What Earthquake?!

In my house, tonight, everyone except for me has felt two earthquakes…. How can I not feel TWO EARTHQUAKES?!!! The second time, they said – “It’s happening right now!” and I couldn’t even feel it.  I don’t understand how that could happen.  Maybe it’s cause I feel like the earth shakes every time a Semi drives by the house… so now I just tune it out.  Huh…

Also, one day in November I was walking to the Elementary school and when I arrived they asked me if I had felt the earthquake on my way.  Of course, I did not.  So weird.  I usually feel like I am pretty perceptive to my environment. 

Just Keep Jumping

Sometimes in life, jumping is the best decision.  If it is more or less safe, but a little bit scary... don't over-think it... just jump. 

There is nothing like jumping off a cliff into the ocean to get you ready for your first theatre meeting entirely in Spanish...

Especially when what is waiting for you in the water is a sea turtle... 

Seeing My Culture Through Someone Else's Eyes

Last week my friend shared a story with me.  It was of her first experience being to another country... the United States.  Hearing her tell her story and seeing the excitement in her eyes reminded me just how amazing an experience it is to experience a different culture from your own... doing things you only ever dreamed you could do.

Now, I have been riding in airplanes ever since I was very tiny... so I don't have one specific memory of the "first time" I rode in a plane as she did as an adult, but based on new things I have done in life I can only imagine how crazy of an experience that would have been.

She had so much pride in being the first in her family to travel in an airplane and being the first to visit a country that is so difficult to get permission to see.  It filled me with pride, as well: both for her and for me.  I am the only one in my immediate family to do what I am doing, too.  While our experiences are very different, the emotions and ideas are very much the same.

The funniest part for me was seeing my culture through her eyes.  There were things that I had never thought of as "our culture" before, but they were clearly very new and different for her.

She describes arriving at the LA airport, seeing magazine stands, things she had only seen in movies. 

She tells a story of waiting at a crosswalk light... wondering why it will never change.  Her and her friend get ready to run for it, through the speeding cars, when a man walks up and pushes the button. 

She shows me a picture of her in front of an unnecessarily large truck.  She tells me that it was not until she printed the picture that she realized there was a man in the truck for the 5 minutes she posed taking the picture.

She laughs as she talks about eating at a Chinese restaurant where all she wanted was normal rice, but ended up with some weird sauce that did not resemble the rice and beans she missed. 

She recounts with disgust the story of discovering that onion rings were filled with onions and were not, in fact, round french fries. 

She shows me pictures of the seals at La Jolla Cove and the house where Michael Jackson lived.

What really hit me, was the realization that all these stories... these stories are my life right now.  I am the person "discretely" taking pictures of people's "outside living rooms" and frantically recording all of the weird situations that I get in; situations that to the people here, probably seem normal.  I am the person not understanding how simple things work or being surprised at what the heck I just ate.

Life is funny that way, isn't it?  Seeing it through someone else's eyes.  I am just so grateful to be having the opportunities to share these eyes with friends, people I meet, and with people who read the stories I write. 

The Little Package and His Long Journey

My parents sent me a package in early November, I believe... when I had dysentery.  In the package was medicine, packets of miso soup, a pink velvatine rabbit from when I was little, and other various items to make me feel better. 

Well, this package decided that he wanted to first travel to Brazil and have a very long adventure there.  Nobody knows why he wanted that or how he got there, but he did.  Even the Quepos post office workers did not believe that I was waiting for a package everyday that I said was in Brazil by accident. 

My dad searched high and low for the little package with a determination that he would not give up.  Phone calls and letters, tracking and searching....

Finally, two months later - when I returned in January - the package was waiting for me at the Quepos post office.  A warrior with stamps and tape from his long journey... the medallions and ribbons of his triumphs. 

He patiently waited for me in the drawer of mail for people without PO boxes, signifying that his journey would be complete. 

As I cut the tape and marveled that he made it to me at all, I could have sworn I saw him winking at me... for he knew he had seen sites and been to places nobody would ever
know of. 

Things you don't do as a tourist

This week I looked at appts, helped a friend with her cat at the vet, bought a guitar, and found a new venue to advertise my English classes. 

All of these things didn’t feel like much or like I was being very productive, but then I realized how much my Spanish skills must have improved to be able to navigate these processes.  

