I am writing to you on what has unexpectedly become my last night in San Jose. I was not able to post my last entry before I left for the weekend, but if you read it, you will see that I have been trying against all of my gut instincts to make this work and see the sunny side of every terrible situation that has been thrown at me thus far. I was rallying. I was going to make this work. I had done more difficult things right? And a long weekend at the Arenal Volcano was going to be the perfect remedy.
Grace, 2 other Máximo girls, and myself were scheduled to take the 615am bus out of San Jose. We left the Rojas residence at 5am and took a taxi over. The bus costs and unbelievable $4 for a 4 hour ride. We got on the bus almost without incident, but the bus smelled kinda rancid and travelling with your bags in your lap ( which was sternly advised) was extremely uncomfortable. Grace was a little worried about the whole ordeal since she gets severe motion sickness, so I was trying to be calm and soothing, which is not usually in my nature.
The whole bus settled in and almost everyone was asleep. I was in an anxious half-sleep at about 7am when our bus driver slammed on the breaks ( we were on a highway going about 70). We skid for 4 or 5 seconds before we hit a car. The front of the bus was completely crunched and the whole bus was covered in glass. The car we hit was completely flattened. I heard the people inside get hit, moan, and die. People hopped out from cars and roadside stands to see what happened – as soon as they peeked into the car, their faces fell. No rescue attempt was made- a family of 5 was dead at impact. Elisabeth and I were ok physically, but Grace hit her head pretty badly and Meredith has what appears to be a broken nose.
My mind was blank except for the neon flashing thoughts saying “you need to get off this bus in case something explodes.” So there we were. 60 of us – ranging from 8 months to 80 standing on the side of a Costa Rican highway nursing bloody noses and waiting for the next direction. Grace and I looked at each other and we realized we were almost completely alone. We had no one to call and no way to call them. We seemed eons away from our families and friends, who had no idea that we were ok or that we were even on the road. I knew instantly that I wanted to go home as soon as possible and Grace agreed. What were we doing here? We had felt unsafe and isolated from the first minute we arrived and I couldn’t even say that I felt I was doing meaningful work.
They unceremoniously pulled up a second bus and told us to continue on to La Fortuna. We had to endure 3 hours more, as the bus wound around hilly coffee plantations, praying and bracing ourselves around each turn. I was shaky and sick to my stomach and trying to remember all the people I hadn’t said I love you to lately.
I have never been that close to death before. Silently, five stories ended for good that day. There was no negotiation, no challenging it, there wasn’t even time for anyone to get used to the idea. 5 futures, 5 pasts, 5 sets of dreams, 5 people with connections to countless others. The earth didn’t split open; most people didn’t even stop their car. The first thing the bus driver did was to make sure he collected his money pouch. For anyone who knew anyone in that car, Saturday was the last day of their old lives. I found myself praying, which hasn’t genuinely happened in a long time. It’s very cliché to reach out to “God” at our most mortal moments, but at the time, he does seem like the most logical option, especially to a 20 year old, for whom death is about as relevant as water aerobics and Ross Perot.
To really know for the first time that it could all end that quickly made me feel two opposite ways. My first reaction was to grasp for the people I love and hold them close. I want to snuggle up to them and remember exactly how their voices sound. My second reaction was that I was happy I was out experiencing things. No one has given me a free pass from fate. It could easily have been me and my friends in that car and Grace and I (sitting in the front seats) could have been seriously hurt and our bus was inches away from going into a ditch. Nowhere is it written that I get any certain amount of time here – no matter how entitled we feel to a long life. I can’t make my life any longer than it will be, but I can make it as full as I want to and I have done a pretty good job of chasing life around and seeing what I can make of it. I don’t have to fly half way around the world every week to make it full, but once and a while that’s a part of it.
It makes me want to crack myself open and let my dreams and idea and loves splatter all over this world. How else will anyone know they ever existed? That I existed?
I’m really shaken up and this entry is a little hokey, and I hope you will forgive me. I have more to tell and more to reflect, but I am sick of thinking about the accident and wanted to set it loose in the blogosphere.
If you are reading, expect a long, huge hug in the next 48 hours.
Pura vida,
Emily
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Dile a Grace que....
WOW. There have been no words
So I am sorry I haven’t blogged in a while- Grace and I are doing our best to keep it togerther. I am still not sure all of this is actually happening. I have never been on a weirder and more disorganized trip in my entire life.
I have been all sorts of emotional this week- I have been happy, excited, scared, confused, homesick, brave, lonely, useless, exhausted,centered, and everything in between. I’m sure there are a few lessons and self reflection moments in there – and I am working on digging those out. I am trying to be mature and be brave and be present. I can’t help but make comparisons to Spain and even Mexico and this is VERY different. Very,very different. I was going to break it down by days but that is overwhelming for both you and I.
The Good
My host family continues to be really nice. Today I made an effort to talk to them more and spend time with Jennifer, just talking about movies and languages and fun life stuff. The son Ethan has decided I’m alright. He’s 7 so he is very particular. He came into my room last night and played on my laptop and then talked to me about his dog that died. We bonded about that and basketball. He has a good sense of humor for a 7 year old and he watches out for me ( Hey Emily- don’t pet the cat’s tail – she gets mad.) Word.
