This past weekend I was in the mountain town of Santa Elena, which abuts the Monteverde Cloud Forets. It was high and cool and lovely. I had heard that it was windy there, but that would have been an understatement. After my little run-in with the cinderblock blowing off the flapping metal roof in Guatemala, I am a bit wary any time I hear wind knocking about tin roofs. As basically all the roofs in Costa Rica are metal, and as Monteverde is possibly the windiest place I´ve ever been, I spent the last few days ducking and cringing.
I went on a guided night hike one evening. We didn´t see many mammals (one something off in a tree, and what looked like an overgrown hamster before it got dark), but we did get to see lots of leaf-cutter ants marching back and forth, and a tarantula. Two actually. A small one (relatively speaking, of course) on a tree, and a very large one (by any standard) in a hole. That poor spider probably gets poked with a stick every night by the guide trying to bait it out for the amusement of the tourists. One of the girls on the hike about jumped out of her skin when the spider appeared, and her boyfriend pointed out that she was shaking. Good choice of activities for her to be doing.
One afternoon, I went to the Frog Pond (no ponds, just a lot of terraria displaying various cool froggies) and an Orchid Garden. Everything came with a guided tour, so am now slightly wiser in the ways of frogs and orchids than I was before.
My last afternoon I went on an (unguided) hike (at a snail´s pace) through the Santa Elena Reserve, which is another cloud forest. That means that it was actually lush and green, as opposed to the rest of the country which has been in the dry season for the last six months and is brown and dusty. I didn´t see many of the animals for which Costa Rica is famous, but that´s okay. I heard some lovely bird calls, saw some creepy crawly bugs, and enjoyed the vegetation. Orchids and moss and lots of things that I recognize as houseplants.
As I finished wandering around the reserve half an hour after the shuttle left (and two and a half hours before the next shuttle), I walked down the hill a bit to this Eco-Park place to check out the hummingbird garden. The park offered canopy tours and ziplines and all sorts of fun for vast amounts of money, but I handed over my measly $5 to see the cheapest thing they had, and it was worth every penny. The garden would have been fantasticallly tranquil and mesmerizing if the zipline hadn´t gone directly overhead. Nonetheless, hummingbirds are now officially my favorite animal. I stood about a foot away from the feeders and had hummingbirds swooping in and out and around me. They are so amazingly FAST, as well as agile and downright goregous. I also got to see a coati (sort of like a racoon) prance in and avail himself of the feeders, emptying every one on one stand of its sugar water.
I didn´t do much else in town besides eat a mango every day. (I haven´t had a mango yet today, so I might have to head off to the store soon to remedy the situation.)
On my way out of town a couple of guys asked if they could switch seats with me, as one of them gets carsick and needed a window. So I sat right behind the poor guy, and was forced to listen to him retch into a plastic bag (of which he and his two friends had plenty). The friend who was sitting next to him (whom I assume drew the short straw) held up his backpack so he couldn´t see his friend every time he bent over the bag. Even when they got off the bus (at a bus stop on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere), the guy was still doubled over and heaving. You would think that he would spring for renting a car if it would help....
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Beach Bits
Here are a bunch of random thoughts from my week at the beach (which was supposed to only be three days, but, well, you know...):
People at my hostel were getting sick left and right. Two Dutch girls were throwing up and had fevers, and one of the French Canadian couples got ill. The two girls had drunk the water from the kitchen. (I'd asked about the water, and the hostess told me that the water from the bathrooms was okay, but not the kitchen.) Not sure about the Canadians. I am happy to say that not once in my travels (knock on wood) have I been sick. Either I have a really strong stomach, or else I ate enough stuff off the floor growing up to be able to withstand anything.
I went to the grocery store with a Danish girl from the hostel one evening. She bought a melon that had the price (360 colones) written on it in marker. She smeared the 6 to make it look like 310 colones. She saved herself 50 colones, which is 10 cents. Woo.
On the bus to the beach I heard a bunch of American girls chatting with an Israeli guy (no, the nationalities of these people is in no way important, but I think it's fun knowing where everyone is from). I heard one of the girls say, "We finished college a long time ago." The Israeli asked how old they are. "25" Yeah, that's a long time ago....
Walking into the town of Montezuma one evening (with a Canadian and a German), we were approached by some guy asking if "You want something for your brain?" Somehow, I don't think he meant a book.
I love that getting dressed in the morning meant putting on a bikini, and changing in the afternoon meant putting on dry one. I didn't wear underwear for a week.
