We're here! January 2007

My sister says the last 10 minutes of the party is always the best. Just as you’re saying goodbye you make real connections and wonder why you’re leaving. This past month in Toronto has been the last 10 minutes of my party. We were out every night, catching up with people we wanted to see before we left, doing what seemed so difficult to squeeze in when we were all consumed with the minutia of day to day living. And I am amazed at the number of people who care about us. Why is it so much easier to open our emotions on departures?

Saying goodbye was torture. I can’t wrap my head around why I was so emotional. This was our CHOICE. Unlike the thousands, the millions of people who have to flee their homeland, often without their families, we were embarking on a once in a lifetime adventure. And yet, I realize, I suck at saying goodbye. There were tears with the caregiver who works next door, who feared Eva, the girl she has known from birth, would never see her again. Tears with my Yoga friends, our neighbours and of course my closest friends.Saying goodbye to my mom and brother at the airport was the hardest. The drama of that goodbye was softened though, by the panic of actually making it on to the plane. My mum and Tim came to the house at 5:45 in the morning and we packed up the car. They followed us in the limo and suprisingly there were no tears closing the door of our house behind us for the last time. I honestly believe my tear ducts have dried up!

Thank god they insisted on seeing us off. When we got to the airport there was already a huge line. And, by the time we snaked up to the front and started plunking our suitcases on the scale we knew we were in trouble.
We had 10 huge dufffle bags, loaded with sheets and towels and cutlery. Espresso machine, frying pans, plates. Books, toys and of course clothes. Maximum weight allowed per bag? 50 pounds. Most of ours were double that. With time ticking Riley andI ran to the nearby luggage store and bought extra. What a sight we were...unpacking and repacking. Shfiting weight around...putting it on the scale, taking it off and trying again. All the while, the bored passengers stuck in line were engrossed in the commotion and secretly praying that we weren’t on their flight. And if we were, that we weren’t seated anywhere near them.

After forking over hundreds of dollars for extra bags were were happy to see them rumble away on the conveyer belt. I secretly wished a couple of them would get lost enroute so we wouldn’t have to deal with the same mayhem in San Jose. (but NOt the one with my espresso machine, of course!)

We caught up with my mum, who had taken the kids to the airport coffee shop to keep them occupied while we dealt with the luggage fiasco. . And our plan for a quick breakfast together fell through when we realized that our plane was leaving from a satellite terminal. They walked us to the security gate and my heart felt so heavy saying goodbye. Turning around and saying goodbye is NOT a good thing either, especially if you’re bad at saying it just once. Another round of tears. And then panic. We had to wait a good 15 mintues for the bus. It took another 15 minutes to get to the terminal and just as we got there, they started boarding the plane. At least we didn’t have to deal with airport boredom.

The flight was uneventful. The arrival was a carbon copy of the departure. I was in charge of the kids. Steve loaded our bags onto two carts and poor Riley had to navigate one of them. In the crush between immigration and the outside we lost track of Riley. I raced back into the airport and couldn’t see him--but did see the cart barelling towards me...the suitcases so high the poor kid couldn’t even see where he was going.

Stepping out into the San Jose heat and hustle and bustle, the kids knew instantly that they were in for a new life. Hundreds of people are crammed around outside, yelling for taxis, picking up family, or tourists looking for their shuttle buses. We hailed a van, loaded our stuff in and plopped into the seats. Despite exhaustion, the kids were wide-eyed, checking out the pick up truck loaded with stoic horses who managed to stay dignified while being bumped and jostled on the Costa Rican roads. Paulie revelled in the fact that he didn’t have a car seat OR a seatbelt.

Our hotel was perfect. Beautiful COLD swimming pool, a bar that sold great burgers and fries and wireless internet in the Denny’s (!) next door!
Riley’s first night was tough. He watched a DVD that his best friend Carolyn made for him. I haven’t had the heart to watch it yet, but it reduced Riley to tears. And that first night he let out a years worth of anxiety and fear that he had been storing inside. We went for a walk, just the two of us and figured out some ways to make the initial transition easier. (Pretending that we’re on a long vacation, remembering that she’s coming in two months to visit, splashing cold water on your face). I thought it would be easiest for Riley because he is so independent. And while it was painful to see him so sad I ‘m glad that we worked through it together. I’m sure there will be more moments like this along the way, but at least now we know we can make eachother feel better.

The next morning we packed up and endured the 6 hour drive/ferry ride, pulling into our new home in Mal Pais in late afternoon. We did a quick unpacking of the essentials and then walked to the beach where we swam, collected stones and watched the sun set over the ocean, then later, lying on the ground, we looked up at the “diamonds in the sky”, amazed at the beauty of it all.