I had a cool moment with one of the kid’s moms at the volunteer site today. She came in and asked if anyone spoke Spanish. She wanted to make sure her daughter got back home in time for school and she was going to take some of the other volunteers to the airport on Sunday. I told her I did and her face immediately lit up. I translated for her and then she told me more about herself and asked if I could teach her English. We parted and she gave me a big hug. Sometimes, speaking Spanish feels like a super power. I have never been more proud of anything in my life than I am of speaking Spanish. Learning this language and traveling as I have has been the most important and rewarding thing I have ever done. This language and the people who speak it have given me and taught me so much –things that cannot be translated. My pride is coupled with a sense of humility and awe for this culture that I will never fully discover.
I have bonded with Grace in a whole new way. We have always been friends- very good friends, but there is something about traveling together, living together, being completely terrified together, and consuming enough rice to tip all of Confucius’s scales that makes you friends for life. We have decided that if we don’t end up getting married, we will at least be in each other’s weddings. She is brave when I am not ( we make sure no one has a breakdown at the same time) and is always 100% honest with me ( “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. Really.”). We are still managing to laugh a lot – nervously or otherwise. I am so thankful that we are here together – she is my outlet for Sylvia, she packed all of the items I forgot, and we may have turned the small outdoor room that separates us into a Michael Buble cabaret. If Grace was not here, I would be in the fetal position.
The Bad
I am very very unhappy with my volunteer placement. I think I wrote it in my last blog but we are renovating and expanding a community center in a poor suburb of San Jose – La europa . It is a tin building and several children come by to play and learn English everyday. Sounds great right? In theory it is. However, this community center involves absolutely no one from the community. Community members were not consulted as to what they would like it to include, they are not participating in the renovations, they don’t even feel comfortable coming by to check it out and ask questions. Participating made me feel like a conquistador. I am not convinced that everything we do is by nature better than what they already have. Us being American does not mean we know anything more about being happy and living a good life than they do. You can raise a good family in a tin shack just as easily as you can in a Mc Mansion. We are not doing Costa Rica a favor by being here, they are generously welcoming us and that is the attitude that is surrounding this project. It is too easy to focus on the physical details of something and forget about the people that inhabit it.
There is also no sense of continuity here. In all of the volunteer placements, people just flow in and out. Here for a week or two and then gone. The communities we serve feel this lack of permanence and investment and it affects their participation. There are no goals we must reach, no progress reports, no one is checking up on us. While it is nice to be trusted, it is important for all projects to have a direction – and that is not the case here. The result is complacency. For the most part, there has been nothing for me to do at my site- I spend a lot of time standing around and end up playing with the kids- which is fine and rewarding in its own way, but I feel superfluous .I also find it offensive that some sites have no Spanish speakers. Lest I say again WE ARE VISITORS.PEOPLE SPEAK SPANISH HERE. For all the fuss we make about ATMs and advertisements being in Spanish- you would expect there to be an interest in learning the language. Also for those teaching English, you can relate to your students so much more if you are learning a language too. You teach them, they teach you, and it’s beautiful.
The company coordinating us is disorganized, hid a lot of information from us, and has little interest in getting to know its volunteers. They sent us to work one day on the bus with a bag of machetes to cut the grass. Questionable idea, party of one. Employees rarely visit the work sites and don’t really seem to oconcerned with what’s going on. I feel deceived, lonely, and like a bad ambassador for the US.
I am trying to take this for what it is. I am glad I get to see Costa Rica and the ticos and ticas have been wonderful to me so far. I sound angry and bitter in this post, which is the exact opposite of how I wanted to feel, but I kinda am . I hate feeling like a lip service volunteer – I was hoping to come home at the end of the day feeling absolutely empty, having left it all out there. After a very cerebral semester, I was also looking forward to getting my hands dirty and using my major muscle groups. Every morning I wake up and try to reframe this experience in a positive light and I am trying to make each interaction and conversation meaningful and to give each person my full attention and care.
If anything can save this experience, it will be people, who continue to surprise and amaze me with their joy and complexity. Whether its Grace, my mom, Ethan the host son, a hug from a child at the community center, the world has sent me a million ways to stay connected to the ideas that I am clumsily trying to build my twisted life around
12 days until I go home . And I miss you all VERY VERY much.
So I am sorry I haven’t blogged in a while- Grace and I are doing our best to keep it togerther. I am still not sure all of this is actually happening. I have never been on a weirder and more disorganized trip in my entire life.
I have been all sorts of emotional this week- I have been happy, excited, scared, confused, homesick, brave, lonely, useless, exhausted,centered, and everything in between. I’m sure there are a few lessons and self reflection moments in there – and I am working on digging those out. I am trying to be mature and be brave and be present. I can’t help but make comparisons to Spain and even Mexico and this is VERY different. Very,very different. I was going to break it down by days but that is overwhelming for both you and I.
The Good
My host family continues to be really nice. Today I made an effort to talk to them more and spend time with Jennifer, just talking about movies and languages and fun life stuff. The son Ethan has decided I’m alright. He’s 7 so he is very particular. He came into my room last night and played on my laptop and then talked to me about his dog that died. We bonded about that and basketball. He has a good sense of humor for a 7 year old and he watches out for me ( Hey Emily- don’t pet the cat’s tail – she gets mad.) Word.