One evening the road to town was covered, and I mean covered, with crabs heading for the hills. I've no idea what's up with that, but the crab roadkill carnage the next day was pretty impressive. And stinky.
The grocery store in town sold candy bars (like all good stores do), but it was about a constant 95 degrees in there, so I can't imagine what the chocolate bars were like!
I watched some guy try to body surf in really rough waters. I saw his feet go over his head, then he disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared, he was pulling up his bathing suit.
On the bus out of town, when the journey started, the local guy sitting next to me made the sign of the cross. Did he know something I didn't??
We drove by a hotel/resort that claimed to be the "Home of Temptation Island." Bummer I missed that.
There are lots of signs around the country that declare "Jesu Cristu es el Senor de [wherever]". In my Spanglish, I first translated that as "Jesus Christ is da Man".
Costa Rica is hilly. One hill into Monteverde was so steep that the bus couldn't make it up the first time. We had to roll back, then take another attempt at it. (Second time worked.)
I'm off to hike around in a cloud forest today. Woo hoo!
People at my hostel were getting sick left and right. Two Dutch girls were throwing up and had fevers, and one of the French Canadian couples got ill. The two girls had drunk the water from the kitchen. (I'd asked about the water, and the hostess told me that the water from the bathrooms was okay, but not the kitchen.) Not sure about the Canadians. I am happy to say that not once in my travels (knock on wood) have I been sick. Either I have a really strong stomach, or else I ate enough stuff off the floor growing up to be able to withstand anything.
I went to the grocery store with a Danish girl from the hostel one evening. She bought a melon that had the price (360 colones) written on it in marker. She smeared the 6 to make it look like 310 colones. She saved herself 50 colones, which is 10 cents. Woo.
On the bus to the beach I heard a bunch of American girls chatting with an Israeli guy (no, the nationalities of these people is in no way important, but I think it's fun knowing where everyone is from). I heard one of the girls say, "We finished college a long time ago." The Israeli asked how old they are. "25" Yeah, that's a long time ago....
Walking into the town of Montezuma one evening (with a Canadian and a German), we were approached by some guy asking if "You want something for your brain?" Somehow, I don't think he meant a book.
I love that getting dressed in the morning meant putting on a bikini, and changing in the afternoon meant putting on dry one. I didn't wear underwear for a week.
One evening the road to town was covered, and I mean covered, with crabs heading for the hills. I've no idea what's up with that, but the crab roadkill carnage the next day was pretty impressive. And stinky.
The grocery store in town sold candy bars (like all good stores do), but it was about a constant 95 degrees in there, so I can't imagine what the chocolate bars were like!
I watched some guy try to body surf in really rough waters. I saw his feet go over his head, then he disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared, he was pulling up his bathing suit.
On the bus out of town, when the journey started, the local guy sitting next to me made the sign of the cross. Did he know something I didn't??
We drove by a hotel/resort that claimed to be the "Home of Temptation Island." Bummer I missed that.
There are lots of signs around the country that declare "Jesu Cristu es el Senor de [wherever]". In my Spanglish, I first translated that as "Jesus Christ is da Man".
Costa Rica is hilly. One hill into Monteverde was so steep that the bus couldn't make it up the first time. We had to roll back, then take another attempt at it. (Second time worked.)
I'm off to hike around in a cloud forest today. Woo hoo!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tough Day
Thus far my day has consisted of:
Waking up when the sun rose, hearing the sound of the sea.
Getting up and sitting in the hammock for an hour, reading my book, and listening to the sea.
Walking up the beach, listening to and feeling the sea.
Swimming alone in a swimming hole on a stream that fed into the sea.
Reading my book listening to the little waterfalls in the stream and the sea.
Watching a group of monkeys in the trees over the stream that fed into the sea.
Listening to the rain on the roof of my hotel by the sea.
A tough day, but someone has to do it...
(If it makes you feel better, know that tomorrow I'll be spending the day on buses.)
Waking up when the sun rose, hearing the sound of the sea.
Getting up and sitting in the hammock for an hour, reading my book, and listening to the sea.
Walking up the beach, listening to and feeling the sea.
Swimming alone in a swimming hole on a stream that fed into the sea.
Reading my book listening to the little waterfalls in the stream and the sea.
Watching a group of monkeys in the trees over the stream that fed into the sea.
Listening to the rain on the roof of my hotel by the sea.
A tough day, but someone has to do it...
