¡Vamos a Ganar!

Today was the day. After weeks of preparation (mainly involving eating as much Costa Rican food and candy as I could possibly force myself to consume), I was about to run my first 5k ever!

My housemate and I woke up at 5 a.m. in preparation to leave around 5:30 for San Jose, which is a busy city that vaguely reminds me of San Francisco. Upon getting out of bed, however, I realized that I had a severe stomach ache (an occurrence neither surprising nor uncommon here, however extremely inconvenient for this particular day). My host mom was so elated for this event that I couldn't bring myself to not go. Keeping my pain to myself, I stashed my breakfast when no one was looking and Hilda, Anna, and I, along with our next door neighbors Sylvia and Antonio, set off for the race.

The car ride to San Jose was rough. Somehow I ended up in the middle seat, and throughout the bumpy roads, 90 degree right turns, and sudden breaking, Costa Rican driving wasn't doing my stomach ache any favors.

Before I knew it, we had arrived! The place was crowded with over a thousand runners, all there to support the Clinica Biblica, which is a local hospital. 

    

           (Above: Sylvia, Anna, Hilda, and me before the race. Anna and I were told that they

                                        ran out of t-shirts by the time we signed up.)                         

We stretched and joined the line, somehow arriving in the very front for the start of the run.

                             

An announcer said a prayer (perhaps a cultural custom, or possibly a reflection of the biblical hospital), and instructions were given, of which I understood none of. A horn then sounded and we were off! Anna and I quickly passed Hilda and Sylvia, and within no time at all Anna accelerated past me. I enjoyed running solo because I did not have to think or worry about looking stupid in my out-of-shape state. I kept pace with people who appeared to enjoy eating as much as I do. After about a half mile I started second-guessing my excitement for this event, and remembered why I had chosen to pursue softball on my younger years-- limited long distance running!

I soon entered the zone. I had found the perfect pace for myself, and settled into an athletic mindset in which I felt as though I could have continued running all day. Up and down the streets of San Jose, passed my internship site, through stopped traffic we ran; time passed quickly. And then my morning handful of Pepto Bismol and Advil pills wore off.

I had seemingly never felt such excruciating pain! Knives were drilling into my stomach and rib cage. I knew that other students had been experiencing similar pain, so I was not worried about the sickness itself; my fear was solely that I was not going to be able to finish the race. I simply could not run anymore due to the feeling of a rapidly increasing number of knives chopping up my internal organs, so I swallowed my pride and slowed to a walk. I knew that the result of me not finishing the race would be getting lost in the streets of San Jose and a very worried Hilda, so with every ounce of strength I had, I trudged on. At this slower pace I noticed that there were a lot of townspeople lined up watching the race that I somehow did not notice before. Either in encouragement or in mockery, they started to boo me for walking! I wanted to boo them back for sitting on their porch drinking ice tea in their lazy superiority, but I bit my tongue and continued to trudge on, painful step by painful step.

Surprisingly quickly, the wave of pain died down to a bearable level, and I was able to accelerate to a jog just in time for the plethora of cameramen waiting at a checkpoint. 

Shortly after, I reached a point where there was music, cheering, people in costumes and masks (one actually terrifying clown), and fans covering the roped path. I guessed that I had made it to the halfway point, and was glad to have an idea of where I was. I was shocked to learn that it was actually the finish line; I had made it! There was no clock or timer, but Hilda said she thought it took me around 20 minutes. I believe she is very optimistic. 

                              

                                                 (Above: Anna and I after the race.)

 

When our little group reunited afterwards, we were directed into a gymnasium which had free samples from all the sponsors of the race. Hilda and Sylvia were like children in a candy shop, ecstatically taking one of everything. Free shampoo! Free sunscreen! Free tablespoon of a quinoa-based energy drink! To top it off, the hospital was providing free massages. It was like Christmas. 

In prime Costa Rican fashion, there was also a dance party taking place in the gymnasium! Gringos might identify the gathering as a Zumba class, but to the Ticos it was simply dancing. There was an instructor in the front, and a bunch of elated people high on endorphins were following his lead. One of the songs was a spanish version of "Who let the dogs out." It was a fiesta if I've ever seen one.