I had a cool moment with one of the kid’s moms at the volunteer site today. She came in and asked if anyone spoke Spanish. She wanted to make sure her daughter got back home in time for school and she was going to take some of the other volunteers to the airport on Sunday. I told her I did and her face immediately lit up. I translated for her and then she told me more about herself and asked if I could teach her English. We parted and she gave me a big hug. Sometimes, speaking Spanish feels like a super power. I have never been more proud of anything in my life than I am of speaking Spanish. Learning this language and traveling as I have has been the most important and rewarding thing I have ever done. This language and the people who speak it have given me and taught me so much –things that cannot be translated. My pride is coupled with a sense of humility and awe for this culture that I will never fully discover.
I have bonded with Grace in a whole new way. We have always been friends- very good friends, but there is something about traveling together, living together, being completely terrified together, and consuming enough rice to tip all of Confucius’s scales that makes you friends for life. We have decided that if we don’t end up getting married, we will at least be in each other’s weddings. She is brave when I am not ( we make sure no one has a breakdown at the same time) and is always 100% honest with me ( “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. Really.”). We are still managing to laugh a lot – nervously or otherwise. I am so thankful that we are here together – she is my outlet for Sylvia, she packed all of the items I forgot, and we may have turned the small outdoor room that separates us into a Michael Buble cabaret. If Grace was not here, I would be in the fetal position.
The Bad
I am very very unhappy with my volunteer placement. I think I wrote it in my last blog but we are renovating and expanding a community center in a poor suburb of San Jose – La europa . It is a tin building and several children come by to play and learn English everyday. Sounds great right? In theory it is. However, this community center involves absolutely no one from the community. Community members were not consulted as to what they would like it to include, they are not participating in the renovations, they don’t even feel comfortable coming by to check it out and ask questions. Participating made me feel like a conquistador. I am not convinced that everything we do is by nature better than what they already have. Us being American does not mean we know anything more about being happy and living a good life than they do. You can raise a good family in a tin shack just as easily as you can in a Mc Mansion. We are not doing Costa Rica a favor by being here, they are generously welcoming us and that is the attitude that is surrounding this project. It is too easy to focus on the physical details of something and forget about the people that inhabit it.
There is also no sense of continuity here. In all of the volunteer placements, people just flow in and out. Here for a week or two and then gone. The communities we serve feel this lack of permanence and investment and it affects their participation. There are no goals we must reach, no progress reports, no one is checking up on us. While it is nice to be trusted, it is important for all projects to have a direction – and that is not the case here. The result is complacency. For the most part, there has been nothing for me to do at my site- I spend a lot of time standing around and end up playing with the kids- which is fine and rewarding in its own way, but I feel superfluous .I also find it offensive that some sites have no Spanish speakers. Lest I say again WE ARE VISITORS.PEOPLE SPEAK SPANISH HERE. For all the fuss we make about ATMs and advertisements being in Spanish- you would expect there to be an interest in learning the language. Also for those teaching English, you can relate to your students so much more if you are learning a language too. You teach them, they teach you, and it’s beautiful.
The company coordinating us is disorganized, hid a lot of information from us, and has little interest in getting to know its volunteers. They sent us to work one day on the bus with a bag of machetes to cut the grass. Questionable idea, party of one. Employees rarely visit the work sites and don’t really seem to oconcerned with what’s going on. I feel deceived, lonely, and like a bad ambassador for the US.
I am trying to take this for what it is. I am glad I get to see Costa Rica and the ticos and ticas have been wonderful to me so far. I sound angry and bitter in this post, which is the exact opposite of how I wanted to feel, but I kinda am . I hate feeling like a lip service volunteer – I was hoping to come home at the end of the day feeling absolutely empty, having left it all out there. After a very cerebral semester, I was also looking forward to getting my hands dirty and using my major muscle groups. Every morning I wake up and try to reframe this experience in a positive light and I am trying to make each interaction and conversation meaningful and to give each person my full attention and care.
If anything can save this experience, it will be people, who continue to surprise and amaze me with their joy and complexity. Whether its Grace, my mom, Ethan the host son, a hug from a child at the community center, the world has sent me a million ways to stay connected to the ideas that I am clumsily trying to build my twisted life around
12 days until I go home . And I miss you all VERY VERY much.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Day 2 – A quick post on food
Travel is primarily about food for me. I can’t relax until I know where/when my next meal will be and I am usually pulsing with excitement to see what will show up on my plate. Spain, as almost everyone who I have ever spoken with knows, was SUBLIME food wise. Paquita served up masterpieces day after day –I will never understand how she did it in that tiny kitchen. So I expected ( hoped would probably be more appropriate) that Costa Rican cuisine would be similar – ie emphasis on meats, cheeses, and fresh fruits. Some elements are similar or even better – Costa Rican coffee is other worldly. There are lots of hornazos where you can buy all sorts of stuffed pastries and my favorite Funciona juices are all over the place. However, Paquita’s Protein Palace has been replaced entirely by Costa Rican Carb-apalooza.