(If it makes you feel better, know that tomorrow I'll be spending the day on buses.)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
La Playa
Sorry I haven't put up a post in a while, but I've been much too busy being at the beach doing a whole lot of nothing. And it has been good.
Last Saturday I left San Ramon (aka Podunk, Costa Rica), and headed for the port of Puntarenas on the West coast on a bus that was so full that I had to stand in the aisle for the first half hour, until some nice Tico (Costa Rican) offered me his seat. I'm not sure WHY he offered me his seat, as he didn't get off for another ten minutes. Perhaps I was just the nearest female to him. Perhaps he saw me yawn. Whatever the reason, I accepted.
Puntarenas was insanely hot. I got off the bus with my big pack on my back (down to 14 kilos last time it got weighed) and little pack on front, and headed for the post office to send my last letter. I've run out of airmail envelopes and stationery, and I'm almost out of time, so I think I managed that pretty well. From there I started wandering in the general direction of the ferry, which was reputed to be 3 kilometers away. There was supposed to be a bus to the ferry that went up and down the main street, but I didn't see it. I had finally decided to hail a cab, but I couldn't find any that were free. So on and on I trekked in the heat. Eventually a bus did pull up. It wasn't labeled Ferry, so I wasn't sure, but the driver said he was going that way. I think he just felt sorry for me, for there was noone on the bus, and he didn't charge me anything for the ride. Gracias!
The hour-long ferry trip across the Bay of Nicoya was uneventful. At that point I was still pretty jaded (I'm better now), so I wasn't terribly impressed by the scenery. It was really wierd, however seeing all the trees brown and leafless. It's not because it is fall or winter, but rather because it is hot and dry. (Believe it or not, it is raining right now. Real rain. Hard rain. The first rain I've seen since New Zealand, I think. As I walked into town there was a bolt of lightning closely followed by a clap of thunder, which in turn was closely followed by a bunch of monkeys putting up quite a racket. I guess they don't like lightning.) But even in my jaded state, I was impressed by the schools of fish that you could see off the side of the boat. I was not impressed, however, by the number of jellyfish. Peachy. Rip tides and jelly fish. Just what I want in a beach!
From the ferry I got on another bus (this one of the chicken variety, although it was mostly filled not by chickens but with backpackers like myself--although I don't really consider myself a true backpacker, as my goal isn't to get drunk every night, smoke ridiculous amounts of cigarettes and anything else I can get my hands on), which also was standing room only, and felt exactly like a sauna. It was pretty much unbelievable. I turned to the guy standing behind me and commented on it, and we struck up a conversation. He and his girlfriend were headed to the same hostel as I, and I ended up spending the last four days with them. Pat and Nat were a lovely couple from Montreal, who were about my age, and were much fun to hang out with.
There actually were quite a few great people at the hostel. Another French Canadian couple, a French couple (they all were very nice to me and spoke in English all the time), as well as the younger crowd of a great guy from Edmonton, and a German who was so, well, German that I couldn't help but laugh sometimes. (When I finally admitted to him that I spoke German and I said something to him, he got a funny look on his face and said, "Well, that was an interesting combination of German, English and Spanish.") The first night at Hotel Lucy (seriously), when I was in a dorm with 5 other people (real backpackers) and I heard one say "I hope I didn't lose my rum," and another respond "You can drink my gin; I'm not going to drink it," I was terribly unsure about the whole situation. But they all left and I connected with all the Frenchies, and everything became much better. Finally, FINALLY I have the experience that everyone talks about-- "You will meet loads of people." Not until now, with just a few weeks left in my trip. Just saving the best for last, I guess.
With my new friends (who hopefully will come down from Canada this summer to the beach!), I explored Cabo Blanco, Costa Rica's first nature reserve. We hiked the two hours to the beach, had lunch and a dip, then hiked back, being chased by two women who worked there who wanted to make sure we left the reserve by 4pm when it closed. The hike through the forest was pretty, and we saw a few animals here and there, but it was hot. More hot than I possibly have ever been in my life. I know this because at the end of the hike my shirt was absolutly sodden, except for a very small patch on the bottom of the front. I drank three liters of water, and didn't pee once. I just sweat it all out. Yarg!
