Epilogue I

I imagine that everyone has completely forgotten this site exists, what with my month plus hiatus and the fact that I've returned to the states and, supposedly, have no reason to keep writing. Funny thing is, life goes on, no matter what country you're in. So, I may keep writing for a bit. Even if no one is reading. I may not. I have options.

Being home has been great, though I've hardly been home in BG for any lengths of time sufficient to actually get used to it. Routine is a friend that I've been frantically avoiding since my arrival. In the past month and a half, I've been to Michigan, Seattle three times (after this coming weekend), I'm headed to Eugene next week, and sooner or later, I will, of course, be heading back to Spokane.

I periodically miss Costa Rica. I miss the food and the beaches and the jungles and the bus system (I understand it much better than I understand them here). I don't miss living with my host family. I didn't realize entirely how much it stressed me out. I like them and it was fun, but it wasn't the greatest long-term set-up for me. I was flipping through some emails I exchanged while I was gone and it really hit me how much more relaxed I am here for numerous reasons. Every time I leave the country and come home I find myself wanting to "go back but in a different capacity." I never want to wash my hands of a place, but I rarely want to have the exact same experience over. Which is okay. Growth doesn't happen if nothing changes. And frankly, high school was a blast. And I never want to do it again.

I do miss the Spanish. There is just no replacement for total immersion. I miss speaking it, I miss hearing it and I miss the constant challenge and the continuing string of defeat and success that made up every day in Costa Rica. My mom has a house cleaner who comes and the lady who works with her, Marta, is from Chile. A few days after I got back from Michigan I met her and was able to speak to her in Spanish. It felt so good. I had no problems understanding her at all. My accent and tongue waere a touch rusty, in comparison to while I was in CR but still better than when I left, I'm sure.

Anyway, that's more or less the state of life, for now. I'll be busy dancing this weekend, canning next week and then throwing the finishing touches together on a party for my parents the week after that. It'll be a fun time. Look me up.

El Fin

Well, I leave my house in 12 hours. To get on a plane that will take me to another plane which will take me to my other house. In my other country. With my other family. With my other friends. In, what feels like, my other life.

I feel almost as antsy-nervous-excited as I did when I left for Costa Rica. The reality of the end has been slowly dawning on me since yesterday after I finalized all my paperwork with the university. Not quite here yet, but it's getting there.

In the mean time, I sleep, finish packing, eat breakfast and say goodbye for the last time. Then I'll be off on my next adventure. Wish me luck!

Final Steps

Well, I have two days and the remainder of this one in Costa Rica, follow that up with a bag-drag on Saturday and I'll be back in good ol' BG.

I have survived/experienced: cockroaches, food poisoning, public transportation, classes in my second language, life in my second language, cold showers, boredom, exhaustion, sunburns, excessive sand everywhere, mosquito bites, information overload, homesickness, cold sickness, allergy sickness, dehydration, back pain, sleepless nights, beans, rice, beans and rice, culture shock, family shock, blisters, exhaust fumes, pollution, being hit on by drunk guys, being hit on by sober guys, catcalls, phone calls, skype calls, torrential downpours, thunder, lightening, futbol games, big ants, little ants, mean ants, smaller ants, nice ants, leafcutter ants, black ants, red ants, ants stuck in my computer (not joking), Costa Rican aunts, and several paragraphs more of poorly listed items.

Oh, and then there were some phenomenal experiences. Still digesting everything, so don't look for any dramatic summing-up style entries for a few weeks. If they even make it here, then.

The fact that I'm leaving doesn't feel real to me yet. I'm still waiting for reality to kick in and smack me in the face. Probably some time during my layover in Houston, I'll realize that I just left Costa Rica and don't know when I'll make it back here, but until then, I'm still just floating along without homework and with tons of free time. It's rather nice.

So, all that to say, it's been a blast, it's been a challenge, and thus far, I haven't failed any classes yet. Can't wait to see you all whenever I have the pleasure of doing so.

Pura vida!

In Which Appears a List of Items United by the Sole Fact that I have Compiled Them

- Since universities in the US started getting out, the demographic in Heredia has visibly changed.

- My spelling abilities in English have gone down the tubes since I got here.

- I now appear to have internet again and thus be contactable. For the remaining 13 days of my stay.

- The US got their butts kicked in the futbol game on Wednesday. 3-1. And we barely even got away with that.

- I walked to class in the rain on Friday, got wet and then froze to death for the three hour duration of class. Cold. In Costa Rica. So strange.

- Costa Rican residence halls are very similar to those in the states, with a few exceptions: no carpets, larger refrigeradors, guys and girls share bathrooms, and every student has a rice cooker.

- I walked past a guy singing and playing electric guitar outside the Soda at the university on Thursday, thought to myself about how utterly horrible his singing was (he's not a bad guitar player but I'm pretty sure he's mostly tone deaf) and then managed to end up meeting him and hanging out with him for several hours on Friday night. Where, unfortunately, he decided to grace us (myself and friends) with his skills...luckily, he doesn't know the words to most of the English songs he plays. Led Zeppelin need not be quite so ashamed.

- I left the residence hall at 1:00, Saturday morning. Unfortunately, the guards lock the gates of the entrance so you have to grab a taxi outside. Even more unfortunately, the gates are not merely designed to keep out cars, but also casually-interested pedestrians. Ended up crawling under the gates (along with five others, not all gringos) while our bemused taxi drivers waited and watched from the comfort of their cars.

- I've been praying that my shampoo will last me til the end for the last month and a half. I think it just might do it.

- It will be good to get home where I know where the toilet paper is kept.

- We had a potluck dinner on Friday. I brought a loose rendition of Mexican Pinwheels (ie picante taquiticos mexicanos) and was surprised at how well it was received. If nothing else, I thank my mother for bringing that recipe into my life. It has saved me numerous times.

- They do not sell canned green chiles nor green onions (fresh, of course) in Costa Rica. Leastwise in Hipermas.

- Doesn't look like I'm going to make it to Arenal *sigh*

- They grandfathered me into the system! WA state recently changed a bunch of requirements for getting your endorsement in world languages. It was going to make my life very complicated. Luckily, they also put in a grace period...still only have to take one test! Not three!

- I think I'm going to need to come by some reading material for the trip home.

- This time, a year ago, I had nearly survived my first week in Nicaragua.

- I'm super psyched that I get to be home for Father's Day. Even if only just.

- "Even if only just." If that isn't a nightmare for someone learning English, I don't know what is. Barely makes sense to me, and I wrote it.

- I'm trying to figure out if I need to buy another bag to bring home the mountain of books and papers I've aquired. I don't think so...

- It's going to be very confusing to come home to PNW summer weather. Mostly, the sun going down between nine and ten. The sun has not set after six o'clock for the past nine months of my life.

- Speaking of which, I have a very poor perception of climatic "normal," right now.

- My friend asked me last night if I wished I had gone to study in Chile (which, from the things I've heard, sounds rather more developed and current than CR). I could honestly say that I did not. And it felt amazing.

- I have some friends who went bungee jumping. Watched the video. I couldn't do it. Kind of wish I could. But no.

- There's another host student coming to stay today (did I mention the last one in here?) I'm not really supposed to talk about it, lest word get back to the homestay coordinator. ISEP guarantees us a house with only one student, but my parents ran it by me (the student is from a different program and only stays for five days) and I don't mind at all. The last girl spoke no Spanish. My host mom speaks no English. I got to play translator for a week and it was kind of fun.

- Spanish capitalization rules make so much more sense than English.

- I should be studying.

- From my house, on various days, I can hear: futbol games, church bells, band practice, choir practice, choirs during mass and the beeping noise at the crosswalk two and a half blocks from my house. That last one is new. And rather annoying.

- Okay. I'm going to go study now.

Wrapping Up

17 days. 8 classes. Two finals. Two projects. Two flights. Home.

