Dear Miss Move Abroad,

I plan to move to Panama next year and wanted your advice on how best to bring my possessions with me. I want to bring my cars, my appliances, and most of my furniture. I plan to ship a container from Miami to Panama, but hear that getting a container through customs can be a headache. Any advice?

Canal-bound

_______________________

Dear Canal-bound,

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that read:

DESIRE

ACQUIRE

DISCARD

REPEAT

We all live within that cycle, but we can resist it if we put in some effort.

My advice to you is to pare down. (If you know now that paring down for you is as likely as rock-hard abs for Santa Clause, then skip to some concrete advice on shipping to Panama).

But why lug your old life with you to a new country, especially when you have to pay so dearly for the privilege? And you will pay–thousands of dollars for shipping, high tariffs (duties on imported goods), and time and energy navigating the bureaucracy.

The easiest way to bring your possessions into Panama is as checked luggage on a flight. But most people–even adventurous souls who decide to pick up and move to another country–have a lot of stuff that they’ve accumulated over the years.

If you’ve lived in one place for a while, I’ll bet that you’ve been meaning to purge your belongings–to have a garage sale or take a few trips to the Salvation Army drop-off station.

It feels good to pare down, and a lot of people who move abroad do so in part because they want to simplify their lives.

You can start simplifying long before you make the move, by thinking carefully about what possessions you can’t live without, then selling or giving away the rest.

“I thought about selling all my favorite things, all the great stuff I’ve collected over the years, and I just couldn’t do it,” says Mary Ann Jackson, who moved to Costa Rica in 2004. “But I wasn’t going to lug it all with me, either. So I gave it all away to friends. Now I can visit my stuff in their houses.”

But ok, if you want to ignore my advice and still bring all your stuff to Panama in a container, then here’s some practical tips on shipping to Panama, courtesy of Our Man in Boquete, a German-born jazz-loving former airline pilot who relocated to Panama in late 2009.

Photo of skateboarders in Panama City by David W. Smith.

If you’re moving to Panama (or anywhere), it makes sense to pare down. But if after the garage sale and the dump run and donating your clunker to your nephew, you’ve still got stuff to ship, here’s some firsthand advice from Our Man in Boquete, who relocated to Panama in late 2009. Scroll to the bottom for advice on shipping cars, though Our Man’s basic advice is: Don’t Do It!

“First, if you already have a pensionado visa granting you residency in Panama, you may import US$10,000 worth of used household goods duty-free. If you don’t have residency, you’ll have to pay customs duty on everything. Basically it’s 5% as far as I know. It depends, however, on the discretion of the customs guys to appraise the value of the goods, so it’s an open field (and subject to how much you’re willing to bribe). It doesn’t help to show receipts from where you bought the stuff; they are free to appraise whatever they want.”

Heading for Chiriqui? Arrange for customs clearance in David

“Try to avoid having customs clearance done in Balboa harbor (that’s the harbor at the Pacific end of the Panama Canal) or in Colon (at the Caribbean end of the canal). If you’re intending to live anywhere in the province of Chiriqui [like the expat haven of Boquete], ask the shipping agent to have the container dispatched to David [after it goes through the canal] for customs clearance. To achieve this it is very important to have the destination in the Bill of Loading read: “To____(the place where you’re going to live) via David” Insist on this with your U.S. shipping agent and/or the local agent contracted by the U.S. shipper.

“There’s a very small customs office near the David airport, and it’s much easier to get the stuff through customs here. There’s a lady named Juana who’s in charge of imports (Spanish speaking only), and a small “regalo” (gift) passed discretely via handshake helps smooth the procedure considerably.”

Don’t sit on your hands

“It is also very important and helpful to be present in person a couple of days before the shipment is due to arrive in port [Balboa or Colon], and to contact the local agent directly. Get involved — don’t leave it to the discretion of your agent! There may be many kinds of problems showing up anytime…and for every day the container stays in the harbor they’ll charge you an additional $125. Again, having the container shipped to David for customs clearance avoids this possible storage problem since the container will only stay in port for the minimum required time before going on to David. Also, David customs most likely won’t charge you exotic fees like “Quarantine exemption fee for wooden furniture” or “Fee for unusually extensive customs inspection” that might (and did, for people I know) occur at those other customs offices. It goes without saying that one should be also present at the customs office where clearance will take place.”

