All continues to be good in Costa Rica. I worked another week at the chicken farm because I found it far too difficult to get out of bed for the 5:30 a.m. start at the orchard. What a difference an hour can make when you´ve stayed up too late watching movies.
This week we´ve been preparing for the delivery of 100 chickens, which were supposed to arrive on Friday, but didn´t. Hopefully next week, though I´m going to likely be working elsewhere, partly because all of the ditches I´ve helped dig at the chicken farm are making it far too dangerous for me. This was a week of incredible clumsiness. On Monday, I was pushing a wheelbarrow and ran straight into a branch, the same branch that I almost ran into a dozen times the week before. Yep, this left a mark on the forehead. Then Wednesday, I was pushing the wheelbarrow again and fell. Coco rushed over to find me laughing, and I was reminded of the time I fell off Devil´s Marbles in Australia where everyone was so concerned but I could do nothing but laugh. I followed up the fall that afternoon by walking into the bathroom door with my head. Thursday I stepped into two holes at the farm and almost fell again. I have been an accident waiting to happen, or perhaps an accident happening repeatedly.
I think my clumsiness is partly due to the fact that my legs have been really tired. I logged 3 hrs and 45 minutes running this week, including a long run Monday of 1 hr and 40 minutes, which put me at about 9 miles. As much as I´ve developed a sense of relaxation here and a go with the flow kind of attitude, the anal retentive side of me still wants to know how far I´m running. It´s impossible to know exactly. I time myself with the stopwatch, and I have some sense of my pace, particularly with certain songs, but it would be nice to know precisely my distance. Instead, I have to be content when someone asks me how far I´ve run to say ¨35 kilometros mas o menos¨ (more or less). And, yes, I have to do the miles to kilometers conversion in my head, which is all the more reason to use mas o menos. (Which just so happens to be one of my favorite phrases. Do I understand the conversation? Mas o menos Do I understand the movie in Spanish? Mas o menos Do I have a boyfriend here? Mas o menos . . .)
Again, as much as I´ve developed a go with the flow attitude, there is still the occasional thing that throws me for a loop. This week it was when my Zune quit working. The battery had died while I was running Thursday, so back in my room I plugged it in to charge. The logo popped up, so all was well. But two hours later, nothing. All day yesterday, nothing. I wasn´t sure if it was the battery, which I replaced this spring, or a piece of the charger which hasn´t been in good shape since I purchased it. Fortunately for me, I´m quite stubborn, so I´ve tried to turn it on numerous times since then. This morning, it finally awakened to tell me the battery was almost dead. I plugged it in to charge and set it down on the bed gently so as not to shake the wires loose. I didn´t even bother to complain that I wasn´t able to bring it on the bus with me today. The thought of 6 months with no music, when I´ve become accustomed to listening for at least 2 hours a day, was incredibly depressing. There was no go with the flow attitude with this problem. Of course, I now know the charger is completely unreliable and that it could quit at any time. I´m going to hope my luck lasts as long as possible and hope that if it finally breaks for good, I can simply say, No worries.
As for my Spanish, I feel like I´m somewhat at a standstill, partly because I haven´t been studying, though I´m not sure what to study other than making vocabulary lists. On the upside, I continue to be able to have one-on-one conversations. On the downside, when there are several people talking, I often have no clue what is going on, or very little. I realized this week that I´ve been far too timid about speaking and that I need to let loose and sometimes just talk even if I fumble for the words or they come out wrong. I´ve done that this week and it´s been a bit liberating. Last night a guy I hadn´t met struck up a conversation with me at the bar, and I actually felt like I talked almost as much last night in Spanish as I would´ve normally spoken in English. Pity for him, hey? :)
This week I´ve had some food cravings. In particular, I´m really dying for a chipotle chicken sandwich and bowl of broccoli cheddar soup from Panera. If someone could just pop one or both of those down here to me, I´d be your friend for life. I´m also missing vegetables as I just don´t get enough of those. Some green beans, peas, a baked potato. Some BBQ chicken would be nice. What I really don´t want more of is eggs. The week started off bad with eggs--3 times on Monday, then 2 on Wednesday--but fortunately I haven´t seen another one since. Thank goodness for small miracles. My mother here says she enjoys cooking for me because I´ll eat anything--except salad. I told her last night that I eat things here I never ate in the States, like hard boiled eggs, which I´ve actually come to like, and mushrooms and onions, which I simply tolerate. I´m sure that by the time I return home, I´ll have an entire page of foods in which I will indulge heartily. Tomorrow I´m buying bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Ah, the taste of home!
