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!
No comments:
Post a Comment