(Not) importing cars into Panama

Our Man in Boquete strongly advises not importing cars to Panama. “From everything I’ve heard,” he writes, “it’s a nerve-wracking and costly procedure. There’s the appraisal problem, where they don’t give a damn about what you paid for your car in the U.S. They will also keep your car(s) in custody for as long as all the necessary paperwork needs to be finished, and that can take months!

“And they’ll charge you storage costs for each and every day.

“If you’re willing to cough up a couple of grand it may speed up the procedure but why do this? Cars in Panama are reasonably priced and readily available, so unless you’ve hung your heart on a very special car it really doesn’t make sense to import a car here.

“One more note: Although by law you’re entitled to import a car duty-free every two years if you’ve got a pensionado visa, hardly anybody is doing it. Why not? Well, although you won’t have to pay customs duty, they’ll charge you a 5% “sales tax” based (again) on their free-ranging appraisal of the car’s value, plus storage fees and the whole shebang.”

Parting advice

“Basically, I’d advise to scale down the amount of stuff to be shipped. Moving to another country also is some kind of a new beginning, so why carry all that old baggage with you?”

Miss Move Abroad agrees.

It’s not a decision made lightly, and it’s not, as some might imagine, usually motivated by politics. But more and more expats abroad are giving up their U.S. citizenship, fueled by frustrations over tax and banking questions.

The U.S., for example, is the only industrialized country to tax its overseas citizens on income earned abroad. That income is often also taxed in the country where it is earned, which means the incoming stream is dipped into not once but twice.

Double taxation is not the only problem for American expats abroad. New banking regulations have made it harder for expats to keep bank accounts in the United States and in some cases abroad. The regulations are intended to curb tax evasion and (under the Patriot Act) to help prevent money from flowing to terrorist groups. “Some U.S.-based banks have closed expats’ accounts,” according to an article in the New York Times, “because of difficulty in certifying that the holders still maintain U.S. addresses, as required by a Patriot Act provision.”

The numbers

In the last quarter of 2009 (the most recent period for which there are statistics), 502 expatriates gave up their U.S. citizenship or permanent residency status. Though it’s a tiny percentage of the over 5 million Americans the State Department says live abroad, the number is more than twice the total for all of 2008, when just 235 people gave up their citizenship. For all of 2009, the number was 743. And, reports the New York Time, “waiting periods to meet with consular officers to formalize renunciations have grown.”

What about you?

If you’re a U.S. citizen living abroad, have you ever considered giving up your U.S. citizenship?

Though Rosy Rios and Doug Ancel of Reno, Nevada, knew they wanted to run a B&B in Costa Rica, they never intended to build one from the ground up. But that’s what happened on the way to their Hideaway Hotel, which opened in 2008.

First, they chose the place, driving the length of the Nicoya Peninsula, looking for a beach town with enough tourist infrastructure to run a business but without the overbuilding and overreaching that can spoil a place.

They came equipped, with backgrounds in business, real estate and construction, and a chunk of savings that would let them take a good shot at their dream. Rosy spoke Spanish, and Doug was learning.

Looking to Buy

Once they settled on Playa Samara, halfway down the peninsula and with a sweeping half-moon beach washed by waves gentle enough for swimming, they had local realtors show them what was on offer.  They looked inland, “in the jungle,” but it was too hot. Places in the town of Samara were “too noisy—roosters, cars, and chain saws,” says Rosy. And when they liked the location, the building didn’t seem right.

They remember that one realtor showed them a hotel, assuring them, “If you buy this, I guarantee you’ll make your money back in 5 years.” Being familiar with the ups and downs of real estate and business, Doug and Rosy knew that a realtor should never in good conscience make such assurances. They put their guard up even higher.

Howler monkey at the Hideaway Hotel, Playa Samara, Costa Rica; photo by Doug Ancel

One day, after months of searching, they turned off the coast highway onto a one-lane road that ran straight to the southern end of Playa Samara. Wouldn’t it be great, they agreed, to have a place within walking distance of the beach? But there were no hotels for sale on that road.