The diet here, as I´ve noted, is considerably different. Most notable is the absence of sweets. In talking with David last night at the bar, he noted that his brother went to Canada for two months and came back considerably heftier than when he left but that within two months back in Costa Rica he had slimmed down. He cited chocolate and hamburgers as the contributing factors. And, yes, most people here are thin, particularly the men. I know of only one man in Silencio who would be considered overweight. Though the women are more likely to be overweight, it´s still not common in the way that it is in the States. It´s party the diet, but then in Silencio, it´s also the work. This week Diego handed me his barilla that he uses to cut the palm branches. This is a metal pole with I guess what you´d call a scythe on the end of it, which can extend to at least 30 feet. It was surprisingly heavy, and I now understand now just how difficult that particular job is.
So now I´m trying to wrap up some fun stuff, like facebook, blogging, and pics so that I can concentrate on some grad school stuff. A little burst of motivation hit me last Sunday and I managed to revise my personal statement for my grad school application. I am really happy with the way it turned out and hoping that the people I´ve emailed it to respond with a hearty congratulations on a good piece of writing. I was really happy to be able to detail some of my time in Silencio, as I think the fact that I´m traveling in foreign countries for 9 months will definitely add to the reasons that they should accept me. My goal is to submit my UConn application next Saturday, which will be 3 weeks prior to their deadline. I´ve also decided that I´m going to look into some other schools, perhaps in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Pennsylvania. I need to find schools who have professors with my interests, and I´ve been reminded after having been away for 3 months how easy it is to start all over again. While I´d still love to go to UConn given its proximity to Hartford, if I have to start over in a city several hours away from there, it won´t be as difficult as one might think.
That´s it for this installment of the Chezza Chronicles. Pics to follow on facebook, including one of my Tica mother, who is 8 years my junior!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Leading the Quiet Life
Life continues as usual for me in Silencio. It was another week of hard work at the chicken farm, but somehow I find it immensely satisfying. Who would´ve thought I would enjoy digging ditches? Tuesday and Wednesday were by far the hardest as I spent several hours digging trenches for water drainage. It´s a stark contrast to teaching in many ways, not the least of which is the immediate gratification that comes with this job. In teaching one must be content with believing that one is making a difference, that there is some kind of output, however unmeasurable it may be. I´ve learned that working with your hands produces a much more immediate reward--that of a measurable product in a short amount of time. At the end of both Tuesday and Wednesday, I could look at the ground and say, I did that, and know that what I did will make a difference. I´ve found that digging ditches is a nice alternative to lifting weights at the gym. Friday I helped to mix concrete to pour an entrance to the farm, and again it was nice to see an end outcome, and an end outcome that is lasting.
Late last week I made the smart and cheap investment of a pair of rubber work boots. My running shoes were quickly becoming trashed, and given that I´m now running quite frequently and for longer distances, I know I will need them in the coming months. Unfortunately, the boots I wanted (ones I can tuck my pants into) weren´t available at the store I was in, and not knowing another store where I could purchase them, I settled for a shorter pair with laces, which the saleslady referred to as ¨muy bonita.¨ If my Spanish had been better, I would´ve said, ¨Who you kiddin´lady? They´re not very beautiful, but it doesn´t matter cause they´re only for working anyway.¨ Instead, I settled for, Esta bien and plunked down $6 for them and a pair of socks. They served well enough this week and were particularly necessary given the mud, but when I found a store today that had the boots I wanted, I didn´t hesitate to hand over $10 for them. I´m sure I´ll find them to be a good investment for my remaining three weeks in Silencio.
The weather has changed slightly here, producing rain more often and in more abundance. There has been little sunshine this week, which was nice when I was digging ditches, but isn´t as nice for the afternoons where there´s little to do. I´ve taken to napping after lunch every day, I´m reading a bit more, and as always, my music serves as a good diversion. I´ve also increased my running. I awoke Thursday morning to the sound of heavy rain on the tin roof (though I´ve come to learn that sometimes it only sounds heavy because of the tin) and was content to stay in bed well past the start of the work day. I ended up missing work altogether and felt only a teensy bit guilty about that.
I wanted to run Monday but found my running clothes locked in a room where they were hanging on a line. As it turns out, we had heavy, heavy rain for several hours, and I wouldn´t have been able to run anyway. (Though I usually don´t hesitate to run in the rain.) So Tuesday I headed out at about 3:30 for an 84-minute run. I hadn´t run further than 15 minutes in that particular direction, so I wasn´t sure what would await me. What awaited me was delightful scenery. The road parallels the Rio Savegre on the left for part of the way, which because of the rain, was raging. And at times there were amazing waterfalls on my right. Add to that the cloud-topped mountains in the near distance, and I can´t imagine a more perfect track. I will set out for an even longer run on Monday, and I´m anxious to see what other scenery I will find.