Looking for appts:

 

Looking for appts is hard for me in English. There are so many ins and outs to asking questions about things like the window being fixed, whether it is secure... etc.  And then there's the whole other aspect of looking with another person.... In the end, I decided to stick with my current situation.  Still, the whole thing was like a practicum or a field test in real life Spanish - slang and all.  Those are lessons you can not get in a classroom.  

Communicating with the vet:

 

My friend decided to adopt her jungle cat and get it spayed so that it would not produce more homeless babies.  Being at the vet was like a microcosm of the way things work in this country.   When we arrived to pick up the cat, I asked if we had to come back to get the stitches removed.  The assistant said - no, they will come out themselves.  Then, she hesitated and decided to tell me to go back into the room where the vet was doing a surgery to ask him.  I walked into the room and he was cutting a dog's neck open!!! Why she couldn't have asked him, I don't know.  Good thing I'm not that squeemish cause it was pretty nasty. Avoideing looking at the dog's neck too much, I quickly asked the doctor my question.  He told me that we did need to come back and to make an appointment with the cashier.  When we went up to the front, trying to make an appointment, he told me we didn't need an appointment.  I argued that the doctor had just told me to make one.  Then, the assistant woman appeared and told him that yes, we did need an appointment.  Was that like the first time they had done a spay surgery?  I highly doubt it....

Also, in the middle of trying to make the appointment with the cashier, he decided to check someone else out for no apparent reason.  He didn't even say anything to me.  I waited a minute and then said again, "Necesitamos una cita para el miercoles."  HE was like, oh.... yes, you're still here.  Haha.  I don't understand, but oh well.  

When we got home, I had a brilliant idea of how to make a litter box for the cat.  We got a box from the local "super" down the street and put it inside a trash bag.  Then we filled it with litter.  Necessity is the mother of creativity.  I'm beginning to think more and more like a Tica.  In fact, just last night, instead of throwing my chocolate covered in ants away like I might have done in the past... I rinsed of the ants and then ate it :]  

Buying a guitar: 

I finally needed deep down in my soul to play music again.  Feeling the rawness of home still so fresh mixed with the instability of being back here, guided me to search for a guitar.  I put a post on a local facebook group that I was looking for one and someone messaged me back right away that they had 2 for sale for exactly how much I was looking to spend.  I negotiated a little and ended up with a beautiful classical guitar that has character and a super clean sound :]  I think I might get attached to it.  It needed a little love right away with a broken 4th string.  Where does one buy a string in Quepos...?  The bus station, of course!  So, I restrung my new baby and began to play.  

But, there is more to this story.  The woman who contacted me about having the guitars for sale was in a Facebook group called "Ventas en Quepos."  I saw it on her page and clicked.  I joined the group and posted an ad for English classes.  It is like I found the vortex of local advertising.  I have already gotten more responses on Facebook than I ever did with my flyers.  Thank you, social media. Now, I am researching how to prepare HS students who need to pass this test called a "bachillerato" in English.  What a random job I create.  I am also going to trade with a guy who sells jewelry... English for jewelry.  

Weirdness of the Week

1. When I go to the post office to see if they have a package waiting for me, I tell them and show them with my hands how big it will be.  They say ok and proceed to look through all the letters in the cabinet.  This process can take up to fifteen minutes.  

2. At the bakery, there are no signs on anything to identify what kind of baked good you are looking at.  Some of the breads are sweet and have jam inside… some have meat inside.  It’s like Forest Gump and the box of chocolates – “You just never know what yer gonna get.”  If you ask someone who works there.. sometimes they are helpful, but sometimes they roll their eyes as if they’re thinking – why can’t you tell by what they look like on the outside?! I bet there is a system of designs and shapes that makes all of this obvious to someone of the culture. 

3. Where do you buy guitar strings in a small town like Quepos?  In the bus station, of course, in the variety store that has two guitars hanging from the ceiling. 

Learning to Accept My Own Culture

I never thought I was racist until I lived in Quepos. 

And I'm not talking about being racist against a culture different than mine, but my own - THE GRINGOS.

With busy season here: they fill the beaches, the buses, and the streets.  Acting ridiculous, like they are in a drunken amusement park, or like they have no idea what they are doing.  Let's just say I'm not always the most welcoming of hosts.  I'm trying to be better at this - seeing that they have as much of a right to be here as I do and that they are an important part of the town.  Without them, many Ticos wouldn't have work. 

