave broke and crashed it sent a mist of sea into the air, falling back down on me like drops of rain. 

Past the kill zone I paddled in another world where it was tranquil, the horizon rising and falling gently like the belly of a sleeping dinosaur. Everything was still. It was nothing but me and the sun and a gentle wind stirring big blue. Pelicans swooped down, unbothered by my presence, snapping at the flying fish that broke the water’s surface. The bigger the waves, the more determined the pull of the current, the more I’d feel at home once I’d earned my place behind them. No matter how many times I swam out there a jolt of electricity pulsed through my body, appreciation so vivid that I had to suppress a yelp. 

Surfers waited in the lineup around me. They sat on their boards, gazing west to assess the incoming sets, perfectly balanced so the tips pointed out of the water. I imagine that those times were golden for them. When they saw the right waves starting to form farther out, they began the instinctual paddle and effortless spin to gain velocity. As the giant awakened beneath them there was a perfectly choreographed dance, lasting only a second or two, where they paddled hard, sprang into a crouch like a jungle cat, and  dropped in at exactly the right time and speed—in perfect control to take the ride. 

There were no other swimmers out there with them but they didn’t seem to mind my presence. Surfing is a closed culture, but a single loco swimmer was no threat, and a rare site. I might recognize a friend from town and say hi, and they’d flash me the shaka sign. Still, I gave them space, circling far enough around and conscious if the curl was going to carry their next surf left or right. 

I swam even farther out, to the school of fishing boats, vacated for the afternoon and anchored in a floating ghost yard. It was silent except for the sounds of rope straining and water lapping against the peeling hulls. 

I tried to count my strokes as I swam farther out past the boats, but lost count after a few hundred. I stopped and treaded water, looking around and realizing where I was: completely helpless, defenseless, and almost immobile, having to keep moving to stay afloat. There wasn't another person within earshot. What I’d basically done was take myself out of my natural habitat, where evolution gifted me with natural faculties to aid my survival, and fully immersed myself in an opposite habitat—traded oxygen and dry land for suspension in unbreathable liquids. I was, so to speak, a fish out of water. It was one of the worst physical predicaments a human being could put themselves in, so why did it feel so damn good? About 257 things could go wrong and only one thing could go right—I made it back to shore safely—so why did every pulse of my nature call me out there? 

I shared the Pacific with countless life forms: whales, eels, crocs who’d wandered out, stingrays, barracuda, poisonous jellyfish, seas snakes, turtles, and every kind of fish imaginable. But I thought about sharks. It wasn’t a matter of IF they were there, but HOW CLOSE they were. Every time I swam out into the ocean I voluntarily inserted myself into the food chain—and unnervingly low on the ranking.

Big White, the Landlord, Man in the Gray Suit, Greg Norman, the White Death, Mac the Knife. Sharks. I was out there in the open like an unsuspecting white mouse dropped into a boa constrictor’s cage. The thought tensed me with fear, bringing fatigue to my shoulders and neck as I treaded water. 

I kept swimming. I was just being silly, I tried to reason. Cramping or being smashed by a rogue wave in the kill zone, drowning only meters from the shore, were far greater risks. The chances of getting killed by a shark were infinitesimal, only 1 in 11 million worldwide. But then again, that statistic factored in people who lived in Kansas and never even saw the ocean, and there were seven shark attacks for every death. What were the odds for people who lived in Costa Rica, on the beach, who swam deep into the ocean, by themselves, every day, and who’d had fish sticks the previous night for dinner? And how many of those attacks were never reported, either because there wasn’t enough of the victim left to confirm or because they were locals, so no one bothered? Gulp. 

There was nothing to do but surrender. I loosened up and kept paddling, calming my breath. If a shark wanted me there was nothing I could do to stop him from biting me in half. Anyways, it would be sort of cool to have a little run-in with a shark, to get a tiny nibble and end up with a scar. Just an itty bitty one, in a convenient place, like on my upper thigh, so it would give me yet another excuse to take down my pants in front of girls in bars. If I could arrange to get bitten by a very mellow vegetarian shark with a massive overbite, that would be ideal. It would be just a scratch really, but instantly I’d be part of the Shark Attack Survivors’ Club United (Against Sharks), an esteemed fraternity if there ever was one. My SASCU(AS) card would even get me a discount at sushi restaurants. I could get down with that. 

Surrender. There was no way to hold onto my fear, my anger, and swim long distances at the same time. The tension in my body, in my mind, would turn it into a mechanical struggle. But if I loosened up and just concentrated on the few things I could control—my breath and the consistency of my stroke—then I relaxed into it, acceptance washing over me.

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

Acceptance. I reflected on that word and deepened my breathing. I was so tired of fighting against everything in my life, of always swimming against the current. When I was young I felt trapped, alone, like I was born into in a red room with soundproof walls. None of it made sense to me—the pain, the injustice, the random dice game of suffering in the world. When I was younger I so desperately wanted to reach behind the clouds and shake sanity into God, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find him. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

Sometimes I swam so far out that the beach looked like a postcard, the people little flecks of a severed former existence. As the sun neared the horizon that fresco sky folded over itself like a mural on fire, pink and orange and purple melting all around me, sagging toward the contour where the ocean met the heavens. I wanted to keep swimming out, to go deeper, swim until I couldn’t see land anymore. How far? How far was too far to get back? I’d just keep going and let the sunset take me. That is how I wanted to end, to go to my peace. 

Blue, 

Green,

Breathe.