                               

                                  (Above: Anna and Sylvia rocking the Zumba class)

This race was so fun that I am eager to try another one when I return home to compare the experience. Running events may be something I integrate into my new, post-Costa Rica life!

"How 'Bout Those Dead Animals?"

Today my class took a field trip to a local University, "UNA." I became very excited to learn that we were visiting the veterinary branch of the UNA, because I love animals and was happy to be in a place with my people. My good mood quickly took a left turn, however, when I stepped into the building and was hit with the smell of death.

(Above: My class and I obliviously happy before the tour)

I quickly put my observations together-- the dissection labs/ surgery rooms/ etc. became a slap-in-the-face reality that this field trip was not going to consist of playing with puppies. It became more of a reality when our guide took us into the first room, which just so happened to be the dissection room. The room consisted of a horse skeleton and many covered-up lumps. I tried not to put too much thought into the lumps (making an effort to ignore one dangling tail), until our guide walked over and nonchalantly removed one of the towels to reveal a partially dissected dog. At that point I made a quick and quiet exit, and very calmly and placidly decided to sit outside with my head between my legs.

That was only the first room.

We toured the entire vet school. I should clarify, my class full of kinesiology majors observed the school, while I, a marketing major, sat outside in a blissful oblivion reading the Nicholas Sparks book I borrowed from the CRC library. Sometimes when I would hear an abundance of oos and ahhs I would glance over at my teacher, who would usually give me a quick head shake-- a signal easily understood that I should stay seated on the bench. One notable moment was when our guide revealed a jar consisting of a two-headed calf (below). This is a picture borrowed from a classmate, as I was reading outside in fresh air. 

All in all, this trip was a great experience in that it reinforced my decision to declare a marketing major. I greatly respect veterinarians and covet their ability to help animals in need, however I have realized that this is one profession I am not going to pursue. 

White Water Rafting

Last weekend my classmates and I went white water rafting down the fifth most beautiful river in Costa Rica. In case there was any doubt in your mind, yes, it was amazing. 

We all met up at 5:50 in the morning to arrive at the river around 8. As I am becoming accustomed to waking up at ungodly hours of the morning, and the Costa Rican time zone is an hour ahead of the Pacific time zone, I'm in for a long couple of weeks when I return home.

After a bus ride full of gorgeous scenery (which I unfortunately missed most of due to falling into a coma-like slumber), we made it to the river. We received our paddles and helmets, and were given a thorough safety course.

 

Then we were off! We paddled through the rapids, giving each other high fives with our paddles after making it through each patch of rapids and yelling "¡Pura Vida!" which is a local phrase basically meaning life is good. My guide found amusement in initiating splash-wars with the other rafts, so needless to say that brought on a whole new tier of complexity to the trip. 

We passed stunning waterfalls and greenery as we rafted down class-one to -four rapids. 

 

 I expressed interest to my guide that I wanted to see a monkey, but he said that there was next to no chance we would see one in the middle of the day. He said there were an abundance of monkeys and sloths early in the morning, but they dispersed after the sun came up. Soon after, however, my guide spotted a sloth in a tree! Unbelievably, soon after that, we spotted a monkey sitting amongst the rocks! It was definitely our lucky day. 

                                                       (Above: The sloth in a tree)

As it was reaching one o'clock and I hadn't eaten since five in the morning, I was beginning to see colors and shapes other than those of the river. Finally it was lunch time! We rafted onto a beach, and I was expecting cheap and soggy sandwiches, as we may have had in the States. However, in Costa Rican fashion, we feasted! Burritos with chicken, lettuce, bell pepper, guacamole, corn, rice, beans, and tomatoes, along with fruit which was cut up in a fashion that I am going to unsuccessfully try to imitate when I arrive back home. In addition to eating, we played in the water before lunch while the guides prepared the food, and after lunch while they cleaned up.

