Should probably give this 3 stars, as the writing is fine, but man, if you are reading a memoir and hate the main character, it is hard to give an impartial rating. This book is part of the growing genre that recounts tales of insuferable gringos who go abroad and continue to besmirch the good name of the U.S.
This lady goes to Costa Rica not knowing Spanish ... and from the book ... it is clear she is not in a rush to learn it either, and then she constantly goes on and on criticizing and playing up the differences between back home and primitive Costa Rica. If you intentionally move to a foreign country with much less development and a different language culture, it is not the obligation of the locals to reshape their lives to fit your expectations.
Having spent a month in Costa Rica and months in other even less developed Latin American countries, I suspect she took heaps of artistic license in the story telling as well; I have trouble believing some of the stories she told here actually happened. If she were in the parts of rural Guatemala and Ecudaor I have visited, maybe, but Costa Rica is actually quite developed, modern, and sophisticated ... not that you would know it from reading this book.
The part at the end where the author goes off moralizing about happiness and getting away from material stuff that we have in the U.S. in hackneyed and practically defines cliche. I wonder how narcissistic a person has to be to think such common observations are groundbreaking and worthy of sermonizing about.
As noted above, the writing is competent, and the stories, though lacking credibility do amuse fairly consistent, so not an altogether awful read. If nothing else, you will leave this book feeling a great sympathy for her poor suffering husband, who she is always doubting, criticizing, and backtalking to, but who ends up leading her out of danger and saving the day time after time. A nobel man, he is.