Evenings continue the same. I find myself quite frequently at the ¨house of pool¨ where I usually find Diego playing. Saturday offered a different diversion as it was once again karaoke night. Not wanting to sing the same songs, I was going to opt out, but I made a pact with Coco, with whom I work at the chicken farm and who is quite the musician, that I would sing if he would. I chose song after song only to find that they all already had singers. I eventually settled for Down Under and was glad I didn´t dedicate it to my Aussie friends considering my rendition was less than stellar. It did, however, result in Coco singing, part of which I captured on video. More fun that night, however, was watching the locals dance. Salsa dancing is a huge part of the culture, and I´m shocked to find just how many of the men know how to dance. I asked Coco how they learn, and he simply said it´s the culture. In other words, they learn because they´ve been watching it since they were kids. I find it fascinating not only because they learn that way, but also because in such a machismo society, salsa dancing is not seen as a contrast to that. Certainly that´s a different attitude than one would find in the States.
I´m once again in town for the day, today focusing on taking care of business odds and ends, such as insurance matters and grad school applications. You´d think that six hours of Internet would be more than enough time in a day, but I´m sure that when 3:45 rolls around today, I´m going to be wishing I had more time. And I always worry that I will have forgotten something that will then have to wait another week.
Despite this minor annoyance, I´ve found that most things are just that--minor annoyances. I made a list this week of things that I miss and found it to be remarkably short, and they´re so minor that I doubt I´ll be able to recall them here. But here is what I remember:
1) the heat of clothes fresh out of the dryer
2) chocolate (the albergue is fresh out of Milky Ways and the M&Ms in the store are older than I care to imagine)
3) on rare occasions I miss a hot shower
4) clothes that feel really, really clean
5) going out to eat at a decent restaurant
The list of things I really enjoy about this place was much longer and again I can´t even begin to remember all of them.
1) looking up into the trees to find any number of wildlife: a 3-ft iguana, gorgeous macaws, parrots
2) the sound of the rain on the tin roof
3) walking into town where it seems everybody knows my name and says it aloud, even if I don´t know theirs
4) having a conversation in Spanish and actually understanding a good portion
5) finding new pleasures each week, like the delicious pizza place I found in Quepos last week, and the awesome, super cheap ice cream I found this week (less than 20 cents)
Most of the time I feel pretty far removed from civilization, and I´ve found that most of the time I don´t mind it at all. No street noise, few street lights, rarely a phone ringing. We should all be so lucky to experience this kind of peace and solitude for a while.
Late last week I made the smart and cheap investment of a pair of rubber work boots. My running shoes were quickly becoming trashed, and given that I´m now running quite frequently and for longer distances, I know I will need them in the coming months. Unfortunately, the boots I wanted (ones I can tuck my pants into) weren´t available at the store I was in, and not knowing another store where I could purchase them, I settled for a shorter pair with laces, which the saleslady referred to as ¨muy bonita.¨ If my Spanish had been better, I would´ve said, ¨Who you kiddin´lady? They´re not very beautiful, but it doesn´t matter cause they´re only for working anyway.¨ Instead, I settled for, Esta bien and plunked down $6 for them and a pair of socks. They served well enough this week and were particularly necessary given the mud, but when I found a store today that had the boots I wanted, I didn´t hesitate to hand over $10 for them. I´m sure I´ll find them to be a good investment for my remaining three weeks in Silencio.
The weather has changed slightly here, producing rain more often and in more abundance. There has been little sunshine this week, which was nice when I was digging ditches, but isn´t as nice for the afternoons where there´s little to do. I´ve taken to napping after lunch every day, I´m reading a bit more, and as always, my music serves as a good diversion. I´ve also increased my running. I awoke Thursday morning to the sound of heavy rain on the tin roof (though I´ve come to learn that sometimes it only sounds heavy because of the tin) and was content to stay in bed well past the start of the work day. I ended up missing work altogether and felt only a teensy bit guilty about that.
I wanted to run Monday but found my running clothes locked in a room where they were hanging on a line. As it turns out, we had heavy, heavy rain for several hours, and I wouldn´t have been able to run anyway. (Though I usually don´t hesitate to run in the rain.) So Tuesday I headed out at about 3:30 for an 84-minute run. I hadn´t run further than 15 minutes in that particular direction, so I wasn´t sure what would await me. What awaited me was delightful scenery. The road parallels the Rio Savegre on the left for part of the way, which because of the rain, was raging. And at times there were amazing waterfalls on my right. Add to that the cloud-topped mountains in the near distance, and I can´t imagine a more perfect track. I will set out for an even longer run on Monday, and I´m anxious to see what other scenery I will find.