An unanticipated bonus of the trip was that I was able to learn a lot about a tribe that lives on the river. As I am working for a museum that sells indigenous products, it was great to see one of the tribes that I will later be learning about. I was told that the tribe rents out its land to travelers in exchange for food, rather than money. They have created ways to cross the river and reach the road by a zip-line-like contraption. They live a very interesting (and somewhat coveted by myself) life on the fifth most beautiful river in Costa Rica. I am excited to report back to my boss my sightings and newfound information.

(Above: some Indigenous houses)

I had high expectations for this trip, but the reality was even greater. Gorgeous scenery, great people, and exhilarating white water rafting all made for an incredible day.

An Epiphany

When I first moved in with my host family, I encountered a major problem. However, with time, I realize now that I was the problem. I seem to have come across a cultural learning experience.

The first morning with my host family, I was served an amazing breakfast of eggs, rice, beans, fresh fruit, and warm bread. As I am a self-proclaimed food addict, I had a strong feeling that I was going to greatly enjoy this place. Until the food was set in front of me.

My cup of coffee was dripping wet. My fork and plate were both wet. I noticed that Hilda had simply rinsed the dishes off from the night before and was now serving me food on the unsanitized dishes. Wondering where Ashton Kutcher and the cameras were, as I was sure I was being Punk'd, I sat there with the conflicting desire to eat the food, and utter disgust at the dripping wet and seemingly unclean utensils I was given. As I frequently do when I am uncomfortable and unsure what to do, I looked around to see what everyone else was doing so I could mimic their behavior. To my surprise, my housemate (who is a veteran at studying abroad) nonchalantly dug into the feast, seemingly unaware of the health hazards of the unsanitized dishes. After weighing various possibilities in my mind ("Should I ask if I can empty my plate of food, wash my dishes again, and then re-fill the plate with food?" "Should I ask if I can move back on campus?" "Should I eat the dog food instead?" "Should I give up and go home?"), I took a deep breath and dug in.

The food was great, of course. But throughout the meal there was the unsettling thought in the back of my mind that I was using silverware that had not been through the dishwasher, and had hardly been given a soapy scrubdown.

(Above: The "clean" dishes)

Weeks have now passed, and I couldn't help but notice that I am not dead. I am not sick. I have not accumulated any type of diseases or health problems. In fact, I am thriving!

Which makes me wonder... Have I been living a life fearful of germs in vain? The unfortunate answer is yes.

Living in Costa Rica is making me realize that many of the cultural differences I am experiencing are not abnormalities of Costa Ricans, rather, they are oddities of myself and my own culture. I am looking forward to finding out what else is weird about myself through this adventure.

Tarcoles

Last weekend my class had the amazing opportunity to stay in the tiny town of Tarcoles, which is about two hours from our hometown of San Rafael. The experience was amazing.

Tarcoles is a tiny fishing town in Costa Rica; a person could walk from one side to the other in under ten minutes. Upon arrival, my friends and I snuck off to the beach while the teachers were getting organized. Immediately a fisherman saw us white folks and money signs began flashing in his mind. He offered to take us fishing (for a small fee, of course). Doubting this guy had any kind of certified safety license, we graciously denied.

Seeing us mingling with the locals, our teacher rushed over and corralled us back to a building that ended up being the big fishing corporation that was hosting us. We were given a lecture about the town, and just as I began drifting off to sleep we were told it was time for a crocodile tour! Thrilled, we drove to the site. My teacher told me this was a very "Gringo" thing to do, but that it was fun nonetheless. He was right! 15-foot crocodiles were swarming under and next to the boat. To top it off, the scenery was gorgeous, too. It was an experience I will remember with a smile for the rest of my life.

When we arrived back from the crocodile tour, it was time to meet our host families for the night. Although it was such a short amount of time, all of the initial feelings of being paired with a family started cropping up again, all stemming around anxiety and fear. However, once again Whitworth prevailed. My friend Tori and I were assigned to the kindest woman. Her house was even attached to her daughter's house, who was hosting two additional students, so we were able to eat meals together in a big group which was fun. Here is the house I stayed in, along with my host mom and temporary housemate Tori:

What seemed like a full day was only half-way through. We had some free time before the final event-- karaoke night at a local bar with our Professors-- so we went swimming in the stunningly beautiful and shockingly warm Tarcoles beach.