SO MUCH BEIGE FOOD (all delicious fyi)
Dinner last night- Spaghetti
Breakfast – 3 pieces of toast, fruit, and coffee
Lunch – Picadillo de Papas (potatoes, herbs and sauce on a tortilla) and Rice
Dinner : Picadillo de Papas, Rice, and a thin bean soup.
Breakfast: Arenques? Very similar to pancakes/panquequess/panclocks
Costa Rica is not for those on Atkins, South Beach, or any diet that does not require lots of complex sugars. I would suggest it for runners looking to carb up. Costa Rica is still a developing country and our family lives on moderate means, so I understand that meat is expensive. I was living in meat territory in Spain ( all of the best pork comes from Castilla y Leon) so meat was abundant and cheap. It isn’t really fair or accurate to compare the two countries – they each have their own independent history and customs and for all intents and purposes have little to do with each other. Like I said, it is all really really good and pretty typical/regional, but not what I expected at all.
I am a little homesick – I miss my friends and family and food. I was beginning to reestablish a few roots at home and that was scary/exciting/very comforting. I was also caught in a huge vortex of fun, hopping from concerts, to dinners, to field trips, to my lovely job, to al fresco evenings. I was/am a lucky girl. My mother just looked at me in disbelief most days and asked when I was planning on sleeping. While I hope the fun vortex is still spinning when I get back, it’s ok to take a break and remember that some people are just happy to wake up every day in a warm bed.
Tomorrow I will have posts and pictures about my first real (eye opening) day at work.
Love always,
Emily
SO MUCH BEIGE FOOD (all delicious fyi)
Dinner last night- Spaghetti
Breakfast – 3 pieces of toast, fruit, and coffee
Lunch – Picadillo de Papas (potatoes, herbs and sauce on a tortilla) and Rice
Dinner : Picadillo de Papas, Rice, and a thin bean soup.
Breakfast: Arenques? Very similar to pancakes/panquequess/panclocks
Costa Rica is not for those on Atkins, South Beach, or any diet that does not require lots of complex sugars. I would suggest it for runners looking to carb up. Costa Rica is still a developing country and our family lives on moderate means, so I understand that meat is expensive. I was living in meat territory in Spain ( all of the best pork comes from Castilla y Leon) so meat was abundant and cheap. It isn’t really fair or accurate to compare the two countries – they each have their own independent history and customs and for all intents and purposes have little to do with each other. Like I said, it is all really really good and pretty typical/regional, but not what I expected at all.
I am a little homesick – I miss my friends and family and food. I was beginning to reestablish a few roots at home and that was scary/exciting/very comforting. I was also caught in a huge vortex of fun, hopping from concerts, to dinners, to field trips, to my lovely job, to al fresco evenings. I was/am a lucky girl. My mother just looked at me in disbelief most days and asked when I was planning on sleeping. While I hope the fun vortex is still spinning when I get back, it’s ok to take a break and remember that some people are just happy to wake up every day in a warm bed.
Tomorrow I will have posts and pictures about my first real (eye opening) day at work.
Love always,
Emily
Day 2 – It’s Easy Being Average
One of my favorite mentors/friends/professors once told me that I was “malleable”and that I could slip from one culture to the next without too much difficulty. It is one of the biggest compliments I have ever received, especially coming from someone who has lived all over the world and basically is who I’d like to be when I grow up. In my limited experience, I have to agree with her. I don’t have as much trouble coming into a culture as I do reacclimating to my own. A few general strategies come in handy:
1) Eat everything (especially in Hispanic countries) – People are more patient with your other short-comings if you clean your plate. It’s an exchange of trust, a sign of appreciation, and an admission that you are the visitor. Unless you are allergic, I would highly recommend trying that unidentified murky,purple beverage. You will probably like it and your hosts will appreciate the attempt.
2) Laugh a lot especially at yourself–Smiling and laughing have gotten me out of a lot of really awkward situations ( see Spain post about semen). Like eating, it’s universal and a sign that you are humble. And staying in a stranger’s house and not speaking the language is funny in a lot of ways. Paquita and I had a few go to jokes that we always went back to if things got quiet – los freakquis, George Bush and Tony Blair spooning, drunk people, etc.
3) Ask permission and ask to help – The first few days, I ask for permission for almost everything. Lest we forget, this is not our house; it’s not even our country. So you should probably ask before you reorganize their closet to make room for your extra shoes or take a 30 minute shower.
Those are all common sense, no? Sharing a room with Julie for so long definitely helped me be a better tenant and my parents didn’t tolerate much picky eating so I have had good training.
One of the things that bothers me about travel is all of the extra considerations women have to deal with and how we automatically stick out no matter where we go. I think it is brutally unfair and I hate that my parents have to answer any questions about why they are allowing me to go somewhere. The fears are inevitably internalized and it’s not really fun to not trust anyone in a new place. I hate that I can’t entertain conversations with strangers or be out late at night or consider how I dress. BUT that is where I have a secret weapon.
I am a very basic looking person.
