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.

Life in Tico Town

So, I have almost two hours before my class starts and I just love feeding the internet café industry so, a post of random pros and cons about Costa Rica:

Things I miss about the states:
1. I would currently give a lot for a good strong, cuppa PG tips decaf (yes, only decaf because I´ve got enough stressing my system right now). With cream and sugar, please.
2. Hot, steamy, pouring showers that make the mirrors unusable for a week.
3. Super-fast internet in my house. Both of them. All of them.
4. Putting toilet paper...in the toilet.
5. Real fruit juice. It´s always an odd toss-up here between amazing, fresh-squeezed tropical, fruity goodness or rather chemically tang-like mixes. My madre seems to prefer the latter.
6. My family, housemates and boyfriend. (Lest any of them be offended that this was relegated to number six, well, pure coincidence.)
7. Having my own car to drive. And understanding the rules of the road where I drive it.
8. Ice cream. Lots of ice cream. Not that I can´t get it here, it´s just...well, it´s sort of different.
9. Aged cheeses. I´m an addict.

Things I love about Costa Rica:
1. Walking everywhere. As much as it can be stressful, hot and exhausting... It´s also really cool to be able to walk to almost everywhere I need to get to.
2. The food. Fried plátanos, fresh fruit with breakfast every day, and I have to confess to enjoying beans and rice. Lucky me.
3. The people. Everyone is very friendly, laid-back and just has this great relaxed attitude about life. Which makes it much easier to slowly allow myself to fit into the culture here.
4. The weather. I´m warm. It´s a sensation I haven´t truly felt in months.
5. Speaking Spanish. I love it. And every now and then, at home, I forget how much I love it. But it´s great to have the opportunity to stretch my skills and learn new vocabulary just walking down the street.
6. The enthusiasm for life that Ticos have and the way they are able to constantly express it.

I feel bad, writing a longer list of things that I miss about the states than things I love about CR, but the thing is, while the second list is shorter, it´s made of much bigger things.

Though, I do have to confess, after my trips to Central America, I will never take a hot shower for granted again.

¡Pura vida!

In Memory

This isn’t about Costa Rica. In fact, it is an unfortunate truth that I am currently writing this while in Costa Rica (frankly, it’s an unfortunate truth that I’m writing it at all). However, it is about life. And back on the dreary, gray Seattle day when I started this, that’s what I said this venue was for. So here goes.

I received news this morning that a very dear friend of the family had passed away after a long, difficult battle with cancer. It’s a tough piece of news. I went to my first class today (my first class, here, period) with extremely puffy eyes and a near inability to speak. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because of the language barrier.

She was an amazing woman. She had this amazing sense of humor and an infectious spunkiness that I loved. She was sharp and fun and on top of things. I knew her from years and years in 4H. From years and years of experiences that, unless you’ve shared them, you just don’t really understand. She was a part of the program before I got there and continued to be there after I aged out, ten years later. Though, thanks to my sister’s continued involvement, I still stay in contact.

While at our club winter party, which I attended about a week before I left the country, I noticed she wasn’t there. It was like a great meal missing a key ingredient. Hers is a face and a personality that was always a part of that piece of my life. Now she will be sorely missed.

Today, my heart and thoughts and prayers go out to her family and friends. It’s never easy losing someone and there’s rarely anything new to be said. So I won’t try and burden a beautiful memory with words that don’t fit. But she was a beautiful person and she brought such joy to us all that we were blessed to have her in our lives.

Deonne truly made the best better. And I’m so glad to have known her.

I Can’t Think of a Catchy Title For This One

I just realized that I have now been in Costa Rica for one week and some odd hours. It’s going remarkably well in a very passive way.

Today (Feb. 7 at the writing of this) finished up our orientation process, though there are still plenty of fun, bureaucratic-like activities to take part in, e.g. the continued saga of the visa process. Most of it entailed your standard, “Don’t-be-a-moron-and-walk-around-with-your-camera-around-your-neck-and-your-iPod-in-your-pocket-and-your-money-jingling-loudly-while-you-comment-on-how-incredibly-lost-you-are-and-wouldn’t-someone-somewhere-please-serve-something-besides-rice-and-beans?!” intelligent, cultural sensitivity lectures. The other being intro information and tours of the university, Heredía and San Jose. And, much as I enjoy mocking the process, there was some useful information and the ISEP coordinator, Ivelina is really great.