That's a brief summary of my immediate future anyway. Unfortunately, it does not look to include any volcanoes or convenient internet service. My household internet seems to have inexplicably disappeared and due to the joys of dealing with large corporations everywhere, I can't find a real person to talk to for the life of me. Ergo, looks like I may be hard to get a hold of for the remainder of my trip. Since that's only about two and a half weeks, shouldn't be too big a deal.

Anyway, not much to send out into the interweb today. The end of semester in Costa Rica plays out very similarly to the end of semester at home: study, cram, pretend to study, pretend to cram, cobble together beautiful powerpoint presentations which hopefully cover your lack of actual preparation...no really, sometimes I'm a good student. Actually, I'm a good student in the classes that interest me and seem worth my while. Unfortunately, most of my projects are in the class that I really couldn't care less about. I'm just hoping to scrape a disinterested passing grade in that class and then run with it.

Today is the big Costa Rica vs US futbol game in San Jose and sadly, in spite of being here, I didn't manage to get my hands on a ticket in time, so I'll probably be stuck watching it on tv. Still haven't decided who to root for; I figure if I just wear red, white and blue and cheer for everything, I'll be safe.

Anyway, I've avoided my homework quite long enough. Hope you are all doing well and I'll be in touch with everyone as soon as I can be.

Pura vida.

The List

For the benefit of my parents

I'm coming home in three weeks and change and every time I leave and then come back, my mom (and, to be fair, my father also) asks me what I've missed most (largely concerning food, around which my life generally revolves) so that she can provide it. Yeah, I know, it's the life. And my answer is usually, "Er...um...I like lasagna!" And that's all I can ever come up with on short notice. Suffice to say, most of my homecomings involve lasagna, as those of you who have ever come home with me can attest. But I digress...I've decided to compile a list of all those things that I have missed (edibles and otherwise) while being abroad. For my mother. For my father. For the fun of it. And because, I'm genuinely curious to see what shows up.

The List (in no particular order, with the exception of item number one):

1. People
2. Cell phone service: it makes me a little sick to admit it, but it's true
3. Lasagna
4. Black tea with cream and sugar
5. Coffee shops
6. Good well water
7. Ice cream!
8. Frisbees
9. Broccoli and cauliflower: steamed, please. With cheese.
10. Cheese!
11. Juice!
12. My shoes
13. Mexican tacos
14. Driving
15. The luxury of spontaneity
16. My dog
17. Laying in thick, green grass
18. Being outside at night
19. Cool weather
20. People pronouncing my name in English. And spelling it with an 'h.'
21. My bed
22. The SciFi, History and Discovery channels
23. Grilled anything (well, not quite...)
24. Sarcasm
25. Nerds
26. Hot water
27. Carpet
28. Whole wheat bread
29. Good Sandwiches
30. Milkshakes
31. Going barefoot
32. NPR
33. Rivers
34. Milk!
35. Peas. Not from a can.
36. My shampoo
37. Stars
38. Swing Dancing
39. Reliable internet
40. The clothes at home that aren't falling apart like the ones here
41. Seattle
42. Portland
43. Bookstores with selection
44. Fresh mushrooms!
45. Mystery pasta
46. Rosemary chicken
47. Gyros
48. Good oriental food
49. Serving myself
50. Decent speakers

The Afterlife

I've been going to write something about reaching the one month mark for a few days now. It just hasn't happened for one reason or another. Now that I've sat down to finally write something, someone will probably call me. I might just have to tell them to go away. Anyway.

As I sit here looking at the 28 days, sprawling on the calendar before me, I can't help but think of how quickly February went by. Over the last few months I've spoken to a lot of people and the predominant message I have passed on has been, "I miss you and I can't wait to come home!" because, right then, caught up in the joy of talking to someone I haven't seen in months or the frustration of one foreign difficulty or another, it's the truth. However, right now I find myself very torn.

On one hand, I cannot wait to go home. I am ready for a change. My host family has been great but I think we're beginning to wear on each other's nerves, at least my father and I (we don't seem to interpret each other's indirect speech acts very well) and I've run into what every college student runs into after living on their own for a while and then coming home. Except with a new family that has more rules than I've lived with since before I was ten. Mom, Dad, I love you.

On the other hand, which I periodically find waving up and down in a frantic attempt to be noticed, I am not done here. I have so much more to learn. The problem with learning a language is that the more time you spend learning it and the better you get, the harder it becomes to continue studying in your original home. I feel like I've just recently become really comfortable with a lot of different situations and now (for rather distant values of 'now') I'm leaving. That can be explained away and justified in about ten different ways, so in truth, no vale nada, pero asi es.

I have also been thinking about what it will be like coming home. The more I think about it, the more I really don't know what to expect and the more it begins to seem almost more foreign than coming to Costa Rica. When I came down here, I had left the states to spend various amounts of time in Spanish speaking countries on several occasions. I knew roughly what to expect. I have never returned home after five months studying abroad. Most of the time I've been down here, the actual reality of the prospect of returning to a life that I've, in some ways, abandoned for five months, was overshadowed by the excitement of seeing all those people that I had likewise abandoned. Suddenly, I'm realizing that there will be more than happy reunions and a resurgence of juice in my diet, and that I'm not sure what that "more" will entail.

I do know there will be a long, hot, steamy shower and sleeping past 8:00 for the first time in four months...and I'm pretty excited.

The Good Stuff

Remember the ziplines? Post #1, January 20th, "First Steps," crazy justification for going to Costa Rica? Yeah, that.

Guess what!

I did it!

Over a week ago, actually, but unfortunately I had neither the energy nor the mindset to properly describe the amazing experience right after I had it. I was fully occupied with blowing my nose, sneezing, sleeping, running to every pharmacy in Heredia and whining about it. But now I'm back.

So the story goes... as bookends to my crummy week of sickness, I had, what may be, two of my favorite experiences in Costa Rica. Last weekend I found myself (finally!) in the mountains of Monteverde with three compatriots from my Spanish class, sorting through the mountain of flyers, brochures, pamphlets, and trying to find the ideal zipline experience.

But first, a word about Monteverde: Monteverde is located to the north east of San Jose, reachable only by dirt roads (which its residents have fervently fought to keep from being paved) and is home to the Monteverde and Santa Elena Rainforest Reserves. These reserves protect the Monteverde cloud rainforest. Monteverde as a settlement was actually founded by a group of Quaker immigrants who settled and started making cheese. To this day, Monteverde dairy products are still some of the best in the country (if not the best) and the Quakers are still there, but apparently don't get out and about much.

The town itself lives almost purely off of tourism. It's a painful paradox, arriving in order to see some of the most beautiful, natural Tico landscape and being forced to buy into the huge tourism industry. On the other hand, it is precisely this tourism that keeps the reserves looking like forest instead of parking lots.

I felt kind of bad because I had come precisely to dribble my meager student budget into the coffers of tourism (some day I'll get over my distinct, largely irrational, loathing of this) but at the same time...ziplines! Your options for adventure activities in the Monteverde area are overwhelmingly numerous and range in price from "two hairs" to "arm, leg, neck and your first born child." All I can say is, thank goodness for student discounts.



After sifting through the options, myself and two of my friends finally settled on investing in a night hike and we managed to pick out which "canopy tour" company we wanted to go with. "Canopy tour" is a silly name. Zooming through the trees and across valleys on a cable is not a tour through the canopy. Worth the thirty bucks I paid? Definitely. Deserving of the lable placed on it? No.



The night hike was okay. We saw some glowing bugs, a great big tarantula, some sleeping birds... nothing that blew my mind but it was fun in it's way.



Ziplining was every bit as cool as I had anticipated. There were over 14 cables strung out across an entire valley, one of which was over a kilometer long and sent you zooming across at a height of over 500 feet. Quite simply put, it was one of the coolest things I've ever done and I can probably leave Costa Rica happy, now. Or something like that.

Unfortunately, as a result of schedule constraints, that's about all there is to tell about Monteverde (well, at least with respect to what actually, ever gets posted here...I can natter on forever).