Evenings continue the same. I find myself quite frequently at the ¨house of pool¨ where I usually find Diego playing. Saturday offered a different diversion as it was once again karaoke night. Not wanting to sing the same songs, I was going to opt out, but I made a pact with Coco, with whom I work at the chicken farm and who is quite the musician, that I would sing if he would. I chose song after song only to find that they all already had singers. I eventually settled for Down Under and was glad I didn´t dedicate it to my Aussie friends considering my rendition was less than stellar. It did, however, result in Coco singing, part of which I captured on video. More fun that night, however, was watching the locals dance. Salsa dancing is a huge part of the culture, and I´m shocked to find just how many of the men know how to dance. I asked Coco how they learn, and he simply said it´s the culture. In other words, they learn because they´ve been watching it since they were kids. I find it fascinating not only because they learn that way, but also because in such a machismo society, salsa dancing is not seen as a contrast to that. Certainly that´s a different attitude than one would find in the States.
I´m once again in town for the day, today focusing on taking care of business odds and ends, such as insurance matters and grad school applications. You´d think that six hours of Internet would be more than enough time in a day, but I´m sure that when 3:45 rolls around today, I´m going to be wishing I had more time. And I always worry that I will have forgotten something that will then have to wait another week.
Despite this minor annoyance, I´ve found that most things are just that--minor annoyances. I made a list this week of things that I miss and found it to be remarkably short, and they´re so minor that I doubt I´ll be able to recall them here. But here is what I remember:
1) the heat of clothes fresh out of the dryer
2) chocolate (the albergue is fresh out of Milky Ways and the M&Ms in the store are older than I care to imagine)
3) on rare occasions I miss a hot shower
4) clothes that feel really, really clean
5) going out to eat at a decent restaurant
The list of things I really enjoy about this place was much longer and again I can´t even begin to remember all of them.
1) looking up into the trees to find any number of wildlife: a 3-ft iguana, gorgeous macaws, parrots
2) the sound of the rain on the tin roof
3) walking into town where it seems everybody knows my name and says it aloud, even if I don´t know theirs
4) having a conversation in Spanish and actually understanding a good portion
5) finding new pleasures each week, like the delicious pizza place I found in Quepos last week, and the awesome, super cheap ice cream I found this week (less than 20 cents)
Most of the time I feel pretty far removed from civilization, and I´ve found that most of the time I don´t mind it at all. No street noise, few street lights, rarely a phone ringing. We should all be so lucky to experience this kind of peace and solitude for a while.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Making a Whole Lot of Remember When´s
The date of my departure from Silencio has come and gone, yet I find myself still living there. I decided to stay an additional six weeks past my original departure date and forego the project in Alajuela. The work in Silencio is varied, the people are wonderful, I am able to practice my Spanish hourly, and I couldn´t bear to leave the people who have become my friends. In fact, leaving here will be the most difficult thing about my trip thus far.
I´m really glad I stayed. Last Saturday there was a big dance, and I had an awesome time. My friend Christopher danced salsa with me, or rather he dragged me around the dance floor and didn´t seem to mind that I´m a terrible follower. Another guy whose name I don´t even know wasn´t so accomodating and gave up rather quickly. I danced for virtually the entire night, mostly with Diego, who I´m now referring to as my amigovio (a cross between amigo/friend and novio/boyfriend--you probably now understand why I haven´t left Silencio!), and not a scrap of fabric of my dress was dry when I left because of the heat. I loved every minute of it.
Work continued last week. I dug in the ditch again and then worked three days at the lecheria. Twice I rode horses and I continue to enjoy it. The highlight of the week was Wednesday. When I arrived at the lecheria, there was a cow tied to a tree, and Lango promptly informed me it would be killed that morning. When I asked where, he pointed to the adjacent field. Moments later, my friend Andres, and two of my uncles showed up with knifes and plastic bags. I quickly learned it takes only the following to kill and butcher a cow: a few knifes, a few ropes, some plastic bags, and some burlap bags. With sincerest apologies to my vegeterian friends, I admit that I helped to butcher that cow.
Andres offered me the knife to slit the throat, but I was still adjusting to the fact that not only would a cow be killed right in front of me but that they would then proceed to butcher the thing right there in the field. Andres cut a section of skin from the neck and then the artery, and while the blood ran from the cow, the men ate breakfast. Yes, I´ll say that again, they ate breakfast. I even asked one of them, How can you eat? I mean, the poor cow was lying there dying and mooing.
But I guess it´s true that you can become desensitized to just about anything because I found myself helping out. Hold the hoof here, pull here, help us roll it over. And before you knew it, I was asking for the knife. Again, my apologies to my vegeterian friends, but I helped to take the skin off one of the back legs and found that I wasn´t even grossed out. After about 3 hours, we made the drive into town with the meat, and I couldn´t keep my jaw from dropping when they threw the head of the cow at the feet of some people sitting in front of a house. I´m not sure I want to know what the woman of the house was going to do with that head. After breakfast I headed down to the house where they were cutting up the meat, and I ended up helping for a short time. I now feel that having helped to butcher a cow, I have earned the right to eat as much meat in my life as I care to partake of.