I am not extremely tall or short, fat or thin, dark or light, blonde or dark haired, ugly or attractive, Irish or Italian. I am an average sized girl with brown hair. Unless you already know me and love me, there is nothing really that notable about how I look – except for my hair on some days. I’d like to think I distinguish myself physically(for better or worse) with my clothing, but in Costa Rica my jorts, t-shirts, and Birkenstocks make me look like any other crunchy chick. I walked around all day and just enjoyed genuine smiles from passerby. An occasional whistle, but I mostly floated through the city undisturbed. I was initially really nervous to walk around by myself, especially given all the warnings I got in my orientation booklet ( don’t show my kneecaps??). Despite my tantalizing knee caps glistening in the Costa Rican sun, I managed to avoid any blatant harassment. I was malleable.
This is not a call for compliments or disagreements. The “plainness” that was the bane of my middle school existence is something that I appreciate now. It gives me control (if you don’t like control in some area of your life, you are LYING) – I choose when I want to be seen and by whom and it gives me a glimpse of that male freedom. I don’t look foreign in most places and people generally leave me alone and trust me. I don’t get cat-called like my blonde haired friends and creepy guys pretty much leave me alone.(is a girl with a messenger bag really going to put out? Probably not) I once told my mom I was “Just pretty enough to be taken seriously,” which is a terrible statement for women but still true from my perspective. Someone once told me it was best to be "pretty attractive and very funny."I can be funny or quirky or intelligent without having anyone question me. Now, I know a LOT of women who are extremely attractive and manage to be funny and quirky and intelligent and many more things than I could possibly fathom – and that obviously has its advantages.
The women I admire most are detached from their appearances – not in the sense that they are sloppy or grimy – but that it doesn’t take up too much of their mental space . They refuse to be defined by it or acknowledge it overtly, no matter where they lie on the modern continuum of beauty. Clearly, I haven’t gotten there yet, since I just devoted an entire blog post to this, but I think there is value in recognizing the benefits to of being inherently undefined. Freed from the burdens of extreme fortune/misfortune , you get to be an observer to a lot of neat cultural things ( especially if you follow my basic homestay guidelines), decide almost completely how you want to define yourself, and participate only when you want to. Also, if/when someone finds you pleasantly descript, it’s pretty exciting.
1) Eat everything (especially in Hispanic countries) – People are more patient with your other short-comings if you clean your plate. It’s an exchange of trust, a sign of appreciation, and an admission that you are the visitor. Unless you are allergic, I would highly recommend trying that unidentified murky,purple beverage. You will probably like it and your hosts will appreciate the attempt.
2) Laugh a lot especially at yourself–Smiling and laughing have gotten me out of a lot of really awkward situations ( see Spain post about semen). Like eating, it’s universal and a sign that you are humble. And staying in a stranger’s house and not speaking the language is funny in a lot of ways. Paquita and I had a few go to jokes that we always went back to if things got quiet – los freakquis, George Bush and Tony Blair spooning, drunk people, etc.
3) Ask permission and ask to help – The first few days, I ask for permission for almost everything. Lest we forget, this is not our house; it’s not even our country. So you should probably ask before you reorganize their closet to make room for your extra shoes or take a 30 minute shower.
Those are all common sense, no? Sharing a room with Julie for so long definitely helped me be a better tenant and my parents didn’t tolerate much picky eating so I have had good training.
One of the things that bothers me about travel is all of the extra considerations women have to deal with and how we automatically stick out no matter where we go. I think it is brutally unfair and I hate that my parents have to answer any questions about why they are allowing me to go somewhere. The fears are inevitably internalized and it’s not really fun to not trust anyone in a new place. I hate that I can’t entertain conversations with strangers or be out late at night or consider how I dress. BUT that is where I have a secret weapon.
I am a very basic looking person.
I am not extremely tall or short, fat or thin, dark or light, blonde or dark haired, ugly or attractive, Irish or Italian. I am an average sized girl with brown hair. Unless you already know me and love me, there is nothing really that notable about how I look – except for my hair on some days. I’d like to think I distinguish myself physically(for better or worse) with my clothing, but in Costa Rica my jorts, t-shirts, and Birkenstocks make me look like any other crunchy chick. I walked around all day and just enjoyed genuine smiles from passerby. An occasional whistle, but I mostly floated through the city undisturbed. I was initially really nervous to walk around by myself, especially given all the warnings I got in my orientation booklet ( don’t show my kneecaps??). Despite my tantalizing knee caps glistening in the Costa Rican sun, I managed to avoid any blatant harassment. I was malleable.
This is not a call for compliments or disagreements. The “plainness” that was the bane of my middle school existence is something that I appreciate now. It gives me control (if you don’t like control in some area of your life, you are LYING) – I choose when I want to be seen and by whom and it gives me a glimpse of that male freedom. I don’t look foreign in most places and people generally leave me alone and trust me. I don’t get cat-called like my blonde haired friends and creepy guys pretty much leave me alone.(is a girl with a messenger bag really going to put out? Probably not) I once told my mom I was “Just pretty enough to be taken seriously,” which is a terrible statement for women but still true from my perspective. Someone once told me it was best to be "pretty attractive and very funny."I can be funny or quirky or intelligent without having anyone question me. Now, I know a LOT of women who are extremely attractive and manage to be funny and quirky and intelligent and many more things than I could possibly fathom – and that obviously has its advantages.