As for the other awesome event, Saturday I went on a tour of a coffee coop and coffee farm. The prior being bland, dry, almost interesting but mostly boring. The latter saved the trip as we got to meet Don Arturo, the passionate, charismatic, politically minded owner of a small coffee farm who fed us well, chatted us up and invited us to come back again. It was one of those beautiful experiences that defies brief description.

He also has a crazy dream of taking a group of people from his community, backpacking through the Costa Rican mountains down to the coast while teaching natural history and English. He's looking for teachers. He asked if I would be interested. "Oh my God, please, please, please, I'd love to!" seemed a bit of a strong answer. So I just gave him my email.

Life, eh?

Two Days Rest

Well, it has been my dubious privilege to be living in Costa Rica during the outbreak of the swine flu. Even better, I managed to snag myself the amazing cultural experience of getting sick in Central America while a potential pandemic thinks casually about sweeping the globe (very casually, it seems to have not even gotten up and had its morning coffee yet...). Regardless, I woke up Monday morning feeling as though I'd spent the weekend backpacking through the jungle sans sleep (which I hadn't) and with a throat lined with something akin to sand paper. The weather here has just turned and the rainy season will soon be fully upon us so I figured it was a good chance it was just allergies. I didn't want to overly alarm my host family so I didn't mention anything until I was sure I was coming down with a cold.

In the intervening three-ish days, I have contracted your good, old, garden-variety, stick-it-out-til-you're-better cold. My usual response being: force fluids, sleep lots and take more hot, steamy showers than you can count so just maybe my defective sinuses will not become infected. But there's a wannabe pandemic on the loose so instead, to ease the worry of my families everywhere, I got to do the run-around with the University's health department. What fun.

You cannot make an appointment via the phone. You must show up, in person, ID in hand, as early as possible and hope that you're close enough to the front of the line that they're are still available appointments that day. And if there's not, well, sorry, come back earlier tomorrow. Tuesday morning didn't work, they were full. Got up at six o'clock this morning, made it down there by seven and finally got in to see someone at nine. Once you're in, it's a quicky easy process, but I'm thanking my lucky stars that I don't have something really bad, because otherwise it would have been a truly miserable morning sitting around waiting to talk to someone.

All said and done, yep, just a cold. The doctor sent me off for some of the usual cold drugs and literally wrote me a prescription for two days rest which I'm to present to my professors. Actually, that part struck me as sort of cool. Where I would have stumbled my way through classes because, well, "I'm not that sick," it gives me a chance to actually: Stop. Do nothing. And... wait for it... get better. Which, when you think about it, is not something the North American culture is really so great at.

Anyway, I'm now sitting at home, feeling the congestion in my sinuses slowly increase and dreaming longingly of a hot shower. Due to some interesting mechanical complications, my shower is not cold, but neither would I call it lukewarm. On the bright side, I have almost four boxes of tea, courtesy of my mother and boyfriend which will definitely be pulling their weight in the next few days.

Also, my apologies for any poor grammar, hispanicisms or other brain slips. I'm not entirely on top of my game right now. I have a doctor's note if you'd like to see it.

I just lost the game.

For the first time in months. Dang.

The perks of being yogurt

¿Qué es la diferencia entre un yoghurt y un gringo?

Or:

What is the difference between yogurt and a gringo?

The answer: The yogurt has its own culture

Or so goes a popular joke about gringos down here in Tico Town.

Like most jokes that describe a certain people (and are not merely, entirely hateful), its appeal stems from having a certain perceived truth. I'm not saying that us gringos don't have our own culture, we do, but it is something that is hard to pin down in specifics. From my perspective, the culture of the United States defines itself in sweeping, conceptual ideas. Independence! Individuality! Enterprise! Boldly selling things no man has needed before (and likely still doesn't)! (Okay, so I'm not funny...) After all those huge ideas that we try to embrace as a people, after all those values and ethical pursuits that have been handed down since the Revolution, that we sometimes manage to achieve and sometimes do not, it seems to get very regional.

Every time I travel people ask me for examples of typical foods in my culture. Quite frankly, I don't know. My family rarely fit into any sort of norm here and college is a terrible example (the college culture is another experiment entirely). People in Costa Rica drink (with respect to beer) primarily two things: Imperial and Pilsen. If it's a good night, someone brought along a six-pack of imported Toña from Nicaragua (a definite improvement on CR's Imperial). But that's really all. At home, I daren't even try to summarize the things that have made appearances in my home(s) alone, and no, it's not because the people there are prone to inebriation, rather, variety is the spice of life. These are just two facets of one side of a culture, but, as Costa Rican culture revolves around what goes in their stomachs, it was what occurred to me first.

So here's my question, directed at all of the (probably three) readers of this blog: What do you think is indicative of your culture? What do people eat? What do they value? How do they dress? What defines who you are and where you came from?

Obviously, there's no right answer, but I'm not even looking for things necessarily on the same track. Anyway, humor me! Go! Write something silly. Write something profound. But do me a favor and write something! I'm really curious about how people think about this when they turn the mirror back on themselves.

The other America

Sometimes, people ask me what's different about Costa Rica and I honestly have a hard time coming up with answers. It's not that Costa Rica is so very similar to the United States so much as the fact that I've spent a good deal of time in Latin America in the last year and I've begun to take things for granted. Like the million, corner fruit stands selling fresh fruit, some that I'm familiar with and some that you cannot even pronounce let alone buy in the states, that I pass daily. So, here's a list of beautiful, ugly, phenomenal, confusing, intriguing things about Costa Rica, some of which have been mentioned before, some of which haven't:



1. Toilet paper does not go in the toilet. Ever. The plumbing system can't handle it. I've wondered a couple times what it would be like in the states if we did this...

2. On that note: toilet paper in public restrooms is a toss-up; it might be there, it might not. Always come armed with your own.

3. Sitting in the park watching pigeons, people and eating paletas (popsicles) while chatting with friends is a perfectly acceptable way to spend an afternoon. For everyone. Any day of the week.

4. Food is cheap. It can also be expensive, but if you go local, you can get a very good, very filling meal for $3.00 US. Something that would be at least six in the states. You can get a couple pastries for under a dollar, a paleta for fifty cents, a juice/milk/iced tea box for about the same... on just about any corner of the street.

5. Milk comes in boxes and is stored at room temperature until opened. And oddly enough, tastes quite normal.

6. Sour cream, cream, butter, beans, tomato sauce, mayonnaise, jam, and a myriad of other sauce-type items come in bags. Some with convenient squeeze tops and lids.

7. Anyone (and everyone) who looks oriental is referred to as "chino" or Chinese. I have a friend here who is of partially Japanese descent, she was approached by a man in the park who mentioned how chinos are always good students and study a lot, especially "los chinos de Japon"...or, the chinese from Japan. Go figure.

8. They line-dry everything. My mother owns a washer and dryer, but has yet to use the dryer. I haven't asked what happens during the rainy season yet.

9. A surprising (to me) number of families here own multiple cars but the days you can drive are restricted (within San Jose). On certain days of the week, cars with license plate numbers ending in specific digits are not allowed to enter San Jose, with exceptions made for taxis. This results in a lot of car swapping between family members.

10. Houses are very open. Windows don't seal shut, doors fit their frames loosely and bichos (bugs [in CR; be careful with this word in some countries, as it can be offensive]) are a part of life (my family fumigates).

11. My host father was completely flabbergasted that all the homes where I live have some form of heat. It took him a while to get his head around the fact that it was very difficult to live without it.

12. PNW rain tolerant stoicism does not exist. Everyone uses an umbrella. Of course, here if you didn't, you'd never be dry.

13. Long-distance buses (usually) only sell tickets for the number of seats they have. After Nicaragua, this is still very impressive to me.

14. Still, buses in Central America are rather like Saga tables: there is always room for one more.

15. The educational emphasis in the university seems to be about sixty years behind our own on some levels. There is still a huge emphasis on memorization of facts and mundane details, rather than working at a broad conceptual level which, in some cases, I find admirable, in others, rather grating.