A little later, in April 2004, they heard through the grapevine that a German woman was selling a 1-acre parcel of land on the very road that inspired their ‘wouldn’t it be nice’ musings. It wasn’t listed with any realtors.

Doug and Rosy looked at the land and loved it. But it had no structures on it; their dream had been to buy and renovate an existing hotel.

The location, however, was perfect, and the price wasn’t half-bad. And so, after checking to make sure they’d have easy access to water, electricity, and phone line, and after some back-of-envelope calculations and late-night soul-searching, they decided to go for it. They did what most people moving to a new country or starting a business have to do at some point: change the master plan in order to accommodate an opportunity that may not come your way again.

Building a dream, from the ground up

Anyone who’s ever built a house or a hotel knows what comes next. It took Doug and Rosy a little over four years from purchase of property to opening the Hideaway Hotel in July 2008. I’m sure they could write a book about those four years, but here are a few high (and low) points.

Building the Hideaway Hotel in Playa Samara; photo by Doug Ancel

They knew what they wanted-a clean, contemporary design, high-quality construction to North American/European standards, and about a dozen spacious rooms. They wanted a pool, landscaped grounds, and a modern wastewater system that would allow them to irrigate the grounds with gray water and to give North American guests the privilege of flushing toilet paper instead of putting it in a waste container next to the toilet, which is the Tico style.

They got a good lawyer (key to getting anything done in Costa Rica), who introduced them to an architect who had a good reputation. “But he didn’t deliver,” says Rosy, so they set up meetings with several architect/ builder pairs, chose their favorite, and got to work. “The design process took some time,” continues Rosy “We wanted to be sure to choose the finishes, tile, granite, etc. ourselves.”

The permit process was also challenging. “We were held up in SETENA for 6 months,” Rosy says. “Apparently SETENA [the Secretaria Tecnica Nacional Ambiental] was backed way up at the time.”

“We were ‘next in line,’” adds Doug, “for a good 5 or 6 months.”

The web site costaricalaw.com explains, “the sole mission of SETENA is the administration of the process to review and evaluate environmental impact considerations. Builders and real estate developers cringe when they hear the word SETENA.”

“But our building permit didn’t take much time,” says Rosy. “You just present plans to the municipality and pay the fees.”

The pool before it was a pool at the Hideaway Hotel in Playa Samara; photo by Doug Ancel

Once construction got underway, Doug stayed on site as much as possible to oversee the work. The builder went over budget, and there were construction delays. But when the Hideaway Hotel opened its doors in 2008, it all seemed worth it. “Local realtors couldn’t believe it,” says Doug. They said, ‘You guys actually opened! So many projects end up unfinished ruins.’”

Their hotel is indeed no ruin; it’s a lovely place with the sort of amenities you really appreciate after having been on the road for while, from the spacious shower to the mini-fridge to blackout curtains for the times you need to adjust to jet lag or turn in early to make a wee-hours flight the next day. A hundred feet from your poolside breakfasts are trees often full of howler monkeys.

Advice on opening a B&B in Costa Rica

I asked Rosy and Doug if they have any advice for opening a B&B or a hotel in Costa Rica.

“Find one that’s been built,” Rosy laughs ruefully, although she also says she feels proud of how well their from-the-ground-up building turned out.

“It takes time to grow a business,” says Doug. “So you need operating reserves to tide you over. We planned not to make any money the first years,” he smiles, “And so far, we’re right on plan.”

But even in the months after I visited, their was an uptick in guests, and the hotel is getting great press in guidebooks and online-when I last looked they were the #2 Samara hotel on Trip Advisor. I have little doubt that the next few years will bring even more visitors and a return on their investment, both in financial and life-satisfaction terms. After all, they dreamed a dream and then, with hard work and imagination, they made it happen. It’s all part of the (somewhat flexible) master plan.

Photo of finished version of the Hideaway Hotel by David W. Smith

With the new immigration reforms that go into effect in Costa Rica on March 1, expats who are legal residents in Costa Rica must enroll in the national healthcare system called the Caja, which gives them low-cost access to neighborhood clinics, pharmacies, and public hospitals.

Some Costa Rica expats are satisfied with Caja (public) care; others opt to supplement or replace it with private care, paid out of pocket or through national or international health insurance.