The next day we explored the local waterfall. Hike up a stream for about 20 minutes and you get to a great swimming hole with a huge waterfall. Swim, watch the fish, enjoy. Then climb pretty much vertically up a "path" and then up some more, and then down something which luckily had a rope to hold onto (all this in a bikini and sarong), and you get to the upper waterfall and three more swimming holes. Many people (who have much less sense than I) hurled themselves off the 10 meter waterfall into the pool below, but I was content with staying in the middle pool, swinging on the rope swing a few times. (Two days later, my arms are still incredibly sore.) Come down with the German guy in the lead, get lost a bit, end up at a fantastic lookout point with a tremendous view of the coast, then watch a group of male howler monkeys for a while. Not a bad day!
Yesterday I trekked WAY up the beach with Pat and Nat (it was crazy hot again, and the ocean was pretty rough an univiting), to an amazing beach, where it was flat, with gentle waves that weren't trying to drag us out to sea or pummel us into the sand. And someone had very kindly built little shade huts along the beach out of driftwood and palm fronds. When we got there, there wasn't another soul there. This was definitely the life.
Most of my new friends left yesterday, and Pat and Nat left today (but then the other French Canadian couple returned, due to the boat they were to take not actually having a motor or something), so I was a little worried I would be sad and lonely again, but I'm okay so far. (I've got a great book) This past few days just reinforces yet again that I really need to be with people that I like-- and respect. It was nice having grown-ups to hang out with. Even though the Edmonton kid was 13 years my junior, he was fun to talk to as well (and not just because he thought I was 28, and wouldn't believe that I am actually 36). Smart people, kind people, respectful people. Those are the people I need.
Tomorrow I think will be my last day here at the beach (I already extended my stay here three days longer than I thought), and then I'll head up to the mountains to do some hiking in the cool weather. That should be nice. After than, not much longer until I head home! Woo hoo!!!
Last Saturday I left San Ramon (aka Podunk, Costa Rica), and headed for the port of Puntarenas on the West coast on a bus that was so full that I had to stand in the aisle for the first half hour, until some nice Tico (Costa Rican) offered me his seat. I'm not sure WHY he offered me his seat, as he didn't get off for another ten minutes. Perhaps I was just the nearest female to him. Perhaps he saw me yawn. Whatever the reason, I accepted.
Puntarenas was insanely hot. I got off the bus with my big pack on my back (down to 14 kilos last time it got weighed) and little pack on front, and headed for the post office to send my last letter. I've run out of airmail envelopes and stationery, and I'm almost out of time, so I think I managed that pretty well. From there I started wandering in the general direction of the ferry, which was reputed to be 3 kilometers away. There was supposed to be a bus to the ferry that went up and down the main street, but I didn't see it. I had finally decided to hail a cab, but I couldn't find any that were free. So on and on I trekked in the heat. Eventually a bus did pull up. It wasn't labeled Ferry, so I wasn't sure, but the driver said he was going that way. I think he just felt sorry for me, for there was noone on the bus, and he didn't charge me anything for the ride. Gracias!
The hour-long ferry trip across the Bay of Nicoya was uneventful. At that point I was still pretty jaded (I'm better now), so I wasn't terribly impressed by the scenery. It was really wierd, however seeing all the trees brown and leafless. It's not because it is fall or winter, but rather because it is hot and dry. (Believe it or not, it is raining right now. Real rain. Hard rain. The first rain I've seen since New Zealand, I think. As I walked into town there was a bolt of lightning closely followed by a clap of thunder, which in turn was closely followed by a bunch of monkeys putting up quite a racket. I guess they don't like lightning.) But even in my jaded state, I was impressed by the schools of fish that you could see off the side of the boat. I was not impressed, however, by the number of jellyfish. Peachy. Rip tides and jelly fish. Just what I want in a beach!
From the ferry I got on another bus (this one of the chicken variety, although it was mostly filled not by chickens but with backpackers like myself--although I don't really consider myself a true backpacker, as my goal isn't to get drunk every night, smoke ridiculous amounts of cigarettes and anything else I can get my hands on), which also was standing room only, and felt exactly like a sauna. It was pretty much unbelievable. I turned to the guy standing behind me and commented on it, and we struck up a conversation. He and his girlfriend were headed to the same hostel as I, and I ended up spending the last four days with them. Pat and Nat were a lovely couple from Montreal, who were about my age, and were much fun to hang out with.