The women I admire most are detached from their appearances – not in the sense that they are sloppy or grimy – but that it doesn’t take up too much of their mental space . They refuse to be defined by it or acknowledge it overtly, no matter where they lie on the modern continuum of beauty. Clearly, I haven’t gotten there yet, since I just devoted an entire blog post to this, but I think there is value in recognizing the benefits to of being inherently undefined. Freed from the burdens of extreme fortune/misfortune , you get to be an observer to a lot of neat cultural things ( especially if you follow my basic homestay guidelines), decide almost completely how you want to define yourself, and participate only when you want to. Also, if/when someone finds you pleasantly descript, it’s pretty exciting.
Day One WELCOOOMMMEE
I LOVE IT HERE! This was a hellacious day of travel but I am so so so happy that I stuck it out. I almost gave up for a minute. Any way here is how it went.
I stayed up way too late on Saturday night and my father found me in denial in front of the computer at 319 am and was absolutely furious with me. My response to “WHAT ARE YOU THINKKING???” was “don’t yell at me I’m blogging.” On Saturday, my mom woke me up and my stomach crumpled up into a little ball. I. did.not.want. to.go. My stomach promptly uncrumpled when my mom said “you’re flight is cancelled.” What??? This early? Weird. Immediate thought: THIS IS A SIGN. Immediate action: I told Jane to reschedule me for 7am tomorrow and I proceeded to sleep until 2pm. Jane lay with me for a few minutes and proclaimed “American Airlines don’t know me” ruff riders style. Upon waking up, I did tons of useful things, like work on beating Spyro the Dragon for the 10th time, napping, eating ice cream from the carton in my underwear, etc. I was already packed and no one knew I was still in the country- I was truly a free agent. I also spent some time convincing myself that this wasn’t one last glimpse of life before the universe snapped me up in its iron claws. It was a weird day- our dinner plans got messed up, everyone was cranky, my nose ring fell out, and my family even got into a fight – sure sign that the universe is not well.
So my new 7 am flight required me to get up at 3am and if you remember my bedtime the night before was somewhere around 330. Perfect. I was in my bed from midnight – 3am texting and trying to talk down my ulcers. My mom woke me up again with no cancellation news- but my parents were all dressed in their plaid and eating different types of fibrous products. We drove the new car down to JFK without a hitch – and a really cute woman named Fang checked me in. I was a vision in the clothes I had taken off and discarded on the floor only hours before. I waded my way through security and the American Airlines debacle began.
Flight One – No air conditioning, rancid smells, ma nwith creepy fingernails next to me, terrible landing. arriving and then sitting on the runway for an hour. This was just kinda general travel discomfort – there are certain risks you take when you hurtle your body through space in a metal tube.
Flight 2- DELAYED TWO HOURS. Plane change. Gate change. Waiting on the runway for the catering cart to arrive. I got to sit with the guy who decided to drink an entire bottle of duty free rum on board (well he drank what he didn’t spill all over himself) as he talked about cheating on his girlfriend, the subtleties of misogyny, being enraged at the Guyanas, why I should/shouldn’t rub his head, where he should barf, and trying to figure out whether he peed his cargo shorts or not.
I arrived in San Jose 12 hours after I left my home in Poughkeepsie. I tried my best to keep in touch with the volunteer company as to my whereabouts but with my phone dead and not making international calls, I relied on my family to just let them know that I was delayed and keep checking. So I arrived and fell in love with the people beginning right at customs. The people here are beautiful. The best of the indigenous American face and the European face combined and slapped itself on a very stylish and extremely friendly person. I walked out of the exit and had a feeling that I wouldn’t see my name out there. And it was a sea of signs. Business executives, doctors, students, families, but not me. A man came up and asked me if I needed help and being a wary New Yorker, I said no I was fine. False. I was in a foreign country with no address to go to and a few numbers to call and no phone to dial them. I was sure I had been scammed and was about to be sold on some sort of human market.I wandered around for a few more minutes before he found me again and I gave in. He told me he would give them a call for me. I gave him the number and he TOTALLY took care of things for me. Got on his cell, told the company what was going on and that their driver should get here ASAP to pick me up. He didn’t creep on me – just told me he’d let me know if the company called back. He kept an eye on me as he continued to dire ct the taxi traffic. His name was Jorge and he pulled everyone with a sign that said “volunteer” on it and asked if they were looking for me. When my driver came, he shook my hand and welcomed me to Costa Rica. Three of us were getting picked up at that time- me, a pre med student from Boston and a French girl here to do Turtle Conservation.
A tiny woman named Ingrid and her husband Leo zipped us through the outskirts of San Jose, while trying to learn our names and making phone calls. I was dropped off first because my house is right across the street from the main office. My host family is adorable – there is Jen the mom, the husband whose name I don’t know (eek), and an 8 year old son named Ethan. There is also a cat- which I didn’t know until it hopped onto my bed and laid down in my suitcase – the cat’s name is Chinoa. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs ( which was also my farewell dinner from Casa Fio) and we settled in for a calm evening of professional wrestling on TV. The husband is a TV ADDICT. He laughs so hard at all of the sitcoms, I am surprised he has any blood vessels left. Some favorites include The New Adventures of Old Christine and Two and a Half Men. The house is simple and my room is ( I think) a converted tool shed. Costa Ricans do not seem to get as riled up as Americans or Spaniards – an even keeled group. Nothing is great but nothing is terrible and that’s about all you can wish for. This is not exactly the experience I had expected but I definitely feel myself growing up a bit. Travel has certain rituals – airports, packing, goodbyes, hellos, etc – that let you gauge how “this” felt before and how “this”feels now. “This” feels very different and hopefully soon I’ll be able to say how.