One whole-hearted and one half-hearted fan of the Caja (Costa Rica’s national healthcare)

San Ramon-based expat Stephen Duplantier, 65, is a Caja fan. “We are very happy with it,” he said recently. “It’s US$18/month (a discounted rate through Association of Residents of Costa Rica–the ARCR). We go to local EBAIS (a neighborhood clinic), where there’s an excellent doctor and excellent nurses, plus all pharmaceuticals are free. Recent surgeries, diagnostic tests, ER use, pharmacy, etc.–all are totally free and high quality, and the waiting time is equal to our experience in the States.”

I agree that the Caja can be great for routine care, but when I found I needed surgery, I moved from the public to the private realm. I’d been part of the Caja system, paying around $60/month at the age of 41 and happily using their neighborhood clinics for routine care, tests, and medications. But when it became clear that I would need a major procedure, I defected to private care, opting to pay out of pocket (I’d let my U.S. insurance lapse). I was happy with the care at private Clínica Bíblica, though the final price for my stay, while quite low in comparison to U.S. prices, was still more than twice what I’d been quoted in a formal estimate.

Two that had bad experiences at public Costa Rica hospitals

Others are not so happy with the Caja.

After a motorcycle accident in Costa Rica, Matt Hogan sampled both public and private hospitals. Photo: David W. Smith

Take Matt Hogan, 35, co-founder of Finca Bella Vista, a sustainable treehouse community near the Osa Peninsula. In late 2009 he had a motorcycle accident, and was taken to the newly opened public hospital in Ciudad Cortéz. “All the newspapers had been boasting about the brand-new, state-of-the-art facilities and medical equipment, 300 clean new beds, and the rest,” says Matt. What the newspaper accounts failed to mention, according to Matt, was that all those new beds were serviced by only a few doctors who showed up only once in a while.

Matt says he suffered serious neglect and misdiagnosis (they told him he was fine). Feeling anything but fine, he had himself driven by ambulance to San José and checked himself into private Clínica Bíblica. There he was found to have one collapsed lung and the other in mid-collapse, as well as severe internal bleeding in his chest cavity. The doctors at Bíblica said that if Matt had waited another day to seek proper care he most likely would have suffocated.

Matt was very happy with the care he received at Bíblica, adding with a smile that “all the nurses were very attractive young Ticas.”

Alex Murray after being released from a 20-day hospital stay.

In another example, Alaska native Alex Murray, 72 at the time of a fire that burned over 20 percent of his body, endured an extended hospital stay that also allowed him to compare private and public care in Costa Rica.

“While expat friends with residency have had important procedures successfully performed at slight cost in the public system,” he says. “I recommend avoiding it in life-threatening situations if at all possible.”

Alex was burning garden trash at his home in the Lake Arenal region when he spilled some gas, causing the fire to flare up and burn him over much of his body. Alex spent the next 20 days in two hospitals in the capital city of San José, first at the public Hospital San Juan de Dios, and then at private Clínica Bíblica.

“Of course,” he admits, “it’s a foregone conclusion that such a comparison is unfair to the underfunded public hospital, but the devil’s in the personal details.”

Alex was first picked up by a Red Cross ambulance and taken to a clinic in nearby Tilarán. Then he was moved to the public hospital in Liberia (about an hour north), where the doctors decided to send him to the burn unit at San Juan de Dios (a public hospital) in the capital city of San José, 4 hours away.

“Arriving in San José,” says Alex, “we should have directed the driver immediately to Bíblica or Clinica Católica [two private hospitals], but, ignorant of the quality of the public hospital and anxious to get treatment, we let the driver take us to the teeming mystery that is San Juan.”

Hospital San Juan de Dios in Costa Rica

Three days at a Public Hospital: San Juan de Dios

“In our three days there,” says Alex, “no doctor ever consulted us, though one led a group of students into my room each day. The nurses, male and female, sometimes seemed like the proverbial five or six workmen who stand around a pothole gabbing while one guy fills the hole. For the most part, they were not dedicated, not attentive, not very competent, and not sympathetic. They seemed the dregs of the nursing schools. A friendly nurse assigned to draw blood samples spent three days drilling mostly dry holes all over my landscape, partly due to my extremely low blood pressure. One rough middle-aged nurse told me that I was not much hurt nor in pain. I finally had to yell at her, “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.” She desisted, smiling to herself, it seemed.

