Monday morning, November 15th, 2004, 6:30 am, in a Midwest City, United States of America. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… I awake to the thought “it can’t be morning already, it’s still pitch black outside”.

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Fumbling to turn off the obnoxious alarm which I have many times threatened to exchange for something more soothing, I realize, yes, it is another November morning in The Midwest.

I have prepared my morning treat of freshly roasted coffee the night before. I roast my own coffee to ensure my special reward for crawling out of bed is as good as it can get.

Our little suburb is on the outskirts of a major Midwest City and for all practical purposes a very nice community. Just a short hop to the downtown area where I work.

It has snowed a couple inches over night just enough to mess up my car which will need to be cleaned off. I go about brushing off the newly fallen snow and scraping the frost from my windshield while the engine warms up.

As I back out my driveway onto Maple Street I notice my next door neighbor John returning from his mailbox with his newspaper. I wave, but he doesn’t look in my direction. In fact, he doesn’t respond other than slightly raising his hand in my direction without looking up from the newspaper he has clenched in his other hand.

Three doors down Maple there is another neighbor scraping the frost off his windows with the “I hate winter” look. I don’t know him as he moved in just over a year ago. Neither he nor I make any attempt to acknowledge each other. There is a small group of kids waiting for the school bus on the corner; none of them look up or seem to notice me as I pass by.

I take a right on Normandy Boulevard after stopping at the four way stop. I have never met another car at this corner and wonder why we all have to stop every time for no apparent reason. At the fourth stop sign on Normandy I take a right onto Green Valley road.

It is only about five blocks until I can get on Highway 101 but there are 2 stop lights with arrows and the whole nine yards. At the second light I prepare to take a left and go up the ramp onto Highway 101.

The guy in front of me must not have noticed the green arrow and I’ll have to wait for the next green arrow. He gets it this time and we’re heading up the ramp only to run into the metering system which is supposed to regulate traffic and keep us all moving smoothly.

“Form two lanes when metering” the sign clearly states. Everyone is scrambling trying to figure out which lane will get them on the highway first. The next sign makes it clear that: ONLY ONE CAR PER GREEN LIGHT. Yes!! I picked the correct lane and I’m next in my lane.

I feel a steadily escalating anticipation of the green light like a race car driver looking for the green flag. I am gripping the steering wheel as if it were last week’s paycheck and not taking my eye off the light which will certainly turn green at any second. The other lane flashes green and away the car next to me roars…

Wait just a minute, the guy behind him sneaks through as well. JERK! I think as they speed away. Seconds later I get the green and I’m heading up the ramp in high hopes of cruising on the highway.

The newly fallen snow has made the roads wet and messy but not slippery as the maintenance trucks have already put salt down to melt any snow or ice. Of course this kicks all the slop up onto my windshield which requires about a gallon of window washing fluid every 15 minutes.

About a quarter of a mile, just before I get to 50 miles an hour I notice the brake lights ahead and begin my slowdown. Within a minute I’m at a complete stop on a three lane highway. This is the Midwest, not Los Angeles. Can it be?

I look over at the car stopped next to me searching for someone to acknowledge our discontent. The woman in the car seems to sense I’m looking her way and pretends to check her makeup in the visor mirror in order to avoid any type of contact.

Things bump along for a couple miles to the point where I start down the ramp onto an interstate highway, a main artery into the Loop.

It’s moving a little faster but I don’t quite get up to 30 miles an hour. I have to merge to the left into the right hand lane but no one is willing to give me the twenty or so feet I need to merge in. I am forced to stop or hit the bridge abutment ahead.

Now it’s even harder as the traffic on the interstate is moving and I am stopped making for about a 100 foot space required to accelerate into. Things look up as the interstate is also slowing to a near stop.

A space, no the guy behind me quickly grabs it up before I can make my move and doesn’t let me in ahead of him. The next car sensing some frustration allows me into the lane and away I go on the four lane highway at a blistering 10 miles an hour. As so often it is, suddenly I’m cruising at 60 and things are looking up.

I try to clean my windshield but the fluid has run out and I get only a little spray and dribble which does more harm than good. I’ll just wait until my windshield is really wet from all the slop being sprayed on it then hit the wipers quickly to clean it while it is wet.

