The Cheese Shop

On Saturday we walked all around Samara, which is a very small town, looking for an ATM that had cash. We needed cash (which I prefer) as many places don't take credit cards. In this case I had really screwed up my left leg snorkelling and was having trouble walking. I thus booked a cash only massage for my leg.

The temperature here mid-day is posted as 95 degrees, it may be hotter. In that heat my cognition feels as impaired as it did way up on a volcano in Colombia where I was mountain sick and barely able to figure out what was going on (for more on mountain sickness, just read Jon Krakauer's "Into Thin Air".

I went to one ATM to wait 20 minutes in a line in the sun. The Ticos in line were equally as annoyed, frustrated and hot as the minutes ticked by. Here no one goes out in mid-day. 

A woman finally emerged using colourful language to explain to all that the machina had no dollores or colones and kept asking her to try again. She told us the only other ATM in town was at the supermercado. I then sat down on a local corner bar to get either a soda water or a wine - they had neither, while trying to figure out how far away the supermercado was. I can't emphasise how hot it was and my leg was killing me and no massage in the cards without cash.

Catherine looking for a pedicure, found out that the mercado was just around a corner. We trudged there, me almost at my limit. She was close to hers but her leg wasn't in spasm so she would carry on. 

She then suggested I should sit somewhere and she would try the Scotiabank at the mercado. I saw a large scarlet red sign next to the market that said: "Rosa. Resto - Bar - Lounge" and it looked reasonably lounge like. 

I walked in and collapsed at the nearest table in the shade, the next table occupied by a sole young American who was face timing on her computer. I was dripping with sweat, soaked through my tank top and kept gasping for breath given the heat. She giggled sympathetically. I asked for the wifi password and signed in to "Rosa Bar"

A punkish-hippie waitress in her late 20s walked up and asked what I would like. 

"Ola. Por favore una agua con gas con hielo e' limon". (club soda with ice and lime) "Oh...I don't think we have agua con gas, let me check" I think she was German and thus fluent in English. But she did know her Spanish. She wandered away and came back a minute later. "Sorry we have no agua con gas just tap water."

Dying in the withering temperature puzzled, I turned to white wine. "Do you have any cold white wine and if so what kind?" i hated this awful italian and spanish plonk they sell in all the bars and restaurants. I couldn't understand why they didn't just stock solid Chilean wines.

"Umm i don't think so...maybe we have a glass of red somewhere but I will check" She wandered away and a few minutes later came back. "Sorry, we have no wine'. "No wine? Really?" She brightened up. "We have shots!!!" "No, I don't want shots." The heat was unbelievable. "What about beer? A cold beer?" "I will check, I think we have maybe one beer that starts with an "S""

"Stella Artois?" I was hopeful. She went away again and came back. "No, I am sorry, no beer".

By this time I was astounded. I burst out laughing and smiling, "what kind of bar are you really??? It says 'Bar, Lounge. Restaurant' and you have nothing! it's like the cheese shop". She looked at me:"Maybe you go there to that bar, there behind". 

"What do you mean, aren't you the Rosa?" "No, we are the ice cream stand"...I crooked my neck around the corner to see a stand with a small Baskin Robbins set up with maybe six windows of possible gelato. All the front tables were smushed together between the gelato stand and the bar. 

I asked the waitress as I stumbled into the Rosa Bar to get a cold soda water: "Have you seen Monty Python the cheese shop?" She wheeled around laughing: "Yes , I have!"

I am still puzzled about the shots, but then again this is Costa Rica: Pura Vida!