There actually were quite a few great people at the hostel. Another French Canadian couple, a French couple (they all were very nice to me and spoke in English all the time), as well as the younger crowd of a great guy from Edmonton, and a German who was so, well, German that I couldn't help but laugh sometimes. (When I finally admitted to him that I spoke German and I said something to him, he got a funny look on his face and said, "Well, that was an interesting combination of German, English and Spanish.") The first night at Hotel Lucy (seriously), when I was in a dorm with 5 other people (real backpackers) and I heard one say "I hope I didn't lose my rum," and another respond "You can drink my gin; I'm not going to drink it," I was terribly unsure about the whole situation. But they all left and I connected with all the Frenchies, and everything became much better. Finally, FINALLY I have the experience that everyone talks about-- "You will meet loads of people." Not until now, with just a few weeks left in my trip. Just saving the best for last, I guess.
With my new friends (who hopefully will come down from Canada this summer to the beach!), I explored Cabo Blanco, Costa Rica's first nature reserve. We hiked the two hours to the beach, had lunch and a dip, then hiked back, being chased by two women who worked there who wanted to make sure we left the reserve by 4pm when it closed. The hike through the forest was pretty, and we saw a few animals here and there, but it was hot. More hot than I possibly have ever been in my life. I know this because at the end of the hike my shirt was absolutly sodden, except for a very small patch on the bottom of the front. I drank three liters of water, and didn't pee once. I just sweat it all out. Yarg!
The next day we explored the local waterfall. Hike up a stream for about 20 minutes and you get to a great swimming hole with a huge waterfall. Swim, watch the fish, enjoy. Then climb pretty much vertically up a "path" and then up some more, and then down something which luckily had a rope to hold onto (all this in a bikini and sarong), and you get to the upper waterfall and three more swimming holes. Many people (who have much less sense than I) hurled themselves off the 10 meter waterfall into the pool below, but I was content with staying in the middle pool, swinging on the rope swing a few times. (Two days later, my arms are still incredibly sore.) Come down with the German guy in the lead, get lost a bit, end up at a fantastic lookout point with a tremendous view of the coast, then watch a group of male howler monkeys for a while. Not a bad day!
Yesterday I trekked WAY up the beach with Pat and Nat (it was crazy hot again, and the ocean was pretty rough an univiting), to an amazing beach, where it was flat, with gentle waves that weren't trying to drag us out to sea or pummel us into the sand. And someone had very kindly built little shade huts along the beach out of driftwood and palm fronds. When we got there, there wasn't another soul there. This was definitely the life.
Most of my new friends left yesterday, and Pat and Nat left today (but then the other French Canadian couple returned, due to the boat they were to take not actually having a motor or something), so I was a little worried I would be sad and lonely again, but I'm okay so far. (I've got a great book) This past few days just reinforces yet again that I really need to be with people that I like-- and respect. It was nice having grown-ups to hang out with. Even though the Edmonton kid was 13 years my junior, he was fun to talk to as well (and not just because he thought I was 28, and wouldn't believe that I am actually 36). Smart people, kind people, respectful people. Those are the people I need.
Tomorrow I think will be my last day here at the beach (I already extended my stay here three days longer than I thought), and then I'll head up to the mountains to do some hiking in the cool weather. That should be nice. After than, not much longer until I head home! Woo hoo!!!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Adios San Ramon
Today is my last day in San Ramon. I can´t say that I´ll miss it terribly. It´s just a regular old town with people doing regular old things. The family I´ve been staying with have been nice enough, but with the language barrier we haven´t really been hanging out too much. Plus, there are way too many teenagers. They have a 13 year old girl, and boys aged 15 and 18. My first day there were so many kids wandering in and out that I had the wrong boy pegged as the 15 year old. A few days later I heard someone at the door calling him, and then the boy I thought to be Darió turned out to be the friend on the sidewalk. Oh well.
My career as a volunteer construction crew has drawn to a close as well. Sometimes I was busy and happy, and sometimes I was purely decorative. I felt kind of like the magician´s sidekick, who just stands around much of the time until she needs to hand over something. I was the human saw horse, vice grip, and sometimes I just was a spectator. (When I was helping my friend in NY last summer with construction on his house, we noted how it seemed to be a specator sport.) Today was my last day, and there were no teary farewells. There weren't even any Thank Yous, for that matter. I'm going to guess that's a cultural thing, for they all seemed quite pleasant. The 10 year old was proudly wearing the t-shirt that I had pawned off on him this morning under his school uniform, however. And when I was at the bus stop, one of neighbors (I think that's who she was) saw me and came over to chat. I didn't really understand anything she said, so I just took hold of the conversation and told her that I was going to the beach tomorrow and home in a couple of weeks. She at least gave me a hug and a kiss. (I HOPE it was a neighbor....)