16. Again with respect to expectations for higher education: Thinking for yourself is encouraged but within the confines of what your professor expects. There is little room for intelligent debate and differences of opinion with regard to a topic (at least in my classes). Granted, these last two observations of attitude are complex and not easily summarized in a few lines.

17. There are (for the most part) no dorms. Most students pack their own lunches and generally young people live with their families until they are married.

18. Globe-trotting is not an innately Latino thing to do. They tend to be home-bodies in the best sense of the term. Family is the most important thing, right? And family is at home, so why leave?

19. Racism exists here. And it's largely taken for granted. If someone says they don't like blacks it's often treated with no more social stigma than my saying that I don't like chocolate (granted, there's some shock when you're a woman and people learn you don't like chocolate). At the same time, the majority of Ticos are not racist.

20. Most urban Costa Ricans have a lot of European ancestry and follow European and North American fashion trends. Ergo, I don't really stick out that much.

21. Taxis are plentiful, cheap and, for the most part, reliable.

22. San Jose is not as ugly as many people say. I actually rather like it.

23. One thing I've learned about my own country from being here, it's very hard to provide general answers about the culture and attitude of people from the states. My first response is almost always, "Well, it depends on where you're at..."

24. Costa Ricans are American. Nicaraguans are American. Peruvians are American. Mexicans are American. Brazilians are American. I am from the United States. But I am also American.

25. Electricy and water is expensive and precious. Costa Ricans are much more aware of this than we are.

26. Costa Ricans are proud to be Ticos. But if you ask the average university student if they like living here... they often say no.

27. Rice goes with everything. Except pasta. Sometimes.

28. You don't go barefoot. Ever. The one exception to this rule is the beach. As far as I have observed, this is the only exception.

29. Punctuality is relative.

30. Most of the country is Catholic, many people are devout, many people are completely indifferent. Being devoutly Catholic in Latin America seems to be completely different from being devoutly Catholic in the states, on many levels.

31. Costa Rican radio stations play a very random mix of music. A little Reggaeton, some country, some Phil Collins, Foreignor is always a good choice... you never know what you'll get. I passed the colegio the other day and the entire gym (and street outside) was rocking out to James Brown. It made me happy.

32. To make a sweeping generality: Everyone outside the US is more informed about politics inside it than those who are actually inside.

33. There are two things that Costa Ricans let their relaxed, pura vida attitude dissolve for: futbol and driving. Those are serious business.

34. For the most part, the Costa Rican people are friendly, relaxed and always willing to lend a hand. I really can't say that I've ever met a rude Costa Rican (even the cat-call slinging construction worker will stop and give you good directions if you ask).

35. You can buy jello in plastic tubes at futbol games.

36. Taco Bell, Burger King, McDonald's, and Pizza Hut are prevalent and easy to find. Starbucks is all but nonexistent. Not that I go looking for these anyway.

37. Lasagna here is most commonly made with a white sauce and chicken. So strange.

38. As an exchange student, the majority of your life revolves around food. When you get to eat, what you get/are forced to eat, whether it will offend your family if you say you'd like more or less, whether you get to dish up your own plate, whether you're allowed to cook for yourself, etcetera, etcetera... they are things I will never take for granted again.

39. Professors are always late. You're not late if the professor hasn't walked in the door. You will wait at least half an hour for class to start at least once in the semester.

40. Pre-frosh are an inconvenient truth no matter what country you're in.

41. Books are hard to track down here. Bookstores are mostly small and somewhat expensive. Unfortunately, literature classes can't get away with copying quite as much of their material apparently.

42. More people, in my experience, walk around town plugged into their iPods and phones here than at home.

43. "Cold," like "punctual," is a relative term.

44. "Ahorita" means: immediately, right now, now, shortly, in just a few minutes, here in a bit, in a while...etcetera. It's one of those words in Spanish that I just love to hate...

45. Just like in the states, if you're not careful, you'll be caught on camera and broadcast live on tv at a sports game. Like I just did this afternoon... luckily I wasn't picking my nose.

I think this is quite long enough to be going on with. Pura vida!

For the record...

...I've been working on the photo thing. Technology hates me. Technology people, we do okay. Technology itself, not so much.

That is all.

It's Hard to Remember

I am officially, and unofficially, for that matter, enjoying the first day of the last half of my stay in Costa Rica.

I come home in 68 days.

And I'm excited about coming home. Really excited. One of the most difficult things about this trip, has been allowing myself to feel okay about that.

When you study abroad or leave the country for some other reason, there is a set of external expectations that go along with that fact. Whether you're going on a five day vacation to Cancun, a two week mission trip to Malawi or a five month study trip to God-knows-where, everyone who is not going has their own ideas about what you will and should get out of your experience. The most prominent among them is: "You will have such an amazing time! I'm so happy that you get to experience this amazing opportunity!" And that, for me, has been the hardest part of this trip.

The thing is, everyone who leaves their own life-norm for something new, has their own preconceived notions about what their experience will be. They have their own fears, their own hopes, their own baggage from past events that they bring to the situation. And then, you have a bad day. Gasp! Something went wrong, badly, differently, more boringly, or in some other way, did not measure up to your standards. And suddenly, for a moment, you're not having fun. Mention it to someone outside your experience and there is a unanimous chorus, like little birds suddenly seeing their mother come in with a worm, "Don't worry! It's worth it! It's such an amazing opportunity! You'll get over it! Think of how many other people would love to be doing what you're doing! Don't forget, it's such an amazing opportunity!" And then you're unhappy because things don't fit what you wanted and also unhappy because for some reason, you let things happen such that you're not getting the amazing experience that everyone says you should be having.

And it took me a long time on this trip to realize that I was thinking that way and to figure out how to stop. I finally realized that I don't have to let others define what this trip should be for me. I don't have to become passionately in love with Costa Rica and want to live here the rest of my life. I do love Costa Rica. It's awesome here and I'm so glad I had this opportunity. But I'm also blessed with a lot of things in the states worth coming back for. And here, I'm going to let you in on a little secret, shh, don't tell anyone... it's okay! I'm allowed to love my family, friends and my home. As long as I don't let that stop me from living my life and exploring all the options, I'm doing just fine.

It's an unfortunate thing that we let big things, like study-abroad, take all the cake. We act as though we only have to live our life to the fullest when we're doing something amazing when, in fact, if we play our cards right, every day of life should be amazing, even if it's only amazing in it's normality (a thing which anyone who has gotten out a bit, now and again, has learned to appreciate as its own type of beauty). I shouldn't live my life in Costa Rica any differently than I do at home and neither should I be more inclined to let someone else define it for me.

Well, this was supposed to be a reflection on the last half of the semester and all the things I've learned, most specifically, with respect to Costa Rica. But it's not. It does however, address many of the things I've learned on this trip. There's just no telling where your thoughts and idly typing fingers will go sometimes, I guess.

It's hard to remember, it's hard to remember
We're alive for the first time
It's hard to remember were alive for the last time
It's hard to remember, it's hard to remember
To live before you die
It's hard to remember, it's hard to remember
That our lives are such a short time
It's hard to remember, it's hard to remember
When it takes such a long time

-- Lives, Modest Mouse

Finding Nemo

Well, I'm back.*

Crawled home to Heredia yesterday afternoon, after about nine hours on a bus that was alternately hot and sweaty and cold and foggy. I guess that's what happens when you travel from sea-level tropical beaches up through mountain ranges and back down into a large valley in the same day. Costa Rica is kind of like Washington. You can hit pretty much anything within a five hour drive (though the deserts are a bit scarce, here).

Break was good but incredibly hot. Up until this point, my hottest traveling experience was southern Spain in July. I'm not sure the temperature down on Osa actually beat out Sevilla but the humidity sure did. The finalized trip entailed a taxi out of Heredia at 4:25 am to a bus out of San Jose at 5:00am to a taxi out of Palmar Norte at 1:00pm to a riverboat out of Sierpe at 2:00pm after which my friend, Anne, and I finally arrived in Drake Bay where we found our hotel and met up with our four other friends at about 3:00 in the afternoon. It was a long day.