This week, I decided to not work and instead am studying Spanish in Manuel Antonio. I have to catch the bus each morning at 5:15 (the only bus) for the ride to town. My mother packs my breakfast which I then eat at the bus stop in order to kill time before class starts at 8:00. I love, love, love my class. My teacher is fabulous, and I can understand the majority of what she says. Class last four hours and is conducted only in Spanish.
Monday there was a Spanish conversation group that met after class, and I was delighted that I´m one of the more capable students. Yesterday was a free surfing lesson. What a trip that was! I desperately wanted to stand and I guess, mas o menos, I did--for about 2 seconds. I couldn´t seem to get a wide enough stance with my feet to have any balance, but then what can you expect with only one hour of instruction. If not for the extremely salty water, I´d take additional classes, but yesterday left my throat, eyes, and nose burning.
Today was a free salsa lesson, and I enjoyed it more than the surfing if only because I was much better. I really wished that I had had this lesson last week, before the dance in Silencio, because Christopher wouldn´t have had to drag me quite as much.
There are more volunteers who have arrived in Silencio. Amanda, a girl from Maryland, came last week, and I spent two hours with her Sunday taking her to the orchard, the lecheria, and the chicken farm. As I explained things, I recalled the tour that I received of these places with Christopher when I had known him only for a day. There was little conversation between him and me because I understood so very little. In recalling that day,I realized how different things are now. When I first arrived, I wanted to interact with the locals but sometimes avoided it because I knew I wouldn´t understand and I could bear neither the frustration nor the feeling of stupidity. In fact, one night I called Mike just to hear the sound of a language I could understand. Yet now I find myself wanting to interact and not avoiding. Their questions still often stump me, and they probably tire of hearing me say, ¨que?¨ (what?), but rarely do they give up on me. And while they may sometimes have a laugh at my expense, I sometimes generate a laugh from them intentionally.
Next week I will return to work and will continue my nightly forays to the ¨house of pool¨where I almost always find Diego playing (I now refer you to the facebooks photos of him.) and we usually hang out at his house afterwards. Last week he visited his two kids in Quepos, and I loaned him my camera to take some photos of them. (Some of you are probably thinking, you loaned him your camera? and even he said to me in Spanish, you have trust in me, but it wasn´t a big deal. I did totally trust him.) Monday night I gave him the prints I had made for him, and his face was priceless; it was such a simple thing for me to do, yet for him it was huge because he had only two pictures of them before Monday. That was a stark reminder for me of how different life is for the people here.
I´ve been reminded of that quite frequently of late. Two nights ago I had my Swiss Army knife out because I needed to use the pliars (oh, how I love that knife!) and Diego asked me how much it cost. When I told him $50 US, he quickly handed it back to me as if to say, I don´t want to break it, but when I bought it months ago, $50 seemed like a small amount to me. Prior to that I was hanging out at the albergue with Mario and Christopher who were desperately wanting french fries but who lacked the 1500 colones ($3 US) it would cost. While on the one hand I felt like Mario was taking advantage of me by asking me to buy them, on the other hand I felt like, what´s 1500 colones for me? A pittance really. And if I can give them 2000 to buy fries and a drink when I feel as fortunate as I do, then why not? I would feel guilty not buying them. Christopher asked me how much I spent on my Spanish class and I felt guilty telling him $320. What $320 wouldn´t buy for him and I throw it around like it´s nothing. Yes, I feel guilty that I have the means and the ability to be here.
Mario told me last week how difficult it is for them to travel to the US and I asked my teacher about it today. She explained that yes, indeed, that is the case. For most, obtaining a visa to go to the US is like winning the lottery. You have to have money, property, and/or connections, and even then the number of visas given out is limited because the US government limits them. It just doesn´t seem fair to me.
I continue to feel both fortunate and extremely content. Each afternoon this week I board the bus for Silencio, oftentimes knowing some of the other passengers because they reside in Silencio. When I make that one hour ride, I often find myself staring out the window and smiling because I feel like I´m going home. That is my bus, that is my route. I know exactly where it´s going and am glad to be going there. And when I step off the bus at my destination, it feels good that there is usually someone there who knows my name and is asking, ¨¿Como esta?¨ Yes, it definitely feels like home.
I´m really glad I stayed. Last Saturday there was a big dance, and I had an awesome time. My friend Christopher danced salsa with me, or rather he dragged me around the dance floor and didn´t seem to mind that I´m a terrible follower. Another guy whose name I don´t even know wasn´t so accomodating and gave up rather quickly. I danced for virtually the entire night, mostly with Diego, who I´m now referring to as my amigovio (a cross between amigo/friend and novio/boyfriend--you probably now understand why I haven´t left Silencio!), and not a scrap of fabric of my dress was dry when I left because of the heat. I loved every minute of it.