When the interstate approaches the downtown area, where I work, it narrows to one lane for the traffic heading south. The traffic backs up in the far right lane pretty darn far and moves very slowly because those speeding by in the next two lanes to the left are cutting into that right lane as far up as they can and still accept themselves with their actions.

I know the drill and pass about 30 cars, ok maybe more like 40 or even 50, before I pretend to have not known how the system works. I have to kind of force my way into the right lane because by this time, those who have played by the rules are not too happy with us cheaters.

I try to rationalize it by thinking I’m late for work and will, no doubt, receive the wrath of co-workers for my tardiness. If only I had a license plate from a neighboring state I could have easily taken another 30 or 40 cars.

There are still cars zipping past me in the immediate left lane with their right turn signals blinking away. Moving at zero to five miles an hour I near the point of no entry for the cheaters who have even less scruples than me.

Sure enough one last guy literally sticks his front right bumper between my car and the one about seven feet in front of me. I jam on the breaks and he is in, however, either too embarrassed or non-caring to make ANY type of gesture of appreciation for me not being party to destroying our cars.

By this time in my commute I have felt most every negative emotion: neglect, anger, fear, frustration, embarrassment, aggression and guilt as well as humility.

As I head to the 11th street exit I wonder why we all have to go through this every day. I’ve been on the road for forty minutes now and the 11th street exit is backed up at least a quarter of a mile.

Stop and go, stop and go, stop and go, I’ll certainly make the next arrow, oh yeah no problem, what? “you idiot!!” I scream at the guy in front of me who seems to have less guts than a jelly fish as he jumps on his brakes to avoid any possibility of catching a little red arrow glow in the corner of his right eye as he rounds the corner.

At this point I’m only about 15 minutes late for work. I catch the next green arrow easily and reach my parking garage with no further frustration.

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I circle down to my assigned parking space as if the rush hour world going on outside no longer existed. Upon arriving I wonder if the person who parks to the right of me knows the person who parks to the left of me.

Perhaps they are on a quest to see who can own the biggest SUV. The parking spaces are clearly marked with painted lines on the cement floor and neither of them is over the line but another inch and they both would be.

I am able to squeeze my little Honda Accord in but cannot open the door enough to get both me and my briefcase out at the same time. I think to myself: “I could be making a payment on a Motorcycle, Snowmobile, Boat or 4 wheeler for the $240.00 per month I pay for this parking space.

It is about the furthest space from the elevator and the ramp is not heated. I approach the elevator only to watch the door close even though there is plenty of room for me. Perhaps I’m invisible as no one makes any effort to hold the door for me and away it goes.

Seemingly for ever but actually maybe 4 minutes later the elevator remembers me and returns. Not bad, I enter the office a mere 25 minutes late.

No one and I mean no one smiles, says hello or misses the chance to give me “The Look”. The look says: I made it on time even with a little snow, how come you’re late. You rode the freak’n bus, you couldn’t be late, I think as I walk silently to my office. I sit in my chair and look out the window on the 17th floor. It is still grey out and basically void of color. Time to get to work.

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!, COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!

What the heck? There’s a rooster in the office? Wait, where am I? I slowly wake up from what has obviously been a dream, perhaps even a nightmare. Monday morning, November 15th, 2004, 5:45 am, Boca Sierpe (mouth of the Sierpe River), Costa Rica.

Maybe it was the dream but I jump up with a feeling of peace and tranquility knowing I am at home in my little house at the mouth of the river.

Yes, it was roosters crowing at the break of dawn which is a very pleasant way to be woken up. It’s a quarter to six and fairly light out. I hear the waves crashing on the beach below, birds of many varieties each singing their special morning song.

Howler monkeys are nearby in the jungle making sounds like huge espresso machines. I stand in awe as I look out the front windows at the ocean with its deep blues and whiter than white whitecaps.

There is a huge cumulus cloud out over the ocean with the sun catching the top bringing out pink and blue tones along with the huge white billowing puffs. Ahh, this is the life.