Drake Bay is a one-gravel-road town that follows various beautiful beaches along the northern part of the Osa Peninsula. Well, actually, I lie. Drake Bay is the body of water that the town of Agujitas sits on. But everyone just calls it all Drake Bay. We spent a couple days there being beach bums, I spent one being a hammock bum as I managed to let myself get fatigued and dehydrated (it's this thing I do for spring break...) and one day we hired a boat out to Isla del Caña. The trip out to the island was probably the best part of the whole trip.

It was a forty-five minute ride out, during which, we saw dolphins, flying fish and sea turtles. Flying fish are now on my top ten list of ridiculously awesome creatures. I'd never been impressed with them before, but it's a very intriguing thing to be cruising along in a motorboat and have a fish keep pace with you, in the air, about a six feet away. I mean, really...a little bit confused about what sort of animal it wants to be, but cool nonetheless.

After we got close to the island and over top of the reef, Nemo (no really, that was the name of our boat captain/guide, I couldn't make something like that up) dropped us in the water to do some snorkeling. I didn't see a lot, the water was deep enough and I am blind enough that much of it stayed a very lovely blue blur. I did see some fun tropical fish and others saw parrot fish, jellyfish (sea jellies, for you biopolitically correct nerds out there), and we spotted a couple white-tipped reef sharks. It was pretty cool.

After snorkeling, we headed up to the island where Nemo dropped us off to eat lunch and do some hiking. It was a culinarily creative week as we were living out of communal hostel kitchens and trying to save money and spend it on more interesting things. Anne and I discovered the joys of Lissano (delicious Costa Rican sauce) beans in a bag on bread with tuna. Sounds terrible, yes, but you'll eat anything if you're hungry enough and this actually wasn't that bad. The rest of the crew ended up with good ol' pb&j (which, as noted prior, is not as cheap and easy as our US instincts tell us) and we cut up a pineapple and split it six ways. All in all, it was a strange but tasty picnic.

Afer lunch, we hiked up to the top of the island where there were supposedly, at one time, huge, granite spheres left from pre-Columbian inhabitants. Now there are only a few very small spheres, measuring about a foot and a half in diameter as the rest were apparently removed by some wealthy man who possessed a lot of machinery and a very large boat some years back. It was, suffice to say, a sort of anticlimactic hike during which, I got bitten or stung by some anonymous Costa Rican creepycrawly that seems to have done no lasting damage. After that we headed back down to catch our boat ride back to our temporary home in Drake Bay.

After three days in Drake, we headed to Puerto Jimenez. It is a slightly larger town with a few more tourists and expats and it was hot enough that we spent a lot of our remaining time expending as little energy as possible; this included finally taking a look at my homework. Our second day there, though, we hired a guide to take us out to Corcovado National Park. The national park is home to some of the last primary growth rainforest north of Panama. I was so excited to see this! Unfortunately, I got ripped off. Our guide decided that the highlight of any trip into the park would be getting face to face with a real-live, nearly extinct, taipir. So that's what he set out to make happen. And it did. He found us a taipir and it was cool, but it wasn't what I really wanted to see. We walked between six and seven hours (a total of 18 km according to our guide, but I'm not sure I believe him) along a trail in the park that ran north along the western coast of the peninsula. As a result, we never got into any deep jungle and I never got to see any terrain that was vastly different from what I've seen before. Pero, asi es la vida, that's life. I guess I'll just have to go back, right?

Anyway, we got up at 3:30 Saturday morning to make a big breakfast of all the little bits of food we had left over from the week and caught the bus out of Port Jim at 5:00am. After nine sweltering/chilly hours on the bus we made it back to San Jose and then Heredia. It was a good week. In retrospect, I ended up sacrificing seeing what I really wanted to see (the mountains of Monteverde) for some more social interaction (a group of six instead of what would have probably been a week by myself) and it was worth it. I'm just not an endless heat and beach sort of person. Sand drives me up the wall but I can stare at mist-covered mountains for hours on end and never get bored. Thats my next trip, hopefully, outside of the excursion ISEP has coming up in a couple weeks, though it will probably also be my last considering what time I have left.

But I have rambled on quite long enough for one post. My mid-term reflections will have to go in another. I'll write just as much, but perhaps this way, it will be easier to pick and choose what is of interest. Hope everyone is doing well and that you all have an amazing Easter weekend. Pura vida!

*A gold star to anyone who recognizes that particular quote. Though, the longer you've known me, the easier that task becomes.

Life as we know it

I have no idea what I'm going to say here.

Consider yourself forewarned.

Anywho, today is Thursday, April 2nd. (Starting with the obvious seemed easiest.) That means I have been in Costa Rica for two full months. Almost nine weeks. 61 days.

And I'm tired.

It's been a really long week. My two lives (North American and Central) have both been demanding slightly more of late. Next week is Semana Santa so we've been putting the finishing touches on our grand escape plan (which looks like it will work!). Yesterday was my Spanish midterm. How it went is really anyone's guess at this point. I feel like I knew the material but not how the prof wanted us to present it. Add in super hot temperatures (record-breaking, actually, according to the madre), a few unexpected rainfalls and frequent power outages and the removal of the UNA's bus service (without the completion of the bridge) along with trying to coordinate schedule planning, registration and other logistical joys with Whitworth back home...and, as I said, I'm tired.

I'm really looking forward to spring break while at the same time, I'm trying to find a mallet to beat down the part of me that keeps pleading, "Please, just let me sleep!" I don't know why it thinks I'll start listening to it now. Though, I did happen on something of a conundrum in my daydreaming yesterday on the bus to San Jose. I was contemplating going snorkeling (something I've never done but always wanted to do), when I wondered how that would actually work. I wear glasses. I've never worn contacts and as a result don't have any. And I'm completely blind without my glasses. Well, maybe not completely blind, I'd probably see a shark coming at me (assuming it came slowly enough), but I'm pretty sure most of the finer details of the beauty that is the ocean floor would be lost on me. Not to mention the massive disorientation that occurs when I wander around without my classes. Never underestimate the importance of your depth perception. Treasure it while it lasts.

So anyway, that particular adventure may have to wait for another day or perhaps I'll get really creative and figure something out. We'll see. For those of you who actually contact me in real-time, or something loosely akin to it, I'm leaving at o'dark thirty Saturday morning (the 4th, if you'd like to know) and won't be back until late the Saturday after that. And, assuming there are no crisises, I have no intention of checking in the with the rest of world between. So don't expect me to or be alarmed if it seems as though I've fallen off the face of the planet. With any luck, I'll have done just that.

Well, that's pretty much the price of peas in Paris. Pura vida!

In need of a knife...

I'm sitting here, reminding myself that I truly am a college student (rather than someone on long-term vacation in tropical paradise) by eating peanut butter with my finger, straight from the container. If it makes it any better, there were crackers too, earlier. Unfortunately, I may have to give in and find a knife, here soon. I'm not sure I can reach the bottom of the container.



What I find most shocking about this whole scene is how outrageously expensive peanut butter is. To begin with, in the super (a place, usually well-stocked with all things Tico and import) they only carry three brands. Two imports (Jiffy and Peter Pan) and one domestic (Nid). All of which are only sold in very small containers and at outrageously high prices. Now, I understand why American imports are expensive, and understandably, the Tico brand is cheaper. It does, however, still seem excessively priced. Jiffy and Peter Pan go for about six bucks a pop for your average small container (I have no idea how much is actually in them) while the Nid goes for (if I remember correctly) a little over half of that, for substantially less peanut butter.



But anyway, I've been craving the stuff lately and finally noticed that it did not exist in my house, so I went to buy some the other day. I just don't understand why it's so expensive. Peanuts are not. Are commercial peanut smashers in short supply? Or do Costa Ricans just not eat it?