Work continued last week. I dug in the ditch again and then worked three days at the lecheria. Twice I rode horses and I continue to enjoy it. The highlight of the week was Wednesday. When I arrived at the lecheria, there was a cow tied to a tree, and Lango promptly informed me it would be killed that morning. When I asked where, he pointed to the adjacent field. Moments later, my friend Andres, and two of my uncles showed up with knifes and plastic bags. I quickly learned it takes only the following to kill and butcher a cow: a few knifes, a few ropes, some plastic bags, and some burlap bags. With sincerest apologies to my vegeterian friends, I admit that I helped to butcher that cow.
Andres offered me the knife to slit the throat, but I was still adjusting to the fact that not only would a cow be killed right in front of me but that they would then proceed to butcher the thing right there in the field. Andres cut a section of skin from the neck and then the artery, and while the blood ran from the cow, the men ate breakfast. Yes, I´ll say that again, they ate breakfast. I even asked one of them, How can you eat? I mean, the poor cow was lying there dying and mooing.
But I guess it´s true that you can become desensitized to just about anything because I found myself helping out. Hold the hoof here, pull here, help us roll it over. And before you knew it, I was asking for the knife. Again, my apologies to my vegeterian friends, but I helped to take the skin off one of the back legs and found that I wasn´t even grossed out. After about 3 hours, we made the drive into town with the meat, and I couldn´t keep my jaw from dropping when they threw the head of the cow at the feet of some people sitting in front of a house. I´m not sure I want to know what the woman of the house was going to do with that head. After breakfast I headed down to the house where they were cutting up the meat, and I ended up helping for a short time. I now feel that having helped to butcher a cow, I have earned the right to eat as much meat in my life as I care to partake of.
This week, I decided to not work and instead am studying Spanish in Manuel Antonio. I have to catch the bus each morning at 5:15 (the only bus) for the ride to town. My mother packs my breakfast which I then eat at the bus stop in order to kill time before class starts at 8:00. I love, love, love my class. My teacher is fabulous, and I can understand the majority of what she says. Class last four hours and is conducted only in Spanish.
Monday there was a Spanish conversation group that met after class, and I was delighted that I´m one of the more capable students. Yesterday was a free surfing lesson. What a trip that was! I desperately wanted to stand and I guess, mas o menos, I did--for about 2 seconds. I couldn´t seem to get a wide enough stance with my feet to have any balance, but then what can you expect with only one hour of instruction. If not for the extremely salty water, I´d take additional classes, but yesterday left my throat, eyes, and nose burning.
Today was a free salsa lesson, and I enjoyed it more than the surfing if only because I was much better. I really wished that I had had this lesson last week, before the dance in Silencio, because Christopher wouldn´t have had to drag me quite as much.
There are more volunteers who have arrived in Silencio. Amanda, a girl from Maryland, came last week, and I spent two hours with her Sunday taking her to the orchard, the lecheria, and the chicken farm. As I explained things, I recalled the tour that I received of these places with Christopher when I had known him only for a day. There was little conversation between him and me because I understood so very little. In recalling that day,I realized how different things are now. When I first arrived, I wanted to interact with the locals but sometimes avoided it because I knew I wouldn´t understand and I could bear neither the frustration nor the feeling of stupidity. In fact, one night I called Mike just to hear the sound of a language I could understand. Yet now I find myself wanting to interact and not avoiding. Their questions still often stump me, and they probably tire of hearing me say, ¨que?¨ (what?), but rarely do they give up on me. And while they may sometimes have a laugh at my expense, I sometimes generate a laugh from them intentionally.
Next week I will return to work and will continue my nightly forays to the ¨house of pool¨where I almost always find Diego playing (I now refer you to the facebooks photos of him.) and we usually hang out at his house afterwards. Last week he visited his two kids in Quepos, and I loaned him my camera to take some photos of them. (Some of you are probably thinking, you loaned him your camera? and even he said to me in Spanish, you have trust in me, but it wasn´t a big deal. I did totally trust him.) Monday night I gave him the prints I had made for him, and his face was priceless; it was such a simple thing for me to do, yet for him it was huge because he had only two pictures of them before Monday. That was a stark reminder for me of how different life is for the people here.
I´ve been reminded of that quite frequently of late. Two nights ago I had my Swiss Army knife out because I needed to use the pliars (oh, how I love that knife!) and Diego asked me how much it cost. When I told him $50 US, he quickly handed it back to me as if to say, I don´t want to break it, but when I bought it months ago, $50 seemed like a small amount to me. Prior to that I was hanging out at the albergue with Mario and Christopher who were desperately wanting french fries but who lacked the 1500 colones ($3 US) it would cost. While on the one hand I felt like Mario was taking advantage of me by asking me to buy them, on the other hand I felt like, what´s 1500 colones for me? A pittance really. And if I can give them 2000 to buy fries and a drink when I feel as fortunate as I do, then why not? I would feel guilty not buying them. Christopher asked me how much I spent on my Spanish class and I felt guilty telling him $320. What $320 wouldn´t buy for him and I throw it around like it´s nothing. Yes, I feel guilty that I have the means and the ability to be here.