At first I felt awkward spending free time with Professors, but my perception was altered when my friend told me that on her study abroad trip to the Middle East she went to a public nude bath with her teacher. I then thought that a beach and karaoke bar would be just fine.

We were then given an official tour of the city. An adorable little boy, Julian, was following us on our tour with no parents in sight. I noticed that he was walking on the extremely dirty ground which was littered with glass/cigarettes/etc. barefoot, and would wander into dangerous rooms full of tools/knives/boat motors with no supervision or worry from the local adults. In the picture below he was climbing on a high wall and only myself and my friends rushed over to pull him off as he was about to fall. It seems as though children in this town learn from their mistakes, rather than parental guidelines. I also noticed that he was carrying around and playing with a toy: a dead fish. Needless to say, visiting Tarcoles quickly became a very big culture shock.

The next day we were given the opportunity to join Tarcoles fishermen on a fishing trip. This was especially neat because this experience was unique to the Whitworth program. We divided up and were assigned to our boats. As we began to cruise down the ocean, I noticed someone in the front of the boat who was leaning off the side and under the fast-moving death machine. It seemed like they were making a quick repair of some sort. It was too small to be a man, but there was no way a woman would be doing labor of this sort in this society. It was a child! I asked the fisherman and he said it was his son, and children begin contributing to the workforce around age ten. The boy didn't seem to mind spending the day boating on the beautiful Tarcoles ocean-- he layed on top of the boat for the majority of the trip.

We fished and, thank God, came up almost empty. The one time we caught a fish, I felt so bad for the poor little guy flopping around and blinking. Since this was the fishermens' livelihood, however, I tried not to be too extroverted about my discomfort. Luckily for my conscience, however, it was not a type of fish they could sell so they threw it back. Unfortunately, they were not able to get the hook out so it will have a less than desirable remainder of its life.

Unfortunately for these little guys below, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and were the only casualties of the day (besides an octopus that the boy found, which actually attacked him and left his arm seriously cut which he thought was very funny. He told me the story as he was nonchalantly plucking its eyes out with his fingers to prepare it for selling).

We then cruised over to a stunning private beach where we swam in the warm ocean. After some exploring and hiking, we came across a waterfall! The afternoon was spent swimming, sitting under the waterfall, and of course, eating.

The trip was one that cannot be put into words. I am hoping in my case that the pictures will speak for themselves. Tarcoles was an amazing, beautiful town full of kind people.

The Oblivian

Yesterday was a major turning point in my stay in Costa Rica. I was able to get to know the town really well, see a lot of new sights and parts of the town, and even explore both the areas in the country and in the ghetto. However, none of this was on purpose.

My initial plan was to wake up early and join my friend who lives next door to me, Brooke, on the walk to the bus stop. However, my plans were delayed by the onset of my illness (see previous post). When I started feeling better and became well enough to attend school, I realized that I did not know where I was going. I had only walked to the stop once before with my host mom, but as we were running late I did not have the time to drill a mental picture of my surroundings into my mind. Feeling the desire to be independent and not crippled by my inept directional abilities, I decided to just try to make it on my own. I figured I would just walk straight so that I would be able to find my way back in case I didn't see the bus stop, and hoped I would see something familiar that I would recognize and could lead me in the right direction. What I found instead was a family from Costa Rica who now lives in San Francisco and were here visiting friends and family! I had asked them for directions in Spanish but somehow they were able to quickly identify me as a North American. We started talking (in Spanglish, mostly) and found out that we were going to be on the same bus. We happily walked and chatted away for the next twenty minutes or so, until finally the bus pulled up. I realized immediately that there had been a miscommunication and this was not my bus. At this point everyone was getting on the bus, and I wasn't exactly sure where I was, so I decided just to take it anyways. I figured maybe it would go to the big church in the middle of town that is my directional landmark (below). It didn't.