It’s too hard to roast my own coffee here but Costa Rica has the best coffee in the world so it isn’t a problem. I boil water that comes through a hose about a half mile away from a fresh mountain stream. I have a ceramic filter I run it through before boiling, but the locals drink it straight. I step out on the porch dressed in only a pair of shorts and a tee shirt to sip my freshly brewed coffee.

I see my care taker German (pronounced Herman) pulling the canoe to the water’s edge with two red tanks of gas in it. He looks up to verify that I’m up and at it and will be heading up river soon.

Two giant Scarlet Macaws swoop in to eat the sea almonds we intentionally plant to draw them in. The sun is shining and the brightness of the reds, blues and yellows of these gigantic parrots is glorious. Their song, however, is like the screech of a large black crow back in the Midwest. Still, we love seeing them and do what we can to make them feel welcome.

It’s Monday and I’m as anxious for the commute as I am to be at work. A quick shower, shave and bowl of oatmeal with bananas from a tree out back and I’m ready to go to work. I’m in my work clothes; shorts, golf shirt and Tevas with boat key in hand. A kiss for my darling and the usual “don’t be late honey”, “no of course not” and I start down the windy cement sidewalk to the white sand beach below.

Herman welcomes me with a smile that shows the gold in his teeth and brightens the beach. He always seems happy to see me which is a very good thing. He shakes my hand (“WE SHAKE HANDS HERE” – a Crazy Mark favorite saying) and says Buenos Dias Don Jim.

We ask each other how we are as we climb into the little fiberglass canoe. The canoe is still on the beach and he is telling me to get in so as not to get wet but I help him until I at least have my sandals wet.

My backpack and notebook computer are in my waterproof bag just in case we should tip on the short canoe trip to the boat. We put the two gas cans and waterproof bag into the 18 foot fiberglass boat that is tethered in an eddy just off the beach. I thank Herman and we say goodbye.

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I hook up the gas, trim the motor down, start the engine, pull up the anchor, untie the rope from the buoy and begin the 40 minute commute up the Sierpe River.

My commute begins at the mouth of the Sierpe River where we have a little house on a hill overlooking the river and the ocean. I work in Sierpe, a quaint little Costa Rican river town about 15 miles up river. I work helping others find the paradise I have found and have come to love.

It is a great job as I am able to help Costa Ricans transition from small farm owners to more comfortable living in their golden years. I also help others, similar to myself, find a peace we didn’t know existed. When I can find a buyer and seller, everyone is happy which is a rewarding feeling.

Back to my 40 minute commute. I power up and head up river at a fairly slow speed as there are still swells from the ocean in the river at this point which make for a rough ride at high speeds.

A look to the right I see Crazy Mark readying his boat perhaps to go to Drake Bay. We exchange a healthy wave but are too far apart to exchange condolences. I have missed all the rocks which I managed to find with my old propeller and start to accelerate.

Ahead there is a small boat without a motor and two men seemingly adrift. One of the men is waving a white cloth of some type. As I approach I see it is Reynaldo my neighbor in the boat with his son.

Reynaldo raises great bananas and trades them with me for rides to and from town. Today it is his son who needs a ride to work. We shake hands, ask each other how everything is and the son climbs into my boat.

The river has many sand bars, all of which call me by my first name from the meetings we have had. I have nudged all of them at one time or another. I avoid them this morning and round the first big corner of the river.

Ahead the water is flat calm reflecting three ranges of beautiful lush green Costa Rican Mountains. Birds scurry into the mangroves where they think I can’t see them. Some people can name each species but I just know they are neat looking birds. We hug the south shore of the river to avoid contact with a large sandbar not far from shore.

We are coming up on a long covered dock that comes out of the mangroves to the river’s edge then has a staircase down to the flats. Jorge who has lived there for years is doing a little repair on his dock but takes time out to smile and exchange a hearty wave. Around the next corner Melvin is walking from his house and spots us cruising by. He also smiles as we each wave as if to say: “Hello my friend”.

We are still the first boat on the flat calm river surrounded by mangroves backed by rolling hills and mountains in the distance. You could not paint a more peaceful, tranquil, beautiful picture as the Sierpe River in the early morning.