It is funny that I go all the way to Central America to learn to accept my own county's people.  That's a work in progress. 

"Los Abuelos Dicen"

I went hiking to a beach I had never been to with a family that I really like spending time with, Playa La Macha.  My friend Kati, the mother, told me that the elders of Costa Rica say that the first twelve days of January represent each of the months of the past year.  Today is the twelfth. 

I arrived in Quepos on Monday night, the 6th.  It was actually cool out and had been raining a lot that evening.  That would be June.  It rained a lot in June.

The 7th was cloudy and poured into the night - July.

The 8th was sunny and hot - August.

The 9th, it rained into the late morning as it did in - September.

The 10th, 11th, and 12th were hot and beautiful... Ok - I guess the 10th should have been rainy, but as for weather prediction overall... I'm with the elders :]

First Week Funk

I have almost been back a week and I am having a bit of a hard time getting back into the flow of things.  It is like I lost my momentum when I went home.  Maybe it is because I haven't really been working or doing anything that I did before I left... I have pretty much just been hanging out on the beach and hiking - which sounds great, right?  It is different, though, than being on vacation.  It's hard to explain how.

I had planned to go to Nicaragua tomorrow, but because of things in my home life here getting a little bit stirred up yesterday, I decided not to go.  I need to get clarity on what I am doing here before I go do something else.  I hope I can get that clarity tomorrow.  I need to make some big decisions that are difficult for me to make. 

I feel like I am floundering, lost in an ocean I was not ready to be dropped back into.

Maybe it just takes time to readjust.  

I need to regroup and get my momentum back.  I need to remember why I am here and refuel that excitement.   I need to feel proud of myself for how far I have come. 

Be patient, breathe, take your time. 

Epic Jungle Trek

Today, my friends and I hiked all the way from Quepos to Playa  Biesanz through the jungle and all the deserted beaches along the way (except for the  private hotel beach where we walked on wearing our bamboo cone hats). We saw all three types of monkeys, got charged at by a bull, found our way out of the jungle in the last light of the day, swam under the moon, and hitchhiked home. Awesome day.

Howler Monkeys - a whole family with babies on their bellies :]  Super Rare Find

I didn't take this pic - it is from the internet - but it is of the adorable Titi Monkey, which we also saw.

This Scary Capuchin monkey defending his turf…from us. Then they started throwing things at us...

One of the many beautiful beaches we had to ourselves

This is the cow (bull? - it had hornes) that blocked our path and charged us when we tried to pass.  Good thing we were cow whisperers. 

The trail was rough on Amanda's shoes... which both ended up sole-less by the end.

Far in the distance you can see the strip of land that is the Quepos Marina.  We started before that.

The bamboo pope hats we sported onto the private hotel beach

Made it out of the Jungle just in time

This shows the route we took from Quepos to Playa Biesanz - the part it doesn't show is how many times we went down to the beach and all the way up into the high jungle again.  There was a lot of very quick elevation gain to say the least. 

Harder Saying Bye the Second Time

I thought I was crazy for having a harder time saying goodbye this time than the first time I moved to Costa Rica.  Apparently, it is more normal than I thought.  On the plane, yesterday, I met a CR Peace Corps Volunteer who told me that it was a really hard day for him, saying bye to his family again.  Then, in line for immigration, I talked with these girls who had been here for four months, went home, and were now back for another four months.  They agreed that it was more difficult for them this time and they were really surprised.  One of the girls even started crying just talking to me about it :[  It made me feel less alone... and that maybe I am a little less crazy than I thought. 

Weirdness of the Week - Tucson Edition

The weirdness followed me to Tucson.  Or, maybe it is just that when I am really paying attention, looking closely - there are odd and funny things that happen wherever I am.

1.  A Santa Clause riding a bull statue outside of an antique shop: need I say more...?

2.  A man walking into zumba class dressed up as an elf, wearing blinking Christmas lights around his neck.

3.  Teenage girls riding motorized stuffed animals (the size of large dogs) around the mall as if they were really slow motorcycles. What?!  When did this start existing?! 


I am sure there were more, but these are the ones that stand out right now.