Mario told me last week how difficult it is for them to travel to the US and I asked my teacher about it today. She explained that yes, indeed, that is the case. For most, obtaining a visa to go to the US is like winning the lottery. You have to have money, property, and/or connections, and even then the number of visas given out is limited because the US government limits them. It just doesn´t seem fair to me.
I continue to feel both fortunate and extremely content. Each afternoon this week I board the bus for Silencio, oftentimes knowing some of the other passengers because they reside in Silencio. When I make that one hour ride, I often find myself staring out the window and smiling because I feel like I´m going home. That is my bus, that is my route. I know exactly where it´s going and am glad to be going there. And when I step off the bus at my destination, it feels good that there is usually someone there who knows my name and is asking, ¨¿Como esta?¨ Yes, it definitely feels like home.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Tranquility of Silencio
I could write for days about my two weeks thus far in Silencio because I´ve fallen madly in love with it. Life here takes getting accustomed to. Lizards crawl across the ceiling while we watch TV, rice and beans are served at almost every meal, the work can be filthy and exhausting and then you can´t expect the clothes to come clean when you wash in cold water, and communication in another language is sometimes a struggle. But beneath all of that there is a tranquility to this place. A 20-minute walk through the palms at 5:30 in the morning with the sound of nothing but your footsteps and the birds. A quiet when I lay down at night that is so quiet that even the lowest volume on my mp3 player is too loud. A sense of satisfaction that the milk I just helped to draw is feeding a child next door. Eating a papaya or a guava directly from the tree while taking a break from work. Sitting alone in the middle of a waterfall. Life in Silencio is referred to as ¨tranquilo¨and it couldn´t be a more perfect word. It´s like taking life and putting it in slow motion. There is no rush for anything here.
The work here is difficult, though. I´ve worked harder in two weeks than ever in my life. I spent five days at the dairy farm and found out just how strong your hands and triceps have to be to milk a cow. If I had had to do one by myself, the poor thing would have stood there all day. By day 3 I knew to take Oreos to have with the milk and when I forgot them on Friday, I mixed in some sugar instead. Reminded me of when I was a kid at my grandmother´s; she wouldn´t let us drink coffee like at home, but she´d let us have milk with sugar. The 20-minute trek to the lecheria started at 5 each morning and by 5:35 we were well under way with 11 cows to milk. When we finished, we loaded the milk on the horse and walked it to town to deliver the milk to the store. They transfer the milk into their own containers and then the locals arrive with empty water bottles, soda bottles, pitchers, and purchase the milk. I like seeing little kids walking out of the store with a full pitcher of milk so heavy they can barely carry it the short distance home.
Last Wednesday I had the opportunity to play cowgirl for an afternoon. I thought we were going to ride for fun. I didn´t realize I was heading out on a cattle roundup. We rode through the palms looking for the cows, and every branch that Lango threw up out of the way came back to almost smack me in the face. He got a kick out of hearing me scream like a little girl. We found the cows and then herded them in the direction of the corral. When one fell behind or got too far out of line, I rode around and herded it back in the right direction. I absolutely loved it. One time he even got me to gallop and though I was scared, it was quite exhilirating. We headed over to the river where he roped another horse, the horse I rode back to the farm. Apparently it wasn´t a wild horse. They trade them out every now and then, and they always know where to find the horses and the cows.
This week I worked at the chicken farm for three days where I helped to build a house and dig a ditch. The day of the ditch I thought I would die. Three hours of digging and throwing heavy stones out of the ditch. I wonder sometimes if the locals are laughing at these girls (since all the volunteers are female) who show up to pay to do hard labor. The two days in the orchard this week were much easier. On Thursday I helped put compost around about 400 trees and then on Friday I helped to catch papayas as they knocked them from the trees. Then they put a machete in my hand to let me help trim the banana trees. Now I know why the people here were determined to be the happiest in the world--there is something immensely satisfying in whacking away at a banana tree (or anything for that matter) with a machete.
My afternoons are spent napping, studying, listening to music, or sitting in the waterfall. I usually take a daily run at 4:30, and again I wonder what the locals are thinking at this crazy girl who runs in intense heat and wears the same outfit every day to run (which I wash every day when I shower). After dinner I usually head to the albergue for drinks and conversation, the occasional karaoke or soccer match on the TV and of late I´ve been stopping to play pool at a local house where a friend often plays. Some nights I´m left feeling homesick because I just want to have a conversation where I don´t have to think so hard, but on the nights when I can actually communicate and when sometimes the words come without thinking or I understand without having to think so hard, I feel like I just might get there with this language. I really hope so. It´s one of the things I want most from this trip.
