“You are the most beautiful flower in the garden,” a brave Tico told me as I sat on a cliff in Manuel Antonio watching the sunset with my mother. I bit my lips not to laugh and that created a smile. So he kept on. “I want to make you my wife here on this cliff. We get married and I take care of you forever,” he insisted. My mother’s face turned white like Casper. I asked him his name. “My name David and I make a good husband for you. You no pay for nothing. I take care of you. My beautiful flower. The best princess in all the world. You are a princess, preciosa.”

I thought for a second what woman would not want to be called “princess” the rest of her life and live with this man in this beautiful country. Then realized quickly that that woman was me. I could not keep it in any longer and my smile quickly eroded to roaring laughter. I grabbed my mom by the hand and we left as quickly as an afternoon rain storm in September arrives.

When I stepped off the airplane at the San Jose Airport in April 2003, I knew I would get attention because I looked different. I had no idea just how much. Standing 5’ 7”, with blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair (to Tico men, the erotic equivalent of a red cloth to a bull) and skin as white as Easter lilies, I stood out as I walked down the streets of San Jose. More than a year has passed and I have grown tired. Tired of the attention-arresting "Ssssst!" of the Tico male. Tired of the silent, insistent stares. Tired of leeringly being called guapa, mi amor, muneca, and machita. I share this exhaustion and loneliness with hundreds of other North American women who make their home in beautiful Costa Rica.

A year of being single gets awfully lonely so I did try to date. I learned quickly that male and female roles are clearly defined. Machisimo, a belief that men are naturally superior and women are little dolls is integral in any relationship here. My college education, intelligence and witty sense of humor most of my North American friends love were completely worthless and I suddenly found myself a ‘baby doll.’ Not only did the men think of me as a fine porcelain doll they would guard with all their life, but also a baby that could not do anything for herself; that could not talk, order her own meal, choose an activity, carry on a conversation. Just a fine porcelain doll to sit on a shelf, touch and kiss from time to time.

I enjoyed talking to one Tico named Gabriel one afternoon at Terramall in Tres Rios. The next day we met for dinner. He was insistent on which restaurant we would dine in, what he would order for me to eat and what we would talk about, or really what I would listen to him say. I did stand up for myself and order my own food despite his desires. But just as I was getting ready to bite into the bagel covered with cream cheese and smoked salmon, he tossed honey mustard all over my sandwich. He claimed it was good and that I would like it. He talked about everything under the sun and he talked down to me as if he was hosting a program on The Learning Channel and I was an eager viewer. He would ask me questions but not give me a chance to answer. All I could think during the date was that I wanted to kill the person that taught this guy English. I thanked him for the evening and let him know immediately that I was not interested in seeing him again.

It is this machisimo that "justifies" why the Tico boy expects to be given due reverence by women, why he expects his wife or novia (girlfriend) to wait on him hand and foot, why he refrains from household chores, and why he is generally free to do as he pleases, particularly to sleep around.

Before Gabriel, I dated another good-looking, sharp Tico named Marcos. As long as I was at home patiently waiting for him while he was at the bar, the relationship went fine. A few months later, I discovered he had a wife and a son. I thanked him for the fun months and let him know I was not interested in seeing him again. I have learned in a year that the Latin male expresses his masculinity in amorous conquests and it is looked upon as completely normal.

Fortunately, I have met plenty of other North Americans who have met, fallen in love and married Tico men and women. They seem happy enough. As for me, I am still patiently waiting for an adventurous spirit who believes it takes two whole people to form a relationship, not one and a half.

Reprinted with permission from the THE TAKE MONTHLY -  a bizarre window into the ever-changing relationship between expatriates and the Costa Rican culture. Simply put, this is our "TAKE" on that relationship. Click here for the current issue!