Friday found us up, bright and early at 7:00, waiting for the bus up to Sarapiquí, a region to the northwest of Heredía (if I have my directions right; I really need to get a decent map). We spent Friday and Saturday, volunteering with the red cross (there was an earthquake which left over two hundred families homeless about a month ago), learning (for the billionth time) salsa and merengue, hiking through the rainforest, getting completely, wet-to-the-bones-of-your-bones, sodden while horse-back riding and, of course, eating rice and beans. It was a good trip. I particularly enjoyed sampling termites in the rainforest. Our guide picked them up on a stick, popped a couple into his mouth and informed us they tasted like peanuts before offering us a few. In all actuality, they taste much more like pine nuts.

Interesting note for my fellow dancing addicts: While the salsa and merengue lessons were less than inspiring (the instructor in Guanajuato is much better) I did see a new form of dance I’ve never seen before. Swing Criollo or Creole Swing; don’t know if any of you have ever heard of it, but I’ll be sending along some great videos to interested parties.

Anywhy, thus far, this trip has been a particularly interesting experience. One reason being, nothing is really that new. That sounds close-minded, I s’pose, but a lot of the stuff I’m doing, I’ve done before. I’ve lived with a host family (when I knew much less Spanish) and committed the faux pas associated therewith. I’ve trekked through the jungle, I’ve learned Central American bus systems, I’ve used cheap, crazy taxi services, I’ve learned Latin dancing, etc. Which is okay, because there is still a lot more I can gain from this experience, but it is an interesting perspective to have while with a group of people who, for the most part, have less experience than I do. I just don’t find myself really excited and interested in the same things they are. Because I’ve done many of the big, touristy things, I really want to focus on some of the smaller things that come with staying in one place and having a family and being able to feel established in a new place. Which, quite honestly, when everyone is making plans and talking about going to the beaches and climbing volcanoes and rafting down rivers, makes me feel like something of a homebody. I mean, I want to do those things too, but I’ll take them as they come and also appreciate what I have right here in Heredía. I guess it’s just important to remember that I’m the one who makes my own experience and I have to decide what I want out of it.

After all, everything in life has the value you give it. From the twenty-dollar bill you found last week after telling a really lame story to the tasty, pine-nutty termite you found while tripping through the rainforest.

Of catcalls, Costa Rica, cabbages and kings...

Well, here I am. Finally in Costa Rica and what’s more, endowed with internet access. And it only took me three days.
I think I shall spare you all the minute details. At least until the minute details become fabulously interesting or otherwise crucially important. I arrived in Heredia without incident. My family (mother, Odilie, and father, Elías) picked me up at the airport and brought me home. My room is very nice, if on the spatially challenged side. Smaller than the rooms in Akili, for those of you who know what that means, but I have my own equally minute bathroom which is excellent. I really like it and it’s set a little bit off from the rest of the house so if I need some time away, I can get it.

Spent Sunday at a country club with my family. And here I mean the Costa Rican/Latino definition of family; ergo: mother, father, their two daughters, a son-in-law and three grandchildren. It was fun and I did absolutely nothing besides lounge in the sun, eat food and interact with my family. Today was the first day of orientation, a grueling eight hours of information that, for the most part, I already know. But it was a good chance to meet the 14 or so other people in the program.

I feel really good about this trip, right now. Granted, I haven’t started classes and I’m sure that will be a wonderful new source of panic and angst, but right now things are going really well. I’m surprisingly not homesick or culture shocked; though I’ll give it some time before I call the jury out on that one. The language barrier is proving to be far more a net than a wall; I’ve had frequent complements on how well I speak. And Heredia is lovely, warm, clean and largely comfortable. Oh, and for the most part, it smells good, or at least, not bad. Definitely a plus and much harder to find than one might think. My family and I also seem to complement each other well. It feels a lot like my own family in the way people interact. (Tidbit for all those people whom I people watch with: it’s very interesting to be in a situation where it’s very easy to see a family interact and tune out all the verbal cues. I think you notice things a lot faster. Sometimes we really would understand each other better if we didn’t listen so hard to what we said, or rather, what we think we said.)

All in all, life is good. The next two weeks will be crazy busy and have some very stressful moments, but, asi es la vida. I’m really excited to be here and can’t wait to see how things continue to go.

And really, nearly three days and not a catcall one… how can a girl complain about that?