Mientras que en mi casa estoy, rey soy

The direct translation of this Spanish idiom is pretty close to an English saying. "While I am in my house, I am king" is clearly a form of "A man's" -- er, woman's -- "house is his" -- er, her -- "castle." I guess the Spanish might even be the better phrase because it is more gender neutral, unless you are sexist enough to think a woman can't be king.

In any case, I am feeling pretty royal right now, because after three weeks of living out of suitcases and boxes, we finally moved into the house where will be living more permanently (for 11 months, anyway). Although we liked our apartment, this place gave us a little more solitude as it is further up the mountain on property that used to house a granola factory. In fact, our house is in the building where the crunchy goodness was made.

Oddly enough, the new place is a little more accessible as well, because the bus to the school still passes our place (the bus stop is 25 meters away), but multiple buses directly to San Jose do as well. Plus, we couldn’t beat the price; it was less expensive of course, but even with the utilities we now have to pay for, we will still beat the old rent, leaving us to have more than half of our housing for food, travel, and recreation, mainly beer. Which is a good thing, because there’s a nice neighborhood bar right up the street, along with a supermarket, from which we can walk – or stumble – home with groceries.

Coming in the door leads to the living room/dining room/kitchen. It reminds me of Israel a little with everything out in the open. But the furniture is not so porn-like and the art is not so kitschy, being left by a painter that lived here previously.

The kitchen is tiny but functional. The refrigerator is at least as big as in Israel, and there’s actually an oven! It’s a tight squeeze, but if Tim is doing the cooking, and I the dish-washing, we can stay out of each other’s way. Just outside the door to the left is the washing machine. No drier, just lines with clothespins, but so far I’m enjoying the freshness of air-dried clothes; but then again, I haven’t had to race to bring them in before a downpour either.

From the front room, you enter a sort of anteroom. The landlady had a big closet built here, which was a godsend, because Tim and I forgot how many unnecessary clothes we shipped from Israel. Right now, this is Sage’s room, but we’re looking for a futon and a TV so it can become the guest/recreation room. Off this room is the bathroom, complete with a suicide shower where you can see the water-heating wires sprouting out the top. To be honest, though, I’m less scared of that than the huge spider I found on the tile floor the other day.

The bedroom is the last room of the house, and it includes a huge king bed that means I haven’t decreed that Sage can’t share the bed (but don’t tell the landlady). Because of the higher altitude and more open space, it gets colder here at night, but the house came with plenty of blankets – and flannel sheets.

One of the main reasons we decided to move was so Sage could have a yard. The property is big, and we can let him run free, but we won’t until we patch up some holes in one bamboo hedge and make sure the landlady’s chihuahua won’t incite Sage to bite. Tim already has big plans for a garden and some kind of tiki hut, too.

The phone is already set up, and we should have the Internet set up within the week. So feel free to start calling with your reservations. We have five weeks free for winter break, after all.