In other news, we've been trying to make plans to get down to the Osa Peninsula for Semana Santa (Holy week, which is also my spring break). There are six of us trying to get there, but it's provng a logistical challenge. Most of the appeal of Osa is the fact that it is a barely populated remnant of Costa Rican rainforest covered in national park, ticks, fer-de-lance snakes, beautiful beaches, rain, taipirs and all sorts of other lovelies and, hopefully, largely devoid of tourists. Unfortunately, it is that very beauty which makes it a complicated, expensive trip which I've been tempted to wash my hands of several times. We're not sure how to get around, we're not sure if we can afford a place to stay, we're not sure, we're not sure, we're not sure... but if, if, it works... it should be an amazing experience. So, here's hoping things come together.



In other, other news, the weather has changed and gone from hot, humid but windy and generally nice to hotter and humidder. Yes, humid enough to justify that horrible affront to the English language (just wait til May when the rains come, then I'll truly begin to slaughter my native tongue). I've finally had to start turning my fan on at night. Too bad I didn't think of doing that earlier to ward off the mosquitoes. It works quite well for that purpose.

Outside of all that fun, there is a band paying tribute to the Buena Vista Social Club at a club in San Jose this weekend. If I can rustle up someone to share a cab fare with me, I think I'm going to try and make it. Live music is always a good choice.

Other than that, not much is going on... just another week in paradise :-)

Walk this way...

Back in the day, I mentioned how noteworthy my daily trek to school is. I even hinted that maybe someday I would write about it in detail. I did this knowing full well that the probability of this happening was next to nil. Well, whaddyaknow? Someone's gotta win the lottery... (Not that your reading this will be nearly as cool, but, whatev.)

So. I make a 30 minute trek from the door of my house to (what, for me, amounts to) a central point on campus. There are two buses that I can take which get me closer, but by the time all is said done, I usually don't think it's worth it. I save neither time nor money and I get less exercise. So I trek it.

The trip begins as I step out of my family's carport, close and lock the small door behind me, and turn to face the morning before me. Almost invariably, it is at this moment that I contemplate digging out my sunglasses (usually it's between 8:45 and 9:00 in the morning) and ultimately decide it's not worth it. I'm not sure why I usually decide this, because I'm sure it actually is. As I squint into the morning sun and take off, up the slow incline of Avenida 2, I mentally take stock of all my possessions: Is my money in a safe place? Do I have my keys? Did I remember to bring a snack? On a scale of 1 to 10, how much of a gringa do I look like today? (I seem to have been doing well lately, on this particular note.)

About a block and a half to the east, I get to negotiate the teaming hordes of colegio students (US equivalent of 7th through 12th grades) that cluster, mil, gossip, trudge, meander and lounge around the Colegio Samuel Saenz at all hours of the day. Seriously. I have yet to notice a time of day between 7:00 am and 5:00 pm when the uniformed youth of Heredia are not out and about. Yes, they go home for lunch, but do they ever go to class? Maybe I'll never know.

I pass the colegio, the bus stop, cross the street where my favorite internet cafe resides (frequented primarily by gamers between the ages of 8 and 17 but endowed with largely decent machines), past the taxistas waiting for their next fare and up two blocks where I get to pass first, a bakery filled with and emanating all sorts of delicious smells and then, a butcher which smells decidedly less delightful.

I proceed from there up, what I like to call, the Cubujuqui hill. It is the one noteworthy little mountain in my trip and it runs through the neighborhood of Cubujuqui...hence my ever-so-original name. This involves passing the three aging gentlemen who sit on the red, cement bench, under the gnarly tree, at the bus stop and argue loudly over what I like to think is something resembling politics and the audacity of young whippersnappers these days. I've never stopped to find out but I will one of these days. Then, dodge the buses and taxis to cross a very large intersection next to the futbol stadium and sports complex, only to avoid the much shorter, polo t-shirted munchkins who perambulate without direction, about the primary school that sits at the top of the hill.

It is then another hop, skip and a jump (ie, about six blocks, four taxi dodgings, two pauses to wait for a bus to pass, one moment spent drooling over the adorable puppies in the pet shop window and thirty seconds spent waiting to pass a v e r y slow elderly lady on the narrow sidewalk) before I arrive at the parque central of Heredia. Heredia's central park is precisely that. It is a park in the center of Heredia, bound by rows of shops on two sides, the post office on one and the cathedral on the last. It is always full of people, pigeons, pairs of people making out and on Sunday there's a live band and usually a clown or two. It's a great place to take an hour or two to be local and people-watch, just avoid sitting to the south of the fountain because the wind blows and you will be wet and cold. However, I don't have time for such things as I wend my way to class...

Rather, I cruise past the park pretty quickly, adeptly avoiding the blind man selling lottery tickets on the corner (he wasn't there one day last week, I was worried something had happened to him), past a couple of shops with awkwardly displayed mannequins, a bookstore, an ice cream shop (!), the court house, cross the street again and off I go. From there on in, it's coffee shops, cheap pizza places, internet cafes and all manner of things that appeal to the university crowd. Finally, one block west of the university, I change direction and head north to avoid one of the biggest intersections in Heredia; bordered by a bookstore, Burger King, Papa John's and a university building, it's huge, noisy, smelly and a pain to try and get across any time of the day. Instead, I go up, pass the smaller intersection where three of the city's clubs are recuperating from a hard night, cut to the right, cross the very busy street directly in front of the university campus (that's an experience the first couple times) and ta-daa!

I've arrived!

And that's the story of my trip to school. The end.

Feelin' good...

Do you ever have those days where you wake up and everything just feels right? Yeah, I get those too. Today wasn't one of them, but I get them. Today was better than that, I think.

I didn't wake up with the feeling that everything had fallen into place and that the beautiful sunny weather outside would be a perfect metaphor for the impending twelve hours. Rather, I woke up and groggily caught sight of the beautiful blue sky and sunshine and suddenly felt massively disoriented. It's March, the weather is beautiful, I'm not in Spokane, I'm not in Battle Ground... What happened to the rain?

But like the pitiful Vancouver snow that used to periodically tantalize me when I was a child, it didn't stick. I beat around this morning, did some laundry, listened to some music, avoided homework and made plans to meet up with a friend and do some shopping. Had a successful afternoon wandering around Heredia, exploring shops and came home to a quiet house. I put my stuff up, grabbed a snack and then got sucked into the interweb for a while (I do try and limit myself, I am in Costa Rica after all...). Sometimes, the tubes suck out your soul but today it actually felt good. I stumbled upon some blogs written and frequented by and for educators. Teachers. Talking. About what they do. About what I want to do. While I sit here in Costa Rica, in the process of learning and experiencing so many things that I can't wait to share with my first class.

Not to blow things out of proportion or anything, but it was kind of inspiring. It got me excited about what I get to do and reminded me of more reasons why I'm in Costa Rica right now. Today, (and this is something I'm going to hold on to desperately because I know it will slip away all too soon) I'm excited to student-teach in a year, instead of just completely overwhelmed.

Right now... it feels like, just maybe, I'll be able to pull this whole gig together. Life, I mean.

That's an amazing feeling.

"Welcome to the Caribbean, love..."

Last week was, in a word: long. I managed to get very little sleep throughout the week and by the time I staggered out of class Friday night at eight o'clock, I was drastically in need of an escape. From everything to anywhere. As my good fortune would have it, a few friends had made plans to go to Puerto Viejo and they invited me along. All told, there were four of us. Two left on Friday and the two of us with class on Friday, left at o'dark thirty Saturday morning. I dragged myself out of bed at a quarter to five, threw my stuff together, called a taxi and was off to pick up my friend Anne by 5:15 am. We caught a bus out of Heredia to San Jose where we caught the 6:00 to Puerto Viejo. The morning went off without a hitch.