We sail past the Rio Sierpe Lodge where there doesn’t seem to be any action yet. The owner, another Mark, moved here from Iowa 20 some years ago has been running the Lodge ever since.

At the end of the straight stretch we duck into a small channel to take advantage of a short cut only usable at three quarters to high tide. I always pretend I’m super boat captain here and go just a little faster than I probably should.

The channel narrows to a point where two boats can barely pass and of course if you only meet one boat the whole way, this is were you will meet them. The narrow channel wanders through the mangrove giving you the feeling of a tunnel. It is a spectacular scene of quiet solitude which brings out tourists cameras faster than Matt Dillon could have drawn his six shooter.

Back out into the main river which is wide but none the less magnificent. The first boat of the morning commute appears ahead coming our way. As it nears I can tell by the shape of the boat along with the green canopy, it is Chicho a long time boat captain and Sierpe resident.

As we pass each other we wave and smile. He has no passengers in his boat so he is more than likely off to Drake Bay or somewhere to pick up passengers. When I first came to Sierpe nearly 20 years ago Chicho took me fishing in both the river and ocean. He is a cautious and expert boat captain who knows the river, boca and ocean from a lifetime of navigating them.

Soon the river has flattened out and is once again smooth as glass. As we round the next bend we see a thousand white egrets that have come from various locations to roost in the branches of the mangrove trees hanging out over the river.

It must be time for them to go off in search of food as they all take to the air creating a scene which is breathtaking. They fly along in front of the boat for just a minute before peeling off in several directions.

Reynaldo’s son signals this is where he would like to be let off so we pull over to the shore at an opening. As always, he offers to pay for the ride and as always I refuse any cash, we shake hands again and he disappears into the jungle.

As I throttle up I see a small hand hewn dugout canoe under a branch of a mangrove tree. The man is fishing with a hand line for red snapper a culinary favorite of the local population. When he casts a glance in my direction I give the customary wave which is returned with enthusiasm.

There is an unwritten law of the river that if any boat has a problem you stop to see what help you can offer. Several years ago I was going fishing and the motor on the boat I had hired conked out halfway down the river. I had been looking forward to fishing and knew the motor repair would take many hours, cutting my fishing day in half.

The first boat going up river stopped, helped the boat captain remove the incapacitated motor, throw it in their boat, tie our motorless boat in the shade and took off up river. Within 45 minutes our boat captain (Chicho by the way) was back with a different motor, installed it and we were on our way to a great day of fishing. The whole thing took only an hour because people helped people with out any hesitation.

Ahead I see the telltale sign of a crocodile. Two little bumps moving across the river leaving a little wake. As I approach there is an enormous splash as if someone had dropped a bowling ball out of an airplane, and the 6 foot crock has submerged.

Just beyond where I see the crock there is a family of white faced monkeys moving from branch to branch jumping swinging and watching me to make certain I am not here to hurt them.

Boat ahead! I see a boat loaded with 7 people heading up river. The tiny 4 horsepower motor barely keeps the boat moving. With the weight of the 7 passengers, the water is about two inches from the gunnel which confirms that I do not want to make a large wake.

I slow down to a speed just faster than theirs to avoid swamping them. Before I can wave, they all wave simultaneously as if to say: Thank you and good morning. I am now just ten minutes from Sierpe, they are probably forty-five.

WOW! Rush hour traffic, there is another boat ahead. This is a larger boat and it is stopped near the river bank. I see by the boat it is Carlos the nature tour guide with a group of tourists each with either binoculars or a cameras pointing in the same direction.

Carlos has spotted a three toed sloth high in a tree and they are all glued to it with their “gear”. Carlos and I exchange waves and smiles while the tourists stay focused on the sloth. I know the tour and glance at the bat tree he no doubt just left. The bat tree is a tree which grows out over the river where bats sleep in a row to appear as a snake for protection.

As I approach Sierpe there are water hyacinth dotting the river with thick green foliage and bright purple flowers, floating like little clumps of table bouquets drifting freely in this fabulous river.

As I arrive at Sierpe I see the finish line. The finish line is an airborn waterline which carries the water to Sierpe from the nearby mountains. A four inch pipe runs over the Sierpe River strung on cables. It leaks in one area and sometimes if I’m really hot, I’ll take that spot for a little cool down.