I rode the bus through streets that Whitworth had made a point of not taking us to. It would be classified as the poor part of town, but in the safety of the bus with my jacket sneakily covering my purse full of money and my iPad, I found it fascinating. Street vendors, crowds of people, and a variety of foods and shops that I had never seen before all covered the streets. And then the bus pulled into a parking spot and closed down its services, because evidently we had reached the last stop. I stayed seated, not knowing what to do, until the driver told me I needed to get off the bus. I hesitantly obliged, and it was immediately evident that I was the only Gringo (derogatory word for white person) in the area; I felt very on display. I did not see any taxis, and did not have a phone to call one, so I asked the select few street people who I deemed to be the elite for directions. The first person explained to me amongst a mouthful of missing teeth that the central park was several kilometers downhill (another culture change-- distance is measure in kilometers, not blocks or miles). So I set off downhill until I reached the bottom with no sight of the central park in town. I found a police officer and asked him directions, and he told me that the park was several kilometers uphill. I began the trudge uphill and saw no sign of the park. My morning continued in this fashion for the next several hours: uphill, downhill, left, right, all per the townspeople's directions. After what seemed like a lifetime of walking in the extreme humidity, I was hot, sweaty, and there is no metaphor sufficient to describe the state of my hair. And then it happened: I saw the very top of the church! I half-walked, half-ran towards the promise land of the town center, which is a place I am semi-familiar with. Approximately 15 minutes later I arrived at the central park. All seemed well in the world. However, I still had to get on the bus.

I knew the bus had a stop by the central park, but the question became: where was the stop?? The park is huge, with busses and taxis on all ends. So, once again I relied on the townspeople. I asked seemingly every person in the park where the bus was, each giving me different directions, as per standard, until finally I was there! Despite getting lost, being dropped off in the ghetto, and having a huge language barrier, I was still able to find my way all on my own, with my iPad and money still in my purse. And, there was still time to make it to my class! (To get an idea of the time this took, I was planning to study for five hours at the center before class.) Among my bliss, I did not realize one major problem: the bus did not seem to be arriving.

After asking a variety of townspeople, it was discovered that the next bus did not leave until 2 pm, the time that my class began. By the time I arrived on campus, my class would be over. So, it was evident that I needed to take a taxi. But then, where were the taxis?? Usually they were lined up on the streets, waiting for people to get in, however today for some reason they were not in their usual position. I aimlessly wandered around until I found two approximately 16-year-old school girls and asked them for help. It became awkward when I fully understand their conversation to each other in Spanish that one girl did not want to help me, and the other was trying to persuade her to hail a taxi for me. I stood there twiddling my thumbs until the girl eventually caved, and it was decided that they would help me. We walked a little bit and eventually were able to find a taxi. You would think that would be the end of the story, but it is not.

Addresses in Costa Rica are much different than in the U.S. There are no street numbers; rather, the directions have to do with landmarks in the area. The official address of my friend's internship site, a hospital, is "600 kilometers west of the McDonalds." I kid you not. I gave the taxi driver my address card, which said the approximate number of kilometers next to a nearby hotel, but when we reached general area, we were not in the right place. He was asking me for help, but I had never gone to the center from the route that he took, and of course the language barrier made communicating even more difficult. I was able to find a phone number, and luckily the driver had a cell phone and we were able to make it back to campus. I ran inside to ask one of the R.A.s to help me figure out the tip in this new currency, and learned that people here do not give tips for taxis or restaurants. To top off the good news, I had made it to campus with minutes to spare before my class.

Unfortunately, my morning hike was not the only unplanned event of the day. I still had to get home.



The Westmont students all had a meeting that same night with their campus representative, and coincidentally all of my neighbors happen to be Westmont students. Sensing my worry, one of my friends kindly drew me a map. Turn right at the "Pollo," left at the hedges, keep walking until you reach the dead end, turn right, and head straight to your house. It sounded easy enough. I confidently started off on the bus ride home and got off at my landmark, the park (pictured below).

