My god, I even use my hands in Spanish

My god, I even use my hands in Spanish
Originally uploaded by ancho and lefty.

You never know what to expect of any birthday party, but that goes doubly so when you are dealing with a birthday party in another country, in another language, and in another culture. I have had plenty of experience with Costa Rican birthday parties--- they were easy enough to negotiate as a mere invitee, but as the guest of honor I was a little unsure if I knew just what to do. Add to this the fact that Ticos (or at least my beloved neighbors) like to change plans without telling you, invite people without making you aware, and generally refuse to follow USA birthday protocol, and I was pretty unsure of how the whole thing would unfold. But, if there is one thing I have learned in my time here, it is to go with the flow. All that control freak business got chucked out the window around March.

And so, it was with little surprise that as I sat in my house painting my nails at 2:15 this afternoon that a truckload of people from Acosta arrived unannounced at my house. They had been invited to the party by my landlady. She did not bother to tell me that they would stop by 1 hour and 45 minutes before the party started.

But it wasn’t 1 hour and 45 minutes before the party started, because the party magically got changed to starting at 3. And so there I was in my house- Laundry strewn throughout the living area (because it sure as hell can’t dry outside), my nail polish and paint remover, my plastic bottle of diet coke, my general state of unready to entertain seven, yes SEVEN people who appeared. Aaahh, but as Stevie Winwood once sang, “you just roll with it baby.”

And so I rolled with it.

As I hung out with my new guests, and one of them took over duties of painting my nails, I got to talking about the party. I thought, maybe I should ask them if they knew precisely where the party was to be held. As of the night before, the party was happening at 4 at Tio Jose’s house, but since things had obviously been thrown into an upheaval, I thought it would not hurt to ask. My guests told me they did not know. So, I asked my landlady who happened to be passing by.

“The party is at Jose’s right?”

She replied, “No, it is at Flor’s.”

“Oh. O.K.”

And so I rolled with it.

The party itself was quite easy to roll with. One of my friends and neighbors made the cake and her sister decorated it. It was beautifully done with a pink frosting as a base and then a hardened chocolate layer overtop the pink. She also crafted some beautiful roses. It was probably the prettiest cake I have ever had for a birthday (sorry Mom).

We ate carne asada (seasoned grilled beef), which was pretty decadent. At most parties we eat arroz con pollo (rice with shaved chicken). My neighbor Oliver manned the grill. My neighbor Flor hammered out tortilla after tortilla, cooking each one on a woodstove. I imagine she probably made 75 tortillas today. Incredible.

The food was good. The cake was delicious. The presents were sweet. It was a party I won’t forget. Luckily, I made it on time to the right house. It was my party after all.