First, a moment to revel in the glory that is the Tico bus. There is padding and upholstery on the seats. There are curtains on the windows. It is quiet (especially at six in the morning). They make bathroom/food stops. There are no chickens. There is no a/c, but I'm not about to complain about something so trivial as that... That, my friends, is luxury you cannot appreciate until you've ridden for six hours on a decrepit school bus, sitting in a broken seat, in the broiling heat with your only entertainment being the small chicken kept in a towel in the seat next to you and counting the places you can see light through the floor.

Anyway, we managed to miss our stop in Puerto Viejo through a series of unfortunate events (I don't believe I'm stepping on any copyrighted toes here...), finally got off the bus five kilometers out of town, grabbed a cab back in and we were good to go. We met up with our compatriots at the hostel of the weekend, Rocking J's. And yes, it did rock. Though, a good example of the flavor of the place: upon entering, I looked up to see a large, vividly painted and illustrated sign prohibiting the smoking of marijuana just as my nose informed me that, for the most part, it was just a pretty sign. This is also indicative of Puerto Viejo, in general. Anyway, we rented hammocks for the night ($4 a pop, I'm a fan...), stowed our gear in our lockers, got changed and hit the town to grab some food before heading for the beach.

Puerto Viejo is a small city, I would even dare to call it a town, on the southern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. It owes what notoriety it has and the (almost) fully paved road to get there to the surfing scene which discovered that the coastline here has some of the best waves around. It is also, due to the presence of Costa Rica's only two reefs, home of some of the most brutal. Between the surfers and the relaxed, Caribbean, Rastafarian atmosphere, the whole place is just a lazy day on the beach. While it has a definite tourist vibe, many of them are people who come to further appreciate what's already there and, content with a hammock and a place to stow their board and watch the waves, rather than requiring an all-inclusive resort, it still retains its amazing laid-back feel.

I loved it. We got out, got some sun, got some waves, got some food, met some people... How do you go wrong? Oh, and I finally got back on a dance floor. After dinner Saturday night, we found a bar where a live band was playing all sorts of salsa, merengue, suin criollo and other good stuff. The whole place is full of great music after the sun goes down and I guess it's a good thing I'm not trying to study there because it just wouldn't happen. There's as much to do at night as there is during the day. After things calmed down at Bar Maritza, we headed over to Johnny's Place, the local discoteca, apparently considered the place to be. It was okay, but I'll take a live band over canned music almost any day, acoustics permitting.

I went home early, walking back to collapse in my hammock at about 12:30 (no, I wasn't alone; no, I wasn't being stupid) as I had gotten up before the sun (which is more impressive here, than it is up north, yet). The next day was just a lazy day at the beach before getting cleaned up and catching our bus back to San Jose at 4:00.

There is, of course, always more to tell, but for now, I'll send this out into the void and save the rest for the brave few who skype and email me and perhaps come back to it here later. However, the trip ended up being just what the doctor ordered and will help to get me through a week that looks to be horribly homework laden. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to make it back to Puerto Viejo before my time here is up.

Okay, it's official... Today, I'm homesick

Today marks the end of my fifth week in Costa Rica and also, the end of the first quarter of my trip. I get to do what I've done (with a few variations) three more times and then it's "Hasta luego, Costa Rica!" Now, oddly enough, I don't think I had had a moment of true, well-that's-different-and-strange-and-makes-me-kind-of-resent-being-here culture shock until this morning during breakfast. As a result, today, I have to confess to some homesickness that is a little worse than normal. And over such a silly, little thing too...

Morning routines are funny things. Not only to they vary across cultures, they vary within cultures too. What my family does on a lazy Saturday morning is, most likely, not what your family does on a lazy Saturday morning. For one thing, I'm pretty sure I didn't know what a lazy Saturday morning was until college (but I digress...). Knowing this, my first morning here (a Sunday), I found out what time breakfast was and made sure I had enough time to shower, get dressed and see what the usual weekend breakfast dresscode was before I tried stumbling out to the dining room in pjs with the impressions of my pillow still on my face. For all I knew, every Sunday morning there was a massive family get together with the better part of the numerous relations you liked and even more of those you barely spoke to, dressed in their Sunday best and getting ready to look sharp at 11:00 mass. It always pays to be aware you might have to be introduced to someone the minute you walk out of your room... Anyway, it turned out that everyone was dressed but it was a pretty casual affair. I stuck this in my mental file cabinet.

During the week, I always get up and get showered and dressed before I do anything else. At home, in Costa Rica, on the moon, it's just usually how I do things (yes, Dad, vacations are a whole different story...), so no worries there. The first few weekends I was here, my parents were out of town so I was alone for breakfast (don't worry, I was still well taken care of) and so it's not been until recently that I've been able to pick up the weekend routine. Last weekend, my mom came and knocked on my door and woke me up telling me breakfast was ready. Rather than offend someone by not showing up and because I had noticed that it was a pretty casual affair (I would have guessed my madre was wearing something akin to pjs, most days) I opted for crawling out of bed, taming my hair slightly, slipping on some flipflops (barefoot is kind of taboo) and going out to breakfast. In my pjs. I mentioned to my mother that I had just woken up, she expressed her concern, said she hadn't known and if I wanted to sleep through breakfast in the future, that was fine. Ate food. Chitchatted. Moved on with our respective days.

And then, there was this morning. I showed up to breakfast in pjs again. It's not really something I'm comfortable with doing here, but it is one way that I can slowly begin to feel like I'm more at home instead of staying in a nice B&B. Even while at home, I don't usually like to bum around as my scuzzy, unkempt, alter-ego, "Sarah the lazy college student," but every now and then, it's nice not to feel pressured to get going with your day. And one way that I know I'm at home, is that I can do that. Well, today, I found out that pajamas at the breakfast table are frowned upon, even on Saturdays. It was by no means a hard lesson. My mother simply mentioned it and as my pajammed-self sat there and sheepishly apologized she told me not to worry about it because they had never said anything to me. Pura vida. I guess she didn't mention it to me the week before because she attributed it to me feeling like I needed to get up quickly.

The thing is, while I'm sure my family is not going to hold a grudge (as long as I leave the pajamas in the bedroom where they belong, in the future), I now have to acclimatize to this new attitude. For me, with family and at home has always been a place where you could be you. Clean, scuzzy, sad, happy, exhausted, frustrated, spontaneous, dressed-up, dressed-down, anxious, emotional, whathaveyou. There were, and are, standards, of course. But, of all the places in the world, at home was where you could show the truest you. That goes for my family at home, in BG and for my "family" of friends that I've acquired throughout the years.

The funny thing is, I know that this...formality, if you will, is just that. Even though it feels like a big value difference, it's just that things are expressed differently and cultures develop in different directions (sidenote: it's amazing how much climate and environment affect lifestyle in ways you never think of). In spite of that, for some strange reason, it's a little hard not to feel suddenly in a much stranger place than I did twenty-four hours ago and it will take some time to start feeling "at home" again.

A Day in the Life

So, here in this blog, I've written a memorial, described the book aquiring process, written some pros and cons about the country and made a (less-than) dramatic confession about my chosen vocation, among some other things. What I seem to have failed to do is describe my life, as I know it, in the here and now of Costa Rica. Entonces, for those into the nitty gritty details, here follows an example of a tipical week day in Heredia:

Six o'clock rolls around, sun up and beginning to shine on the upper half of my curtained window, and I blearily awake to the sounds of my host family's 7 month old granddaughter, Daniella, being dropped off, and invariably beginning to cry. I take a glance at the clock, roll over and proceed to make a desperate attempt at sleep (usually in increments of ten minutes, just a weird thing I do) until between 6:30 and 8:00, depending on the day and just how out of sorts Daniella is. I then get up, make my bed, shower and get dressed and then go out to grab the breakfast of fruit + miscellaneous main dish (pancakes, cheese and bread, french toast, etc) that is waiting for me in the kitchen. By this time the rest of the house is going about their independent business, my padre at work, my madre taking care of Daniella, and I periodically have a few words with whoever crosses my path.

