I wake up this morning at about 6:30 and go for a run. In another month it will be way too late in the day to do this without risking a heat stroke. But this morning is slightly cloudy so I am able to run for just over forty five minutes with only the usual rivers of sweat. I get back to my house and realize I have nothing whatsoever to eat for breakfast so I wait about 20 minutes for the sweat to quit sreaming and walk to the conejo to buy a couple of things. On the way I great Carlos' grandfather who is retired from whatever he worked at and now spends his days telling his neighbors that it is "a pleasure to greet you." At the market, I have avocados, tomatos, cream cheese and natilla. (I was going to buy some tuna because I have found that the conejo is the only place in town were I could buy a can of tuna in water for under $1, never mind that I live 2 miles from a cannery, but they aren't carrying it anymore. Salada yo.)
I say "Hi" to the butcher who is also my only remaining English student. I was all set for a nice breakfast. I get to the counter after about a 15 minute wait in line and the guy tells me the credit card machine is down. I don't have enough cash so again; Salada yo. I walk to a bakery on the corner that I walk by at least twice a day but have never been into. No reason really, just havn't. The guy is really excited that I am there. He asks me how long I have been in Costa Rica and if I like it. He calls me Reina and mi Amor about fifteen times in the three minutes that I am there. I walk down to the pulperia passing nasty bar owner who implies that he likes what he sees. At the pulperia I ask about some natilla, a yogurt like dairy product that I initially hated but have aquired a taste for. It costs 300 colones and I only have 200. Julian tells me I can bring the other 100 later. I head home and greet my neighbor who has about half a dozen roosters tied to pegs in the park. Funny they never seem to have hens.
I go home, make toast and organic coffee I bought at the AVC that was grown by another volunteers community. I dip my toast in natilla, only 2/3 paid for, read a September issue of The Economist that has been passed, and will continue to be passed, from one volunteer to another. I drink my coffee. I eat my breakfast. I read my magazine.