Finding Home (Pt. 3): A New Start

Surprises and a Pookie update

Oct 10, 2025

After all the ATM chaos, after Grace left, after the luggage detour… we pulled up with $2,400 tucked in an old instant coffee container. The hotel ATM worked perfectly.

A much needed turn of events in our obstacle ridden journey. It was the first sign that maybe, just maybe, we were adjusting to this place—and it was adjusting to us.

Nacho and the condo owner’s agent are waiting for us at the front desk area of the complex. They escort us to our new home – smiles on all our faces.

The agent goes over the apartment inventory and the paperwork for our lease. I read and sign each document.

Back in the States, paperwork felt like drudgery. Here, every signature felt like a small victory I wanted to remember.

Anita pulls money out of the old coffee box and counts... $1,200 for Nacho and $1,200 for the owner. Then hands each their portion.

I look over at Anita smiling. We can both feel it. After all the headaches, all the letting go, all the adrenaline of the past few days – we finally had what we’d spent months working toward.

We have a new home!

With the help of our realtor and the owner’s realtor, we bring in all the luggage we packed into the new apartment. Just another sign of how generous and helpful people are here.

As we get ready to continue our errands, it dawns on me. In just 24 hours we went from not knowing where we would be staying beyond the week to officially being the new residents of a spectacular new home. And unlike our Florida househunting experience this couldn’t have gone smoother.

It’s the perfect place to settle down and start our new lives. But first it’s time to pick up some stuff for the new place and bring Pookie to his new home.

Keys in hand, we stepped back out into San Jose, ready for whatever came next.

One of the biggest shocks from my short time here isn’t the weather. It isn’t the sights and sounds. It isn’t even the new language. Although those things are all new to me.

The biggest shock so far was going to Walmart in Escazu.

Walmarts in Florida are completely packed – no matter what time you go. They are also unorganized, chaotic, and have the cheapest prices.

Stepping into an American store in Costa Rica felt strange. But the reason became clear as I looked around…

This Walmart was not packed.

It was clean.

It was calm.

And it was kinda expensive.

“Is it weird I kinda like it here?” I asked Anita.

She looks at me shocked. “But Walmart is one of your least favorite places,” she replies.

“I guess it isn’t here,” I chuckle.

Our trip there was one of the most disorienting things we’ve encountered so far. But it allowed us to grab all of our apartment essentials in one place.

And as if Walmart wasn’t disorienting enough, our next stop took us even further into American déjà vu – Johnny Rockets.

We didn’t even last a week without getting our fill of Americana. It felt like we were standing with one foot still in Florida and one foot now in Costa Rica, still adjusting to everything. A feeling that has become less frequent as time passes.

I guess it’s just a part of getting readjusted to our new lives here.

Back in Florida, Pookie had everything he could ever want.

He had a yard he could roam free in.

He had a “wife” – my cousin’s dog – who he shared many adventures with.

He had neighbors who took care of him when we went away.

He had it all.

So we were worried about how he would adjust to his new home.

And that was one of the deciding factors for choosing our new apartment. It has three amazing dog parks he can go to:

One down by the river with bamboo swaying above.

One right outside our building and down the stairs.

And one that feels like a little adventure every time you walk to it.

We figured if it has that many dog parks, it’s bound to have a lot of friends for him to play with.

It’s finally time to pick up Pookie and our remaining luggage – our last moments at Secrt.

It’s bittersweet leaving Secrt. It gave us a comfortable landing spot as we get readjusted here.

“Pookie’s locked in the bathroom!” Anita shouts.

“What?” I say, thinking I heard her wrong.

“Yeah, look,” she says wriggling the door handle.

“Shit!” we both say in unison.

It’s not opening. We must have accidentally left the lock on when we put him in the bathroom.

We scramble around thinking of what to do.

Do we call the front desk?

Do we have to get a lock pick?

What do we do?

But then it hits us. I don’t remember who thought of it or who actually opened the door, but we slide a card into the slot next to the door’s lock and it clicks.

Pookie darts out like nothing happened. Maybe Costa Rica was teaching us to let go of the small stuff and keep moving.

“Thank god that worked.” I say.

We grab our remaining luggage and items from the fridge. I lift Pookie up, place him into his travel carrier, and place it on top of our last remaining luggage.

“Thanks for everything,” Anita says to the apartment as I lock the door. “Yeah, thanks for everything,” I repeat.

I get off at the sixth floor with Pookie and the luggage and Anita continues down to the lobby to check out.

Saying goodbye to Secrt wasn’t just saying goodbye to a rental—it was goodbye to the in-between, the place that caught us while we found our footing. Closing that door meant opening the next chapter.

Now came time for another test – how would Pookie adjust?

Our first trip to the dog park with Pookie was magical.

To get there we have to descend down a few sets of stairs.

Past the playground and the pool deck.

Filled with laughter and splashing.

Along the path that curves alongside one of the towers.

A small dog greets us from the balcony each time we pass.

And a final set of stairs that leads to peace and tranquility.

As we enter the park and let Pookie loose, a wave of relief and tranquility rush through my body.

From ATM runs to bamboo swaying softly overhead.

From traffic fumes to the sounds of a rushing river.

From an endless to-do list to a cool breeze flowing through my hair.

Watching Pookie run free, it hit me:

Adjustment isn’t instant.

It’s hundreds of tiny, beautiful moments.

I turn to Anita and say. “This feels like home.”

Anita nods in agreement, “I think you’re right.”

That tranquility doesn’t last forever. There are issues with banks, with the embassy, and even with our new complex.

Even with the headaches—ATM runs, driving hassles, embassy issues—life was good. Adjustment is messy. But as the bamboo swayed overhead, I thought: this is a pretty good place to do it.