Confidently I was ready to start off towards the "Pollo." However, I quickly realized that I did not know which way the restaurant was. I decided to try going left. After a good amount of time and no sight of the restaurant, I turned around, retraced my steps, and went the same amount right. There was no Pollo!!!! After about an hour of wandering, it was starting to get dark when I found myself on a secluded road in the middle of nowhere. By a stroke of luck, I found a friendly-looking townsperson  seemingly about my age walking towards me. I asked him directions, and since I could not understand his Nicaraguen accent he offered to walk me. Before I knew it another 30 minutes or so had passed, and he had taken me right back where I had started off at the central park. Coincidentally, a group of my friends were eating nearby and saw me. As it was evident that I was lost, one of my friends offered to walk me home despite having been in the middle of dinner at the restaurant. We tried to follow the map, but continued to become more and more lost until eventually, once again, we arrived in an area of extreme poverty. When we reached the point in the instructions to turn at "the hedges," we found that there were hedges on every street corner! It was now becoming increasingly dark and I had dragged this poor guy into my pathetic life. 

Somehow we were able to find a woman who offered to drive us to our destination. However, when we reached the general area that was "800 kilometers north of the school," nothing looked familiar to me. She dropped us off and we were at a standstill. We decided to just walk up and down the hills with hope that something would become familiar. When we would come to a fork, he would ask me if I remembered whether it is a left or a right, and in misery with the knowledge that I was going to completely antagonize my friend I had to tell him that I didn't know. It was now pitch black, we were in the middle of a town full of poverty, and I was carrying my iPad and a lot of money. Once again, every person we asked for directions would give us a different route. We went up a hill, down a hill, up the same hill, down a different hill, etc. 

The later the time became, the scarier the people roaming the streets were looking. I was glad my friend was with me, but felt very bad for dragging him along on this adventure. By a stroke of luck, we came across a woman who offered to let us use her telephone! We called my host parents who came and picked us up, dropped my friend back at his restaurant, and drove me home. Hilda kept telling me how worried she was which was saddening to hear. Eventually she cut off my string of apologies and told me it was normal to get lost in a new area, and it will take time to get acclimated. I sure hope she is right, and that I will get to know the area soon.

All in all, yesterday was a very eventful day. Today I walked to school with a friend and paid very close attention to all of the landmarks, and even took a picture of my house so I can be sure to remember what it looks like.

I hope that this experience can help me with my directional abilities-- a skill that I could use for the rest of my life. If not, I am in for a very long summer!

Close Call

It is day two living with my host family, and I have already had a near-death experience.

Last night I woke up extremely sick. I came down with food poisoning of some sorts, except it was much worse. In the morning I forced myself to crawl out of bed to tell Hilda I didn't need breakfast and that I was going to miss the bus on purpose, to prevent her from worrying. I didn't want to tell her I was sick, because she works so hard that I would hate to complain in any way. However, since I was seemingly a blink away from death, my condition was hard to hide. She asked me if I was sick and I fibbed that I had just over-eaten the night before because the food was so great, and that I just wanted to sleep a little more. However, that explanation was not fooling anyone. Little did I know, I was about to discover the medicinal magic of Costa Rica.

I was instructed to sit in a chair and take off my jacket. In pain and wanting to go back to sleep, I sluggishly obeyed. Hilda then got a bottle of lotion entitled "silky skin" and claimed that she was going to heal me. She took my arm and massaged onto it an amount of lotion that would suffice a very large man. She massaged into the pressure points of my inner elbows and wrists, almost to the point of bruising. She then repeated the process with the other arm. I am not sure the reasoning behind this; she claimed that this would accelerate the healing process and that it would now only be two hours before I would be healed and able to start eating again. I smiled and nodded, and wondered what was in the lotion bottle that would bring me back from the dead.

Hilda then offered me tea, which I eagerly accepted. The tea-making process surprised me, as well. She took two tea bags and placed them in cold water, and then put triple the amount of honey as their was water into the cup. She quickly microwaved the mixture, and I was introduced to a new kind of tea, strongly resembling the taste of warm honey. Since I thought I was in my last few minutes of life, I became actively oblivious to the amount of sugar I was about to consume, and decided I was happy to be ending my life in such a rebellious fashion.