But if I could manage to collect enough moments like these, then life might just be worth living. Maybe, if I could learn to surrender, and accept, I might open up my soul enough to let something better in, and then the whole ocean could drown within me. Then it would be all right. Yeah, I wasn’t ready yet. I turned around, the sunset at my back, and headed in.

Blue, 

Green,

Breathe.

I had a long way to go to reach the shore. By then I should have been fatigued, but the swim back was effortless, like I was holding still while the earth was spinning toward me, fate’s gentle conspiracy to bring me home. The dying sun felt good on my back. 

Blue, 

Green,

Breathe.

I realized that most of the problems in my life were from going too fast. Most of my defeats occurred only within my head. I used to stir up the waters, looking furiously for something, and then gaze down in frustration, wondering why it wasn’t clear.

Blue, 

Green,

Breathe.

But if I’d been my own jailer, then only I possessed the keys to my liberation. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

So with each headfirst plunge into the next wave I released the flotsam and jetsam of my negativity, the hurt and anger and guilt that had been my anchors to drag for so long. Each breath was a silent prayer of healing cast it adrift, like messages stuffed into a bottle and floated into the endless ocean. 

Blue,

Green,

Breathe.

I imagined all of those bottles floating behind me, drifting in the presence of that silky mistress the ocean, night and day, thousands of them, more than one could count. Eventually, they’d wash up on a lost tropical island, clanking and shimmering onto the beach, thousands of miles east of that very spot in the Pacific where a man had been shipwrecked, living wild and alone for almost 40 years. One by one, he’d collect them and pull out the messages, unfolding and reading each one. At first his face would register confusion. But as he read more he’d form a serene smile, then throw his head back and laugh, tears of joy in the presence of God who he’d final found: that mother, la Mar. 

For they all read, every single one of them, going on forever:

I am free. I am free. I am free. 


 Tamarindo, Costa Rica, surf, ski, snowboard, diving, pura vida, Central America, Nicaragua, San Juan del Sur, Amazon best seller, travel, adventure, backpack, hiking, sharks, Endless Summer, Robert August, memoir, fitness journey, globetrotting, perfect beach, paradise, spring break, expat, live abroad, work abroad, summer reading, around the world, great read, humor, laugh out loud, South of Normal, Pushups in the Prayer Room
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1 Comment

30 Fun Facts About Costa Rica.

3/9/2013

179 Comments

 
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1. Costa Ricans call themselves Ticos and Ticas.

2. Costa Rica is slightly smaller than Lake Michigan.

3. There are 800 miles of coastline, both on the Atlantic and Pacific. 

4. Costa Rica border Nicaragua to the north and Panama to the south.

5. It only takes up .03% of planet’s surface but holds 5% of its biodiversity!

6. There are over 130 species of fish, 220 of reptiles, 1,000 butterflies (10% of the world’s butterflys are in Costa Rica!), 9,000 plants, 20,000 species of spiders and 34,000 species of insects! 

7. More than 25% of Costa Rican land is protected national parks and refuges.

8. They don’t really have summers and winters like the USA, but a dry season that runs December-April and a rainy season that runs May-November.  

9. The average life expectancy of 77 years is one of the highest in the world.

10. Costa Rica has a female president, Laura Chinchilla.

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11. Costa Rica has no standing army.  It was constitutionally abolished in 1949.

12. They claim a 96% literacy rate.  In very poor and rural areas, where children can’t get to schools, they teach classes over a national radio station.

13. Costa Rica is a popular choice for American expatriates who want to retire in the tropics.

14. When a woman is pregnant they say she is “con luz,” or “with light.”

15. A saying I love is that when someone is your significant other, your other half, they are your “media naranja,” or the other half of your orange.

16. “Pura vida” is the national saying, which means “pure life,” a sunny, feel good expression used as a greeting, goodbye, or if someone asks how you are doing.

17. The average Tico makes $6,000 a year and the average wage labor is $10 per day, the highest in Central America.

18. Costa Rica is aiming to be carbon neutral by 2012.

19. San Jose is only a 2 hour flight from Miami and 3 ½ from New York.  They have nonstop flights from New York, Houston, and Miami.

20. Names are confusing in Costa Rica.  Ticas do not take their husband's last name.  The woman uses her full maiden name for life.  No changing of national ID cards, drivers licenses, etc.  She also adds her mother's maiden name. Children take their father’s name.  

21. The older generations of Ticos are not tall, so most furniture, like chairs, couches, beds, etc. are built 6-8 inches lower than in the US.   

22. Locks (on houses, doors, and gates) almost always work backwards.

23. Milk, eggs, and other perishable items are often sold unrefrigerated.

24. It is common to buy wine in little paper boxes, which you do refrigerate.

25. Often times milk is sold in a little plastic bag, and you have to cut the edge with scissors to open it, which often results in inexperienced gringos covered in milk and putting water on their cereal.

26. Costa Rica is a Catholic country but ensures freedom of religion.  

27. Nearly all Catholic churches face west.

28. On the Atlantic Coast, the Caribbean side, most of the population is descended from African roots, like Jamaica, and speak Spanish as well as a patois.

29. A Costa Rican female swimmer won a gold medal in the 1996 summer games in Atlanta.

30. Costa Rica is the longest-standing democracy in Central America. 


-Norm  :-)

If you liked this blog, don't miss 25 Crazy facts about Cost Rica!

Want to read more about Costa Rica? 
Check out the best seller, South of Normal, a gonzo blast of laughter and adventure from a year living in Costa Rica!

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    Norm Schriever

    Norm Schriever is a best-selling author, expat, cultural mad scientist, and enemy of the comfort zone. He travels the globe, telling the stories of the people he finds, and hopes to make the world a little bit better place with his words.   

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