The grandpa (although I don't think he actually is the grandpa, for the kid called him by his name, not Abuelo) commented on the heat to me this morning (it was damn hot), and asked if I wanted juice. Sí. Lemon or oatmeal? I opted for the lemon this time, so off he trotted to pick some lemons. Gotta love that. This afternoon he offered me a glass of milk. Every day around noon the milk truck comes down the road, honking it's horn. Picture a milk truck in your head.... That's not what this was. This was a little red pickup truck with a bunch of silver milk jugs sitting in the back (remember how hot I said it was?), and people come out to it with their jugs or soda bottles, or even plastic bags, and get some milk ladled in. So when I was handed the glass of milk, it was slightly warm, and some seriously whole milk. There was so much cream in that milk that it left bits on the side of the glass, and I could actually feel the fat on my lips when I drank it. Much to my dismay, no oreos or chocolate of any kind was served with this huge glass of milk, and Gramps just stands there watching you drink, so you have no choice but to basically chug it. I haven't gotten sick on my trip yet, but I figure if I am going to, it will be from this.
I have to say that doing construction in third world country is both similar to and different from that at home. OSHA standards are a bit lacking here, but just like at home there is a lot of standing around taking measurements and discussing how many pieces of wood to buy. Here the wheelbarrow may only have one handle and the ladder is homemade, but just like at home, when the officials come they stay for only 25 seconds-- long enough to ask the name of the owner, write it on a piece of paper, and drive off.
A few other random bits about being here. In attempting to converse with the construction guys, I pretty much adhered to the policy followed by my father's mother (yes, she would be my grandmother, but as she died 13 years before I was born, I think of her as dad's mom) when she (being French) attempted to talk with the local Yorkshire folk-- Say yes unless they look surprised, and then say no. I totally did that the other day when we were talking about the Brazilian dance style called capoeira (I think). I thought I was asked if I knew of it, but when I said yes and got a very startled look, I figured I was actually asked if I knew how to do it, and I said no.
The younger son was sitting with me at lunch one day. He had in his hand a little cup (like the sort that comes on the top of a NyQuil bottle), that had some light blue liquid in it. I sniffed it and decided it was probably mouthwash. The child actually drank it. Alas, my Spanish skills didn't extend to Do you really think you are supposed to drink that??
I guess that's the end of that. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I head off to the beach. After all this hard work, I clearly deserve it.
My career as a volunteer construction crew has drawn to a close as well. Sometimes I was busy and happy, and sometimes I was purely decorative. I felt kind of like the magician´s sidekick, who just stands around much of the time until she needs to hand over something. I was the human saw horse, vice grip, and sometimes I just was a spectator. (When I was helping my friend in NY last summer with construction on his house, we noted how it seemed to be a specator sport.) Today was my last day, and there were no teary farewells. There weren't even any Thank Yous, for that matter. I'm going to guess that's a cultural thing, for they all seemed quite pleasant. The 10 year old was proudly wearing the t-shirt that I had pawned off on him this morning under his school uniform, however. And when I was at the bus stop, one of neighbors (I think that's who she was) saw me and came over to chat. I didn't really understand anything she said, so I just took hold of the conversation and told her that I was going to the beach tomorrow and home in a couple of weeks. She at least gave me a hug and a kiss. (I HOPE it was a neighbor....)
The grandpa (although I don't think he actually is the grandpa, for the kid called him by his name, not Abuelo) commented on the heat to me this morning (it was damn hot), and asked if I wanted juice. Sí. Lemon or oatmeal? I opted for the lemon this time, so off he trotted to pick some lemons. Gotta love that. This afternoon he offered me a glass of milk. Every day around noon the milk truck comes down the road, honking it's horn. Picture a milk truck in your head.... That's not what this was. This was a little red pickup truck with a bunch of silver milk jugs sitting in the back (remember how hot I said it was?), and people come out to it with their jugs or soda bottles, or even plastic bags, and get some milk ladled in. So when I was handed the glass of milk, it was slightly warm, and some seriously whole milk. There was so much cream in that milk that it left bits on the side of the glass, and I could actually feel the fat on my lips when I drank it. Much to my dismay, no oreos or chocolate of any kind was served with this huge glass of milk, and Gramps just stands there watching you drink, so you have no choice but to basically chug it. I haven't gotten sick on my trip yet, but I figure if I am going to, it will be from this.