While drinking the tea I started talking to Hilda and her husband, Manuel. Although I was feverish and not in peak condition, they didn't seem to mind. I was desperately looking for an opportunity to return to my room, but they seemed to be enjoying the conversation. So we kept talking, and soon I was showing them pictures of my family (they shared a big laugh about my dog being in every family photo), and before I knew it I felt almost human again! The medicinal magic of lotion and a good arm massage may be one of the most brilliant scientific insights I have ever witnessed. To this moment, almost 12 hours later, my arms are still tingling from the power of their full-body healing. My fever disappeared, my stomach-ache became less painful, and I even decided to shower and attend class! I am eager for someone to become sick once I return home so that I can introduce this under-appreciated scientific breakthrough to the U.S.

After intentionally choosing to take a taxi to school (okay I confess-- I got lost and missed the bus),  I arrived to discover that my housemate had been sick all morning, also! Whereas I experienced the worst of my illness during the night, hers began this morning while at her internship. While I was home with medicine inches away that I was able to crawl to immediately, my housemate was a two-hour bus ride from home with no access to medicine, in an unfamiliar area, and with a huge language barrier. It goes to show that things can always be worse.

Update: it is now night time and I feel fine besides a purely annoying lingering stomach ache. I was not able to eat today but am hoping that I can continue where I left off tomorrow. The food is so good that I would hate to waste another day without eating as much as I can.

And So it Begins

Richard Bach once stated, "There is no disaster that can't become a blessing, and no blessing that can't become a disaster."

Today was my first day of following the regular schedule that I will have for the next two months. The initial plan was that I would wake up, help Hilda with breakfast, and casually catch the bus around 8 a.m. to complete a little studying before my 2 p.m. class. It just so happened that was not the way things unfolded.

I woke up around 6 a.m. with plans and hopes to help Hilda with breakfast. I must have not expressed my intentions clearly, however, because she thought I had told her that I wanted my breakfast ready at that time. So at 6 a.m. this Saint of a woman had prepared eggs, beans and rice, a beef jerkey type meat in a tortilla, something kind of like a cracker, and fresh fruit of mango, strawberries, papaya, and watermelon all set out and ready for me. I had been told that Costa Rican children do not move out of the house until a late age-- early 30's sometimes-- and now I understand why. The breakfast was fit for royalty. Tomorrow I am bound and determined to help her in the kitchen so that I can learn her trade secrets. 

Hilda and I spoke a lot at breakfast. The Spanish was a little much to handle before my morning cup of coffee, but I managed to smile, nod and even respond a few times. She showed me pictures, talked about her family, and chatted away. I learned that her daughter is studying to draw maps and her husband is an electrician. Hilda is very interested in business, marketing, and finance, however she can't work because it is necessary for her to be a stay at home mom.

Somehow when we looked up from the table it was already 7:50 a.m.! We quickly changed and ran towards the bus stop, but between Hilda and me it was inevitable that we would miss it. Things moved very fast after that. It was discovered that the next bus did not arrive until 10:00 a.m., and then somehow we were then in a taxi, and then in a medical center. I was very confused until I realized that she was taking me with her on her daily routine. I was thrilled! I learned much more in my morning with her than I would have in the library studying. She told me that on June 30 she is going on a 5-kilometer run and invited me with her. I eagerly accepted, thinking an activity we could do in silence would be a relief from all this Spanish, although I had no clue how long a 5-k was. I later found out that the event is 3.1 miles and it is somehow a very big deal in the community. Based on the amount of food Hilda and I have consumed in the past few days, I have a feeling we won't emerge victorious.

It was very fun spending the morning with Hilda; I am going to make a point to spend more mornings with her. She is very sociable; she knew almost everyone we passed on the street and paused to kiss each of them on the cheek and chat. When I mentioned her popularity, she claimed it was because of her stunning beauty. I joked that it was probably because of the strange white person walking next to her!

We visited multiple farmers markets (I learned there are markets everywhere, right next to each other even, and they're are all the same: very small and sell a variety of fresh fruits), a bakery, a key shop where she bought me a key to her house, and an art shop where she purchased art supplies for her children (they are both talented artists). Basically her life is dedicated to them. We walked through the central park, where she picked berries off of a tree and gave them to me to eat. To my complete and utter surprise, I ate the sweet-and-sour berries even though they were covered in dirt and bug bites, and they were pretty good! This place is already changing me for the better in week one. I even slept soundly among large spiders last night with minimal fear! I am surprising myself with the less annoying personality I seem to be picking up here.