After that, I get everything ready to go, make my farewells and head off to la UNA. It's a half hour walk from my door to the central part of the campus. I was going to describe the trip, but decided it was better to just give it it's own entry later. Whether that actually happens, however, is anyone's guess.

Anyway, after the blog-worthy trek, depending on the day of the week, I go to my class in the central campus or catch the university bus up to el CIDE (another section of campus which is most inconveniently up a large hill and currently cannot be reached without going the long way around. You see, there is this river and unfortunately there was this bridge... The past tense being key.). Classes range from an hour and a half to three hours long and none of them meet more than twice a week. I'm taking a Spanish language and Costa Rican culture class along with a colonial Hispanoamerican lit course, a contemporary Spanish lit course and a course which, when translated, is called "Life, Death, Pain and Mourning." It's sort of a psych/sociology hodgepodge of disaster. I'd forgotten how much I hate freshman courses. All the others are pretty cool. I also opted for the (optional for adv. lang. students) three hours of private tutoring a week and I'm loving it and learning a ton at the same time.

I usually come home for lunch; typical fare being some sort of vegetable and meat with a side of, you guessed it, rice and beans, and if I'm lucky, a platano for dessert. After that it's time to study, either at home or wherever else I can carve out a niche for my gringa self (though leaving home to study gets problematic, I find myself people watching instead and getting nothing done).

Dinner is between six and seven, I often eat with just my madre as my padre doesn't get home from work until late, typically. We eat and chat about whatever comes up, topics as varied as common recipes in our respective countries to (one of my personal favorites) how to get a man to do whatever you want (needless to say, I was primarily listening on that one). After dinner I help clean up and do the dishes and then usually retire to my room where I read, do homework, and periodically revel in my native tongue with some tv shows in English. A travesty, I know, but every now and then you've gotta do it. And then between nine and midnight, I go to bed and it starts all over again.

Anyway, it's not the hammock-lounging-beach-gazing-surfer-ogling-tropical-paradise lifestyle that some would have it to be, but I'm okay with it. The little adventures keep things interesting. And hopefully, this weekend, I'm off to Volcan Barva...to finally get out of Heredia again :-)

Forgive me, Profe, for I have sinned...

[AKA The Most Parenthetically Afflicted, Foot-Note Infested Entry Yet]

I have a confession to make.

(Are you on the edge of your seat, yet? No? Well, I’ll give you a moment.)

I am not, and have never been, truly, passionately interested in Latin American cultures or countries. I also hated my first year studying Spanish. My sole purpose upon entering the first day of class my second year was to get the year over with as quickly as possible and head for the hills with my two consecutive credits of foreign language, done and over with forever.
Six and a half years of Spanish study later, I’m sitting in Costa Rica writing this.

Now, to say that I’m not passionately interested in Latin America doesn’t mean it doesn’t interest me at all. The world is a huge place and I’ve only lived in one country (mostly). Everywhere I’ve never been fascinates me on some level (except for perhaps Nebraska, Kansas and Arkansas) and I have dreamt of traveling to so many places I must have spent an excessive percentage of my life sleeping (though my body contests this point). The thing of it is, on the list of places that I would drop an entire year of my life and run away to on a whim, Latin America has never been very near the top of the list.

This statement, of course, begs the question, “So, er, why exactly was it that you decided to become an, er, well, a Spanish teacher, as it were?”

And the answer that I hasten to assuage your fears with is this: Have you ever looked at language? I mean, really, truly, deeply looked, analyzed, compared, discovered, played and experimented with language? Because if you haven’t, you should try it sometime. It’s an addicting habit. Language contains the entire history of the world.* Everything that humanity is, it tries to express within language. Ultimately, it fails, because there are some things you just can’t wrap two-dimensional symbols and simple phonemes around. But we try so hard.

Language is hopelessly entwined with culture; it creates and defines a people as it is created and defined itself. This is one reason that I find language intoxicatingly fascinating and also the reason that I feel it is an act of negligence for a language instructor to step into a classroom with less than a semester’s worth of experience in at least one culture that speaks the language of their endorsement area (See: entry-yet-to-be-written-discussing-why-I’m-so-excited-to-teach-Spanish).

You see the truth is: I love Spanish because it is language. My passion for it lies in its linguistic attributes, not in the cultural. But because I love it from a different angle, doesn’t mean I love it any less. And I have grown to appreciate the cultures and histories that Spanish embodies through study of the language, rather than following the more typical path of cultural appreciation leading to linguistic. I’m constantly in awe here because I’m learning so much that I never knew before. Frankly, what is more fascinating than a story involving, history, politics, conquest, tropical jungles and grammar? Sign me up for the next adventure in Costa Rican linguistic history…**

That said, I regularly daydream of sailing the Mediterranean, backpacking the Camino de Santiago and getting lost in cities so old they’ve worn the name tags of at least three different empires (Istanbul née Constantinople née Byzantium, anyone?).

After all, it’s always good to have plans for the next trip…

[PS for the boy: …which will be much shorter than the most recent two, I promise ;-)]

*You can argue with me here, if you like, and I might even come around, but that’s another entry for another day. Anyone completely unable to restrain their objections may feel free to email me. I’ve had a shortage of debates for the sake of debate, lately.

** The form “vos,” (not to be confused with “vosotros,”) being the first adventure. How did I not know of its existence?

In the Copy Shop

Life as a Central American university student is a far cry from that of a student at Whitworth in frigid Spokane, Washington. At least on the logistical level. For example, here in Heredia, there are: No dorms (or few enough to count as such), computer labs that actually have people monitoring them (maybe that actually happens at home too, outside of Dixon), procedures for using computers in said labs and the general attitude that copyright laws are things that happen to other people (though as a result, so are expensive back surgeries caused by carrying around pounds of exorbitantly priced textbooks).

Enter: the copy shop. I have spent the better part of the last three school days running around central Heredia in search of a place to make copies, a place to pick up the reading material for my classes (which happens to also be a place to make copies), a place to print homework and visa information, and a bank that might be, through some divine miracle, open. You see, near the university, every city block is littered with tiny little copy shops that can do everything from sell you a copy of your passport to fax a three hundred page anthology of contemporary Spanish literature to your cousin in Timbuktu and give you a bottle of pineapple juice on the side. Generally, professors make a copy of all the reading material that will be needed in a class, leave it with a copy shop and every student goes down independently, buys a copy of the material and away they go with their rather illegal but highly educational contraband. The problem being, every professor chooses a different shop and every shop has a different procedure. For some, you go down, ask for the material, they copy it while you wait, pay for it and you’re set. For others, you go down in advance, write your name on a list and come back the next day. It’s anyone’s guess really (at least for the extranjera) what the procedure will be. And if you want something printed, like homework from your computer? Save it to a flash drive and then hand it over to the muchacho at the copy shop. He’ll print it up right there for a few colones. But to someone who’s used to walking into the lab in Dixon (assuming she doesn’t use her own printer at home) sitting down, printing her paper and leaving without anything so messy as human contact… it’s a bit of an adjustment.

That said, I’ve decided that if for some reason I ever found myself living in Costa Rica and in need of a job, that’s just what I would like to do; work in a copy shop. Right now, it’s a very necessary service in the country, and while it will probably become less so, I think they’ll stick around for a while. Plus, if you’re near the Universidad Nacional (from here on out to be referred to as the UNA), business booms at the beginning of every semester. For someone like me, an addict of all things stationery, a lover and hoarder of paper and books, who loves giving tangible form to things only expressed either in one’s mind or electronically (sometimes they’re practically the same, these days), it sound amazing. Something simple with noncommittal, casual human interaction which provides a needed service. What a beautiful little niche in which to live your life, eh?

But for now, I guess I’ll just wait a few more hours and then run into Heredia central hoping that the copies I need for class will be ready by the time I get there. If not, well, I suppose Columbus’ letters have waited this long for me to read them, a few hours longer probably won’t hurt.