I stayed up way too late on Saturday night and my father found me in denial in front of the computer at 319 am and was absolutely furious with me. My response to “WHAT ARE YOU THINKKING???” was “don’t yell at me I’m blogging.” On Saturday, my mom woke me up and my stomach crumpled up into a little ball. I. did.not.want. to.go. My stomach promptly uncrumpled when my mom said “you’re flight is cancelled.” What??? This early? Weird. Immediate thought: THIS IS A SIGN. Immediate action: I told Jane to reschedule me for 7am tomorrow and I proceeded to sleep until 2pm. Jane lay with me for a few minutes and proclaimed “American Airlines don’t know me” ruff riders style. Upon waking up, I did tons of useful things, like work on beating Spyro the Dragon for the 10th time, napping, eating ice cream from the carton in my underwear, etc. I was already packed and no one knew I was still in the country- I was truly a free agent. I also spent some time convincing myself that this wasn’t one last glimpse of life before the universe snapped me up in its iron claws. It was a weird day- our dinner plans got messed up, everyone was cranky, my nose ring fell out, and my family even got into a fight – sure sign that the universe is not well.
So my new 7 am flight required me to get up at 3am and if you remember my bedtime the night before was somewhere around 330. Perfect. I was in my bed from midnight – 3am texting and trying to talk down my ulcers. My mom woke me up again with no cancellation news- but my parents were all dressed in their plaid and eating different types of fibrous products. We drove the new car down to JFK without a hitch – and a really cute woman named Fang checked me in. I was a vision in the clothes I had taken off and discarded on the floor only hours before. I waded my way through security and the American Airlines debacle began.
Flight One – No air conditioning, rancid smells, ma nwith creepy fingernails next to me, terrible landing. arriving and then sitting on the runway for an hour. This was just kinda general travel discomfort – there are certain risks you take when you hurtle your body through space in a metal tube.
Flight 2- DELAYED TWO HOURS. Plane change. Gate change. Waiting on the runway for the catering cart to arrive. I got to sit with the guy who decided to drink an entire bottle of duty free rum on board (well he drank what he didn’t spill all over himself) as he talked about cheating on his girlfriend, the subtleties of misogyny, being enraged at the Guyanas, why I should/shouldn’t rub his head, where he should barf, and trying to figure out whether he peed his cargo shorts or not.
I arrived in San Jose 12 hours after I left my home in Poughkeepsie. I tried my best to keep in touch with the volunteer company as to my whereabouts but with my phone dead and not making international calls, I relied on my family to just let them know that I was delayed and keep checking. So I arrived and fell in love with the people beginning right at customs. The people here are beautiful. The best of the indigenous American face and the European face combined and slapped itself on a very stylish and extremely friendly person. I walked out of the exit and had a feeling that I wouldn’t see my name out there. And it was a sea of signs. Business executives, doctors, students, families, but not me. A man came up and asked me if I needed help and being a wary New Yorker, I said no I was fine. False. I was in a foreign country with no address to go to and a few numbers to call and no phone to dial them. I was sure I had been scammed and was about to be sold on some sort of human market.I wandered around for a few more minutes before he found me again and I gave in. He told me he would give them a call for me. I gave him the number and he TOTALLY took care of things for me. Got on his cell, told the company what was going on and that their driver should get here ASAP to pick me up. He didn’t creep on me – just told me he’d let me know if the company called back. He kept an eye on me as he continued to dire ct the taxi traffic. His name was Jorge and he pulled everyone with a sign that said “volunteer” on it and asked if they were looking for me. When my driver came, he shook my hand and welcomed me to Costa Rica. Three of us were getting picked up at that time- me, a pre med student from Boston and a French girl here to do Turtle Conservation.
A tiny woman named Ingrid and her husband Leo zipped us through the outskirts of San Jose, while trying to learn our names and making phone calls. I was dropped off first because my house is right across the street from the main office. My host family is adorable – there is Jen the mom, the husband whose name I don’t know (eek), and an 8 year old son named Ethan. There is also a cat- which I didn’t know until it hopped onto my bed and laid down in my suitcase – the cat’s name is Chinoa. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs ( which was also my farewell dinner from Casa Fio) and we settled in for a calm evening of professional wrestling on TV. The husband is a TV ADDICT. He laughs so hard at all of the sitcoms, I am surprised he has any blood vessels left. Some favorites include The New Adventures of Old Christine and Two and a Half Men. The house is simple and my room is ( I think) a converted tool shed. Costa Ricans do not seem to get as riled up as Americans or Spaniards – an even keeled group. Nothing is great but nothing is terrible and that’s about all you can wish for. This is not exactly the experience I had expected but I definitely feel myself growing up a bit. Travel has certain rituals – airports, packing, goodbyes, hellos, etc – that let you gauge how “this” felt before and how “this”feels now. “This” feels very different and hopefully soon I’ll be able to say how.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
SAN JOSE
Hi my blogees,
I have been estranged from my blog for a very long while. For about half of that while, I wasn’t writing because I was frightfully unhappy and lost. I pushed away the people that cared about me and clung to people and things that never really did. I told myself that I could only be “this” happy and that was that. Luckily, the second half of the semester, I wasn’t blogging because I was rediscovering myself and all the things I could/can be- as Oprah as that sounds. And I can confidently say I have never left for ANY trip feeling as content as I do right now about my home life.