I have to say that doing construction in third world country is both similar to and different from that at home. OSHA standards are a bit lacking here, but just like at home there is a lot of standing around taking measurements and discussing how many pieces of wood to buy. Here the wheelbarrow may only have one handle and the ladder is homemade, but just like at home, when the officials come they stay for only 25 seconds-- long enough to ask the name of the owner, write it on a piece of paper, and drive off.
A few other random bits about being here. In attempting to converse with the construction guys, I pretty much adhered to the policy followed by my father's mother (yes, she would be my grandmother, but as she died 13 years before I was born, I think of her as dad's mom) when she (being French) attempted to talk with the local Yorkshire folk-- Say yes unless they look surprised, and then say no. I totally did that the other day when we were talking about the Brazilian dance style called capoeira (I think). I thought I was asked if I knew of it, but when I said yes and got a very startled look, I figured I was actually asked if I knew how to do it, and I said no.
The younger son was sitting with me at lunch one day. He had in his hand a little cup (like the sort that comes on the top of a NyQuil bottle), that had some light blue liquid in it. I sniffed it and decided it was probably mouthwash. The child actually drank it. Alas, my Spanish skills didn't extend to Do you really think you are supposed to drink that??
I guess that's the end of that. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I head off to the beach. After all this hard work, I clearly deserve it.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Construction
I´ve had 5 days of work at the construction site now. We (when I say "we" I mean me and the two Costa Ricans I´m working with, Robert and Juan) are building a little house for Robert´s in-laws (I think that´s the relation. They are the something of his wife, so I´m assuming he said parents). They are currently living next door, and he lives down the hill with his wife and two kids, aged six and eleven, with whom I attempt to chat sometimes. Robert is about my age, happy and smiley and knows about three words of English (about as many as I know Spanish). Juan, the other guy, is older, and seems to be missing quite a few teeth. I suspect he knows a bit more English, but he doesn´t use it. I think he´s the hired help-- as opposed to the free migrant laborer, who doesn´t understand what they are telling me to do, so I look like a complete idiot most of the time. I´ve given up on pretending I know what they are talking about, and just reach for my dictionary if sign language doesn´t work. It am having fun, though.
So far I´ve sifted a lot of dirt, moved dirt around, mixed concrete, moved concrete, poured concrete floors, and, my favorite, sanded conctete walls with-- wait for it-- a piece of concrete. (I think it was about 8 grit. That would be a rough sanding job.) My muscles are a bit on the sore side, but that´s okay. To get to the site, I have to take a local bus (which is an old school bus, of course) about 15 minutes out of town, and then walk for 15 minutes down a ridiculously steep hill. (Yes, I have to walk back up it at the end of the day... today I was a bit late, so basically ran up it in 13 minutes, because if I missed the 3:15 bus, I´d have to wait until 4:45 or walk back to town. My calves are in pretty good shape...)
Robert´s wife and/or father-in-law (who seems to have three teeth total, talks about a mile a minute, and I can´t understand a thing he says, but I love him) appear throughot the day bringing us drinks or snacks. Today they each appeared in the afternoon bearing coffee and cookies. Yesterday I was served hot fried plantains (kinda like bananas). At lunch today, the wife (no idea what her name is) brought me a glass of fresca, which was I think a melon smoothie made with condensed milk. My favorite drink though, would have to be the milky water that was kind of sweet. Oatmeal, I wondered. I asked, the grandpa said something, and the six year old pointed to the chunks in the bottom of the jugs. I checked my dictionary for what oat is, and yes, they were giving me aqua avena-- oatmeal water. It really isn´t that bad, and I kind of look forward to it now. (I still can´t stand to eat real oatmeal though. WAY too slimy.)
I´ve been studying my Spanish a bit, looking through my flashcards. I took out words that I didn´t think I would need, such as to fit, to seem, and to shave (I rarely use that word in English!). I did, however, keep in the word for to fall down, thinking that might come in handy. (It´s caer, by the way, or caigo for I fall down.) It has, three times now. I tripped over the radio cord, a piece of string leveling the floor, and yesterday I slipped on some gravel and ended up sloshing oatmeal water all over my back.
In chatting with Juan and Robert today (when I say chatting, I mean that I think about one sentence for about five minutes, finally attempt to put it together along with a fair bit of sign language and a few checks of the dictionary, then they say it back to me properly and then launch into a response for the next five minutes, about 2% of which I understand), I told them that I had been to Kenya and done some volunteer work there as well. I am pretty sure that they then asked me if people in Kenya eat each other. NO! It´s amazing what stereotypes people have. I told them that the white people I met in Kenya thought the blacks were stupid and tired (that was my translation of lazy). I said I didn´t like it. Robert asked (in Spanish), You don´t like the blacks? No, I don´t like the whites!