“A night crew came on and half-heartedly started to bathe me and change my dressings. Three stood on one side of the bed and made little come-hither motions with their fingers. Two stood on the other side and made little shooing gestures. Finally, they decided to help me turn.

“They would not let my wife sleep in one of the three extra beds crowded into my room. Instead she spent her nights trying to sleep in a plastic chair. In the not-very-clean bathroom, she found bloody bandages in a corner.”

Clínica Bíblica in Costa Rica

Seventeen Days at a Private Hospital: Clínica Bíblica

Alex and his wife decided that they needed to move him to a private facility. “When I was admitted to Clínica Bíblica,” he says, “I recognized immediately that here was a competent staff. The emergency room nurse quickly found a vein and soon had a set of color-coded vials filled with my blood. All staff were purposeful and attentive.

“The next evening I began to rave and tried to tear off my bandages and leave the hospital. A doctor soon arrived and said my actions were due to a lack of oxygen to the brain. I was then moved to intensive care where a coma was induced and I was intubated, remaining thus for five days, not a reassuring sight for my four daughters who arrived from points around the globe.

“I doubt that these measures would have been taken at San Juan de Dios. Three doctors tended me at Bíblica, one a burn doctor, one a plastic surgeon who moved skin from my thigh to my hip, and one a staff doctor. They each came by almost every day to talk with us. The nursing staff was a no-nonsense but friendly and attentive group, evidently the better graduates of the nursing schools. Midway through my stay, physical therapists began visiting daily to exercise my wasted muscles. When I left, I had lost 14 pounds and could walk only a few steps unassisted, but I was recovering.

“And throughout my stay, my wife was permitted to sleep on a narrow built-in bed or cot in each room. “

For more information on health care in Costa Rica, see Living Abroad in Costa Rica by Erin Van Rheenen, or visit www.livingabroadincostarica.com.

On Feb 7th Costa Ricans went to the polls and overwhelmingly elected Laura Chinchilla president for the next 4 years. Chinchilla, who was Vice President in the current administration of Oscar Arias, resigned that post so she could run for president.

She ran a campaign that declared her “firme y honesta” — firm and honest — and promised more doctors in the state-run medical clinics and more police officers on the streets. She is a social conservative who opposes gay marriage and abortions, though she favors civil rights for gays and birth control.

Chinchilla, 50, is married with one teenaged son. She will take office in May, becoming Costa Rica’s first female president and Latin America’s fifth in the last two decades. The other four are Argentina’s Cristina Kirchner, who was elected in 2007, Chile’s Michelle Bachelet, elected in 2006, Panama’s Mireya Moscoso, elected in 1999, and Nicaragua’s Violeta Chamorro, elected in 1990.

Interesting that Costa Rica, a supposedly “third world” and  “macho” country, elected a woman president, while a first world country where the sky’s supposedly the limit (the US of A) lags behind in the gender equity department. Speaking of third world, Chinchilla recently asked, “Who gets to decide if a country is deemed “developing” or “developed?” Interesting question. Chinchilla thinks Costa Rica qualifies as the latter.

Click here for election photos and here for a truly bizarre campaign video from one of Chinchilla’s competitors in the Presidential race. A middle-aged man naked except for a diaper cavorts among pregnant women singing a takeoff on the 60s classic, “I will follow him.”

Here’s a new twist on outsourcing: housing U.S. inmates in Mexican prisons.

This week, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger suggested that the state might outsource incarceration by opening prisons in Mexico in order to house jailed undocumented immigrants.

Sfgate.com reports the governor saying, “We pay them to build the prisons down in Mexico and then we have those undocumented immigrants be down there in a prison. … And all this, it would be half the cost to build the prisons and half the cost to run the prisons.”

Of the state’s 171,000 prisoners, approximately 19,000 are illegal immigrants. The state spends more than $8 billion a year on the prison system. Schwarzenegger predicted housing prisoners in Mexico instead of California would save the state $1 billion that could be spent on higher education.

The idea has a certain logic: Under the terms of the 1977 Prisoner Transfer Treaty between the United States and Mexico, United States prisoners in Mexican jails and Mexican prisoners in United States jails may choose to serve their sentences in their home countries.