It was my host father's birthday today, so my housemate and I bought him a shirt from Whitworth's campus. Hilda surprised him by inviting the neighbors over for a big dinner-- she was very insistent that I not call it a party, because there was no drinking/dancing/etc, It was strictly a dinner and hanging out with friends. This was kind of a turning point for my housemate's and my relationship with our host family. We played many rounds of Foosball with our host parents who are unrealistically good. My host dad is also very competitive; when we would start winning he would cheat his way back to the top. Since he is the one providing us with food, I did not complain.

I'm looking forward to learning more Spanish and being able to contribute more to conversations with my host family. If anything, I hope they can teach me their foosball strategies!

Meeting my Host Family

Today was the most terrified, lost, confused, frustrated, self-conscious, and bewildered that I have ever felt. It was the best day yet.

Our host families were scheduled to arrive for a big dinner party at 6 p.m. last night. I have never felt so many emotions, much less all at the same time. Most of the families had casually arrived by around 6:30, however mine was still missing. When the feast commenced, I was instructed not to join the party and to continue standing in the entryway to wait for my host family. I felt like one of the Costa Rican outside dogs. The dinner smelled so delicious: chips, guacamole, salsa, beans and rice, chicken, burritos, salad... All taunting me by the sounds of the other students' and families' enjoyment. Finally, around 6:45 I heard the sound of a car pull up. With the knowledge that my new family had not abandoned me and they were simply 45 minutes late, I instantly knew that they were a perfect match for me.

Hilda and Manuel are my host mom and host dad, Mila is my 19-year-old sister, and I have a 13 year-old-brother who has yet to say a word and I am not quite sure of his name. I felt a whole new rush of emotions when I learned that they did not speak a word of English; I think "terrified" would summarize them adequately. I sat next to Hilda at dinner, and she chatted away while I smiled and nodded. The situation would get awkward when she would pause and look at me expectantly, and I would realize that she had asked me a question and would have to admit that I didn't understand her and ask if she could please repeat the question. As my new housemate Anna and I spoke to Mila, she told us that she had always wanted a big sister and now she is excited to have two. I told her that we are more like infants, since we don't know much Spanish and basically the only thing we can do properly is eat.

After dinner, everyone sang Costa Rican songs and each host family introduced themselves. It was fun to be immersed in the culture and to hear Spanish songs that the families all knew the lyrics to and weren't afraid to sing. I found out that my host parents love to sing karaoke on weekends. They asked if I like to sing as well and I told them I can barely speak in Spanish, much less sing in it. I learned, however, that most music here is sang in English! Even on the radio there is only English music playing. If I had known that I would have told them I was mute or something, but it looks like I may be out of excuses.

When we arrived at the house, I was surprised and thrilled to learn that both Anna and I have our own rooms! Here is where I will be spending my time:

What I love most about the room is that it reminds me of home; as it is right next to the garage where the dog sleeps, I get to hear barking all night, just like I do when I am home with my dog. It's great, but does not help much with the dark circles developing under my eyes. A small price to pay for nostalgia.

Anna and I were given an assignment by our teacher to sit down with the family and talk about rules, since we don't want want to accidentally do anything that makes our family uncomfortable in any way. As we sat down, Manuel placed a glass of orange juice in front of us and Hilda served us a piece of sweet bread. My prediction that this family was the perfect fit was confirmed. To top it off, we learned that there are no rules! We can do what we want, when we want, and where we want. Hilda offered to clean our laundry and dishes, but Anna and I insisted that we help out and complete our own chores. To top off the utter perfection of this family, they have internet!!!! I feel very lucky to have been placed with them. Here is me with my family, Los Chaves:

I feel a little bad for Hilda, however, because most of what I can contribute to conversations thus far is smiling and nodding, but I am having a blast nonetheless.

I am very excited for the opportunity to live with such kind and gracious hosts. Already I am starting to pick up on words and phrases that I did not know before. I can't wait to see what experiences the next few days bring.