With certain friends I will hit the water spray intentionally and then tell them it is a sewer line. I am in the no wake zone and have slowed to a crawl as I round the final corner exposing the quaint little river town of Sierpe.

By the time I reach the Oleaje Sereno dock Edwin is there with a radiant smile and “Buenos Dias Don Jim”. He asks how I am and I ask the same of him. Almost before he grabs onto the boat we have the traditional hand shake. I like that.

I take my backpack and notebook computer out of the boat and walk towards the hotel Oleaje Sereno. Edwin takes care of the boat and moves it to a safe place where it will rest until I start my equally as great commute home in the afternoon. There is a table outside of the hotel restaurant with several boat captains sitting around it.

They ALL say hello, smile and shake my hand. Inside the restaurant Alfonso says in nearly perfect English, “good morning Mr. Jim” and shakes my hand. Sarah is behind the counter but comes out to say good morning and give me the feminine version of the hand shake where you put your cheeks together and kiss the air.

My business partner, and Edwin’s wife (Sonia) is there smiling and gives me a big hug, a kiss and asks me how I am. Sarah has already brought me a cup of coffee while Sonia gives me all the updates, leads for listings and potential seekers of a piece of this paradise.

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I pick up my things and walk two blocks to the grocery store where we maintain a small office for our little real estate business. On the way from the hotel to the grocery I see, Rafa the boat builder and boat taxi service operator, Jose a boat captain that my wife thinks looks like a stereotype pirate, Elias a farmer and friend, Jorge another restaurant owner and Henry the son of Chicho.

All of them shake my hand, smile and ask me how I am. Once at the little grocery store “El Fenix” I am greeted by Cholo, Carmen and Lisette who all either shake my hand or put their cheek to mine and ask how I am.

It has been an hour since I left my little house at the boca and every single person I saw along the way greeted or acknowledged me in a positive way.

I’m smiling and thinking to myself: “this is too good to be true.” I switch a couple of cords, plug in my computer, turn it on and click on the RACSA icon to get the internet up and running. It is slow but I have come to realize that life here is slow and wonderful. Eventually my email comes up and I am able to read my first email.

“Dear Sir,
My husband and I have been thinking for some time of buying a little property in Costa Rica to get away from the harsh winters of northern Michigan. We want a little house and maybe enough land to enjoy the wildlife. We are looking for peace and tranquility but don’t have a lot of money. Any information will be greatly appreciated.”
Don and Kim Anderson.

I get excited at the possibility of helping these folks find the paradise I love so dearly and cannot wait to start what I want to be about three pages of response. I reflect on the commute up river, think about the upcoming commute back home and realize that I ALWAYS look forward to my commute.

Paradise found!

For over 20 years, the professionals at Amigos de Osa have been building their reputation within the Osa Peninsula. They primarily represent the Sierpe River Valley, specializing in riverfront properties and also have several listings in the surrounding areas of Palmar Sur and Drake Bay.

Their Costa Rican partner, Sonia Rojas, is a member of the Costa Rica Board of Realtors and is certified by the CCCBR. Her extensive knowledge of Costa Rican municipalities adds assurance to buyers. Co-founder, Jim Cameron, has been traveling to the area since 1976 and buying and selling properties for the past two decades. His experience and commitment to 100% customer satisfaction has been tried and tested.

Another partner, Trevor Cameron, has been traveling to Costa Rica for half his life and living full time in Sierpe since 2006. He offers client care before, during and after the sale and his fluency in Spanish provides excellent service to both the buyer and seller.

The newest member of the team, Chelsea Carlsson, recently graduated from California State University, Chico and after attending school in Costa Rica decided it was the place to begin her career. Acting as Amigos de Osa’s Buyer’s Agent, Chelsea is dedicated to finding the perfect property for her clients.

The Costa Rica real estate professionals at Amigos de Osa pride themselves on helping you to find “A Piece of Paradise with Peace of Mind.”

If you are an ‘adventurer’ and are seriously interested in buying Costa Rica real estate in the Sierpe River area and want Jim Cameron to help you, please help us to help you by giving us your your email address and answer the three little questions in the form below:

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