But there’s a definite taint of “let’s send the illegals back where they came from” anti-immigrant sentiment in the governor’s comment. Beyond that, it’s just a very odd idea. When one breaks the law within a given set of borders, it makes sense to be punished within the limits of that same country. Each country has its own philosophy of crime and punishment. Mexico tends to have longer waits for sentencing, for instance, but shorter prison terms.

And though there’s no yelp.com for prisons around the world, it’s pretty clear that Mexican prisons aren’t known to be models of modern and humane incarceration.

An analysis of Mexican prison conditions (drawing from The Library of Congress Country Studies and the CIA World Factbook) concludes that “overcrowding of prisons is chronic. Mistreatment of prisoners, the lack of trained guards, and inadequate sanitary facilities compound the problem. The United States Department of State’s country reports on human rights practices for 1992 and 1993 state that an entrenched system of corruption undermines prison authority and contributes to abuses. Authority frequently is exercised by prisoners, displacing prison officials. Violent confrontations, often linked to drug trafficking, are common between rival prison groups.

In fact, just this week, a prison riot in the Mexican state of Durango left 23 inmates dead.

Female inmates in Mexican prisons are allowed to have their children under 5 live with them in prison. Photo: Caroline Bennett

Not that Mexico suffers in every prison-related comparison. The U.S. enjoys the dubious distinction of having the highest incarceration rate in the world. And Mexico has some prison policies that are more humane than those in the U.S. For example, women inmates are allowed to have their children under 5 live with them in prison. The Huffington Post recently published a photo essay on Mexican Prison Life: Babies Behind Bars.

Even if the prisons in Mexico were built and run by the U.S., Schwarzenegger ‘s idea would still be problematic. Donald Specter, director of the Prison Law Office, said it “would be like the state of California having a separate island of its own government in Mexico. It just seems like that would be impossible.”

The not-so-sweet spot where privatization meets outsourcing

Schwarzenegger’s suggestion sits at the intersection of privatization and outsourcing. Earlier this month, our my-governor-can-beat-up-your-governor called for allowing private companies to compete with state-run prisons, which he claims would save billions of dollars.

And beyond privatization, it seems that in this era of free trade in a global economy, everything’s on the table for possible outsourcing: manufacturing, telephone help centers, retirement, medical care, and now, imprisonment.

What’s next—the outsourcing of education? Maybe public school would be more viable if you only had to pay teachers a few dollars an hour. And how about outsourcing funeral services? We could send our loved ones abroad for cut-rate embalming, Fed Ex them back to the local cemetery, then hire illegal immigrants to help us mourn.

In The Geography of Bliss, NPR foreign correspondent Eric Weiner travels the world to find happiness. Is that so different from what the rest of us are doing?

Well, yes and no. Wiener makes a science of it. He goes about it with more deliberation than most of us wanderers.

Before he takes on the geography angle, he runs down the findings of the field (yes, Virginia, there is a discipline called “Happiness Studies,”except they PhD it up and call it Subjective Well-Being, or SWB). The SWB experts have happiness stats both surprising and obvious, like that optimists are happier than pessimists, rich people are happier than poor ones (but only slightly), people with a college degree (BA) are happier than people with a high school diploma, but people with advanced degrees are less happy than those with just a BA. (Forget grad school! Just go traveling!)

But the “what kinds of people are happiest” question is just a prelude to the meat of the Geography of Bliss, which is, of course, geography, or rather blissography: where in the world are people the happiest? And if I go there, can I get me some?

So begins our whirlwind tour of the soul of ten countries:  the Netherlands, Switzerland, Bhutan (where they measure not the Gross National Product but Gross National Happiness), Qatar, Iceland, Moldova (infamous as the unhappiest country in the world), Thailand, Great Britain, India, and the U.S. He stays only a few weeks in each place, something that doesn’t seem egregious when he connects with a place and its people (Bhutan and Iceland, for instance) but causes problems in places like Qatar, where he can’t get any Qataris to talk to him. “The usual journalists’ trick of interviewing the cabdriver wasn’t working,” he writes.  “He was invariably from India. Nor could I interview my waiter (Filipino) or the manager at hotel reception (Egyptian).” In fact, more than 90% of people working in Qatar turn out to be from somewhere else—which adds to Weiner’s difficulty in getting a read on the culture of this oil-rich nation.