In many ways it feels like an idyllic life, but then I´m also not the one working long hours for little pay. One friend told me that wages in Silencio are approximately $40 US per week and though some things here are incredibly cheap, others aren´t. A small jar of peanut butter costs $6, so you can imagine how much of that I eat. Nonetheless, if you ask most of the locals if they like Silencio, they tell you they do and refer to the tranquility of the place, which I have to admit is a beautiful contrast to the busy-ness of Connecticut. I, too, have found a sense of peace here.
I mean, this is a place where you can buy an individual bandaid in the store and not the whole box. It´s the kind of place where after being here for only two weeks you can get drinks on credit if you didn´t bring enough money (that´s when I knew I was a local!). It´s the kind of place where you might be awakened at midnight to the sound of a guitar and people singing because your sister just turned 15.
The date I had planned to leave is rapidly approaching (October 7), and I´m asked on a daily basis how much more time I have. I always reply that I don´t know and throw out some potential days, but sometimes I want to say, ¨The rest of my life.¨
The work here is difficult, though. I´ve worked harder in two weeks than ever in my life. I spent five days at the dairy farm and found out just how strong your hands and triceps have to be to milk a cow. If I had had to do one by myself, the poor thing would have stood there all day. By day 3 I knew to take Oreos to have with the milk and when I forgot them on Friday, I mixed in some sugar instead. Reminded me of when I was a kid at my grandmother´s; she wouldn´t let us drink coffee like at home, but she´d let us have milk with sugar. The 20-minute trek to the lecheria started at 5 each morning and by 5:35 we were well under way with 11 cows to milk. When we finished, we loaded the milk on the horse and walked it to town to deliver the milk to the store. They transfer the milk into their own containers and then the locals arrive with empty water bottles, soda bottles, pitchers, and purchase the milk. I like seeing little kids walking out of the store with a full pitcher of milk so heavy they can barely carry it the short distance home.
Last Wednesday I had the opportunity to play cowgirl for an afternoon. I thought we were going to ride for fun. I didn´t realize I was heading out on a cattle roundup. We rode through the palms looking for the cows, and every branch that Lango threw up out of the way came back to almost smack me in the face. He got a kick out of hearing me scream like a little girl. We found the cows and then herded them in the direction of the corral. When one fell behind or got too far out of line, I rode around and herded it back in the right direction. I absolutely loved it. One time he even got me to gallop and though I was scared, it was quite exhilirating. We headed over to the river where he roped another horse, the horse I rode back to the farm. Apparently it wasn´t a wild horse. They trade them out every now and then, and they always know where to find the horses and the cows.
This week I worked at the chicken farm for three days where I helped to build a house and dig a ditch. The day of the ditch I thought I would die. Three hours of digging and throwing heavy stones out of the ditch. I wonder sometimes if the locals are laughing at these girls (since all the volunteers are female) who show up to pay to do hard labor. The two days in the orchard this week were much easier. On Thursday I helped put compost around about 400 trees and then on Friday I helped to catch papayas as they knocked them from the trees. Then they put a machete in my hand to let me help trim the banana trees. Now I know why the people here were determined to be the happiest in the world--there is something immensely satisfying in whacking away at a banana tree (or anything for that matter) with a machete.
My afternoons are spent napping, studying, listening to music, or sitting in the waterfall. I usually take a daily run at 4:30, and again I wonder what the locals are thinking at this crazy girl who runs in intense heat and wears the same outfit every day to run (which I wash every day when I shower). After dinner I usually head to the albergue for drinks and conversation, the occasional karaoke or soccer match on the TV and of late I´ve been stopping to play pool at a local house where a friend often plays. Some nights I´m left feeling homesick because I just want to have a conversation where I don´t have to think so hard, but on the nights when I can actually communicate and when sometimes the words come without thinking or I understand without having to think so hard, I feel like I just might get there with this language. I really hope so. It´s one of the things I want most from this trip.
In many ways it feels like an idyllic life, but then I´m also not the one working long hours for little pay. One friend told me that wages in Silencio are approximately $40 US per week and though some things here are incredibly cheap, others aren´t. A small jar of peanut butter costs $6, so you can imagine how much of that I eat. Nonetheless, if you ask most of the locals if they like Silencio, they tell you they do and refer to the tranquility of the place, which I have to admit is a beautiful contrast to the busy-ness of Connecticut. I, too, have found a sense of peace here.
I mean, this is a place where you can buy an individual bandaid in the store and not the whole box. It´s the kind of place where after being here for only two weeks you can get drinks on credit if you didn´t bring enough money (that´s when I knew I was a local!). It´s the kind of place where you might be awakened at midnight to the sound of a guitar and people singing because your sister just turned 15.
The date I had planned to leave is rapidly approaching (October 7), and I´m asked on a daily basis how much more time I have. I always reply that I don´t know and throw out some potential days, but sometimes I want to say, ¨The rest of my life.¨
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