As content as I am, I need to prove to myself that I still have travel/volunteer chops. I have this deep fear that once I graduate college, I’ll never travel again. While I rationally find that to be ridiculous and untrue, I still choose to forge ahead just in case. And since no legitimate internships with in < 3000 miles away from Poughkeepsie popped up – I really didn’t have an excuse. I applied to every program and internship under the sun. I even got accepted to a few. My friends and teachers (and parents) were exasperated when they received a different answer to “What are you doing this summer?” every time they spoke to me. It took my tenacious friend Grace (teaming up with my mother) to get me to sign up for 3 weeks in Costa Rica doing one of my favorite things- construction/renovation! I get to share a host family with Grace, and though no one will ever EVER EVER rival Paquita, I am hopeful that this will be a good trip too.
Honestly, I am beyond nervous. I don’t know why. I want to go. I need to go. But I’m afraid something is going to go wrong. I have had too many lovely travel experiences. Aren’t I due for some type of disaster? I’m being insane I KNOW and once I get there I’m sure I’ll be excited and more comfortable. I’m thrilled to be speaking Spanish again and even happier that I’ll get to eat so many new delicious things. Ziplines, Volcanoes, Biodiversity. All really cool things that I never dreamed of actually doing – and Grace is there to keep me sane.
I don’t know exactly what I wanted to say in this blog post except that:
1) I am going to Costa Rica until June 23rd
2) I am going to blog daily so please read my updates. I want to make this experience part of my Praxis courses
3) I am not running away from anything or myself and maybe that’s why this seems scary/unfamiliar.
4) I love my family and friends more than I could ever awkwardly tell them. Their patience with me and their genuine excitement about what I am up to always surprises me.
5) If you are unhappy keep going. Push yourself, find people that push you, and embrace the love that comes your way. The people that love you are already here. If someone’s not there don’t worry about it
My travel mind and thoughts are opening up and hopefully I will find some insight on this trip. I have internet – so email me. And if we are good enough friends- let’s skype. Thinking of all of you! I’ll bring you back some cured meats.
"And when you run make sure you run to something and not away from..."
I have been estranged from my blog for a very long while. For about half of that while, I wasn’t writing because I was frightfully unhappy and lost. I pushed away the people that cared about me and clung to people and things that never really did. I told myself that I could only be “this” happy and that was that. Luckily, the second half of the semester, I wasn’t blogging because I was rediscovering myself and all the things I could/can be- as Oprah as that sounds. And I can confidently say I have never left for ANY trip feeling as content as I do right now about my home life.
As content as I am, I need to prove to myself that I still have travel/volunteer chops. I have this deep fear that once I graduate college, I’ll never travel again. While I rationally find that to be ridiculous and untrue, I still choose to forge ahead just in case. And since no legitimate internships with in < 3000 miles away from Poughkeepsie popped up – I really didn’t have an excuse. I applied to every program and internship under the sun. I even got accepted to a few. My friends and teachers (and parents) were exasperated when they received a different answer to “What are you doing this summer?” every time they spoke to me. It took my tenacious friend Grace (teaming up with my mother) to get me to sign up for 3 weeks in Costa Rica doing one of my favorite things- construction/renovation! I get to share a host family with Grace, and though no one will ever EVER EVER rival Paquita, I am hopeful that this will be a good trip too.
Honestly, I am beyond nervous. I don’t know why. I want to go. I need to go. But I’m afraid something is going to go wrong. I have had too many lovely travel experiences. Aren’t I due for some type of disaster? I’m being insane I KNOW and once I get there I’m sure I’ll be excited and more comfortable. I’m thrilled to be speaking Spanish again and even happier that I’ll get to eat so many new delicious things. Ziplines, Volcanoes, Biodiversity. All really cool things that I never dreamed of actually doing – and Grace is there to keep me sane.
I don’t know exactly what I wanted to say in this blog post except that:
1) I am going to Costa Rica until June 23rd
2) I am going to blog daily so please read my updates. I want to make this experience part of my Praxis courses
3) I am not running away from anything or myself and maybe that’s why this seems scary/unfamiliar.
4) I love my family and friends more than I could ever awkwardly tell them. Their patience with me and their genuine excitement about what I am up to always surprises me.
5) If you are unhappy keep going. Push yourself, find people that push you, and embrace the love that comes your way. The people that love you are already here. If someone’s not there don’t worry about it
My travel mind and thoughts are opening up and hopefully I will find some insight on this trip. I have internet – so email me. And if we are good enough friends- let’s skype. Thinking of all of you! I’ll bring you back some cured meats.
"And when you run make sure you run to something and not away from..."
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