Whether the natives are cooperating or not, Weiner spins a good tale. He’s is a clever kvetcher, and I mean that as a compliment. Clever kvetching has become its own genre—think David Sedaris—and I’m glad. How can you not smile when you read: “I desperately wanted to see the world, preferably on someone else’s dime. But how? I had no marketable skills, a stunted sense of morality, and a gloomy disposition. I decided to become a journalist.”

That gloomy disposition is, of course, the motivation for his project: to find the places in the world where people are happiest. And though, as Eric Hoffer says, “The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness,” Weiner has that covered: “That’s ok,” he says. “I’m already unhappy. I have nothing to lose.”

And we, the readers, have everything to gain from this very funny and thought-provoking book about what happiness is and where people find it.

When you decide to move abroad, it’s tempting to do a little bridge burning before you go. It can be satisfying (if childish) to say the equivalent of “Take this job/relationship/country and shove it.” But remember, you may want to come back to your job, or, even better, to freelance for your former employer while abroad. Think of the job you’re leaving not just as something you’re giddy to be rid of, but a source of invaluable contacts (among your peers if not your bosses).

Lifehacker has a short article on how to leave a job gracefully, with an interesting thread of comments from people who’ve left jobs well and (more commonly) with some clumsiness. I know I’ve been guilty of clumsiness and bridge-burning—it seems to go hand-in-hand with being a serial relocator. Most of us tend towards one of two poles: the smoother-over, who never wants to make any kind of break or change, and the bridge burner, who’s always itching to strike that match.

Over the years I could have used some of the following tips, adapted from Sandra Naiman’s book “The High Achiever’s Secret Codebook: The Unwritten Rules for Success at Work”:

1. Give two weeks’ notice. Both your past and future employer will consider it a plus.
2. Explain that you are leaving because of growth opportunities, not due to dissatisfaction, even if it’s not true.
3. On your last day, write your boss and colleagues a thank you note about how much you enjoyed working with them.
4. Offer to train your replacement, and if possible, be available after you leave to answer questions.
5. Make sure your work is caught up before you leave and write notes, when relevant, to guide and inform your replacement.
6. If you have external customers or colleagues outside of your company or organization, work with your boss on how to transition them to your replacement.
7. When telling customers or external colleagues you are leaving, say only good things about the company and your experience there.
8. Let people know you only want to leave the job, not the relationships you have built.

Sandra Shaw Homer, who has lived in Costa Rica for over 20 years, did something a little over a year ago that all writers will applaud and probably envy. She pared away from her life all but the essential, so that she might, for a year, concentrate on writing the book she knew she was meant to write.

She’d been very active in a few local nonprofits, and she scaled back her commitments, quitting boards and letting people know that she’d be putting her energies elsewhere for a time.

And dammit if she didn’t write that book! In a year. I’m beyond envious—I’m positively inspired. I keep looking at little huts on the side of the road or up on top of mountains, thinking, Now there’s a good place to hole up and write.

The book is Evelio’s Garden: A Memoir of Costa Rica. It centers around a garden on her land on the shores of Lake Arenal, an organic garden a longtime friend, Evelio, tries to create out of nothing. Evelio is a local, born and bred in the Arenal area, and he has a natural talent for planting and tending. But trying to garden organically, and on a plot ravaged by the winds off the lake, turns out to be more than he–and Sandy, as his enabler/landlord/cheerleader–bargained for.

Sandy describes the ups and downs of the gardening project, but more than that, she details how the achingly beautiful land around the lake is at risk of devastation. Not incidentally, a portrait of expat life emerges, as we learn of Sandy’s neighbors from Europe and North America and Costa Rica and see how they all coexist, sometimes peaceably, sometimes contentiously.

It’s a book about how we live on the land, how it nourishes us and how we should nourish it. It’s beautifully written and has a strong sense of place. I’m honored that Sandy let me read it and that she’s allowing me to publish an excerpt here.

Excerpt from Evelio’s Garden: A Memoir of Costa Rica, by Sandra Shaw Homer

All land has a history, and the history around here goes back a long way.  Satellite images have picked up old roads all over this canton, long grown over, made by the indigenous peoples of pre-Columbian times.  One of these roads runs along the south shore of the lake, uphill from the current road and downhill from the ridge that links Tilarán with the tiny villages of Silencio and Río Chiquito.  I have ridden my mare along one stretch of this old road that runs behind San Luís and Tronadora, much washed out and crowded with second-growth forest, and it took a man on horseback with a machete to cut open a way for us to pass.  Artifacts of the native people show up everywhere.  When the lake is low, you can go out in a kayak or canoe and explore along the naked shoreline for pottery shards.  In town, there’s hardly a house that doesn’t sport a metate, or corn-grinding stone, that turned up when the foundation was being dug.  It usually has a potted plant sitting on it.

Modern local history dates from the late nineteenth century, when there were gold mines south of here in Las Juntas and Líbano.  It was rough country then, virgin forest, and the only way in was by horse or mule.  The gold was shipped out in ox-carts.  (More recently it was taken out in helicopters!)  Gradually settlement drifted north, and people carved farms out of the ancient forests, establishing a fiercely independent, frontier life-style.  Even in the 1930s, it could take the better part of a week to get to San José – from Tilarán on horseback (oxcart took longer) to Cañas, where you waited days for a small boat to take you down the Bebedero to the Río Tempisque and the port of Puntarenas, then by all-day train up to the Central Valley.  The Inter-American highway wasn’t completed along its northern reaches until the sixties.  There was no paved road around the lake until the eighties.  (It’s still not finished.)  I have met retired school teachers in Tilarán who remember four-hour treks on horseback to get to their one-room school houses on the lake, sometimes in mud up to the horses’ knees.  The niece of one of these teachers told me that her grandparents owned our farm in those days, and that it was a much bigger property.  A lot of the farms around here were broken up when ICE acquired the land for the reservoir.  Since then, the process of development has been inexorable.  As long as there’s someone to buy, sooner or later a farmer will face the economic conditions that force him to sell, frequently just a small piece at a time, enough to give him ready cash to get along until beef prices go up, or the weather improves enough to let him get a good crop in.  There are still some fair-sized farms around the lake, but since the early nineties development has speeded up and been gringo-ized. (At least in Tilarán, the word gringo can refer to Europeans as well as to non-native-Spanish-speakers from north of the Río Grande. Our nearest neighbors are Germans.)

Earlier this year an 18-wheeler parked its trailer by the side of the road just uphill from Cinco Esquinas, smack in your face where the first grand view of the lake should be.  It was a mobile office with the name of an international real-estate company painted in large letters on its side.  This was beyond ugly, but it never opened.  Instead the world-wide recession brought local real estate sales almost to a halt.  Still the trailer sat there, month after month, until finally some locals couldn’t resist jacking the thing up to steal a pair of off-side tires, leaving it listing crazily on a slender pile of cement blocks.  Just the other day it finally disappeared.  How it was moved, nobody seems to know.  But nobody was sorry to see it go.  This little story – especially the part about getting that trailer out of there – is no doubt already brewing up into a local legend.

We’ve been here long enough to see people come and go.  Some can brave the remoteness, the vagaries of the weather and the strangeness of the culture, and some can’t.  Some people get attached to the land, and some don’t.

When I was growing up, my family never lived long enough in one place for me to become bound to the land.  We lived in some beautiful – and not so beautiful – places, both rural and suburban.  From my early twenties until I came to Costa Rica, I moved almost as frequently, living exclusively in cities.   It was a little shock to realize, when we started building this house five years ago, that I’ve lived on Lake Arenal, and on this particular plot of ground, longer than I’ve lived any place else in my entire life.

You can’t get attached to the earth in Philadelphia or New York.  How many millions of people never do?  It’s this attachment that fires my desire to protect it – but not just my attachment to this particular plot of ground, but to the whole thing, the planet.  It’s not such a giant leap of the imagination from the sight of a growing young forest to the image of a tiny blue speck in the vastness of the universe.  So, finally, it is the sense of place that has captured me and pinned me to the planet.

It is gratifying to be part of the history of the land, to be growing a farm instead of shrinking it, to be building a forest instead of cutting it down.  Here, in one tiny corner of the planet, the question becomes obvious:  do we add something by our tenancy of the earth, or do we take it away?