Two more days of work. Not sure what exciting tasks or bizarre mis-translations I´ll get up to tomorrow (or what odd things I´ll be fed), but I´m looking forward to it.
So far I´ve sifted a lot of dirt, moved dirt around, mixed concrete, moved concrete, poured concrete floors, and, my favorite, sanded conctete walls with-- wait for it-- a piece of concrete. (I think it was about 8 grit. That would be a rough sanding job.) My muscles are a bit on the sore side, but that´s okay. To get to the site, I have to take a local bus (which is an old school bus, of course) about 15 minutes out of town, and then walk for 15 minutes down a ridiculously steep hill. (Yes, I have to walk back up it at the end of the day... today I was a bit late, so basically ran up it in 13 minutes, because if I missed the 3:15 bus, I´d have to wait until 4:45 or walk back to town. My calves are in pretty good shape...)
Robert´s wife and/or father-in-law (who seems to have three teeth total, talks about a mile a minute, and I can´t understand a thing he says, but I love him) appear throughot the day bringing us drinks or snacks. Today they each appeared in the afternoon bearing coffee and cookies. Yesterday I was served hot fried plantains (kinda like bananas). At lunch today, the wife (no idea what her name is) brought me a glass of fresca, which was I think a melon smoothie made with condensed milk. My favorite drink though, would have to be the milky water that was kind of sweet. Oatmeal, I wondered. I asked, the grandpa said something, and the six year old pointed to the chunks in the bottom of the jugs. I checked my dictionary for what oat is, and yes, they were giving me aqua avena-- oatmeal water. It really isn´t that bad, and I kind of look forward to it now. (I still can´t stand to eat real oatmeal though. WAY too slimy.)
I´ve been studying my Spanish a bit, looking through my flashcards. I took out words that I didn´t think I would need, such as to fit, to seem, and to shave (I rarely use that word in English!). I did, however, keep in the word for to fall down, thinking that might come in handy. (It´s caer, by the way, or caigo for I fall down.) It has, three times now. I tripped over the radio cord, a piece of string leveling the floor, and yesterday I slipped on some gravel and ended up sloshing oatmeal water all over my back.
In chatting with Juan and Robert today (when I say chatting, I mean that I think about one sentence for about five minutes, finally attempt to put it together along with a fair bit of sign language and a few checks of the dictionary, then they say it back to me properly and then launch into a response for the next five minutes, about 2% of which I understand), I told them that I had been to Kenya and done some volunteer work there as well. I am pretty sure that they then asked me if people in Kenya eat each other. NO! It´s amazing what stereotypes people have. I told them that the white people I met in Kenya thought the blacks were stupid and tired (that was my translation of lazy). I said I didn´t like it. Robert asked (in Spanish), You don´t like the blacks? No, I don´t like the whites!
Two more days of work. Not sure what exciting tasks or bizarre mis-translations I´ll get up to tomorrow (or what odd things I´ll be fed), but I´m looking forward to it.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter weekend
As I had four and a half days off work (after only one and a half days ON), I went away last weekend to La Fortuna, the town next to the largest (only??) active volcano in Costa Rica. There used to be a couple of towns closer to the volcano, but they got obliterated in 1968, when what they all thought was just a mountain erupted after being dormant for 450 years. (My father tells me that he was actually here at that time. Bet that was exciting!) I don´t know about you, but when the rivers started to run hot, I might have gotten out of town....
As I mentioned before, La Fortuna is basically just a tourist hotspot, but at least that meant it didn´t shut down completely on Good Friday. I wandered around the town a bit (okay, I pretty much walked through the entire town in about half an hour), popping in to various souvenir shops. No, I didn´t buy a hammock or sarong, which seemed to be mostly what was on offer. I did look at various wooden bits and bats, but I´m not willing to carry anything around the country. Maybe I´ll head back into a claptrap shoppe right before I leave. Maybe not.
I did get to go on an outing to see the volcano. Unlike in Guatemala, we weren´t allowed to actually climb on this volcano. (In Guatemala, I could have touched lava if I were insane. No barriers, no guards. Just common sense protecting us. Or at least some of us.) In fact, we saw it from quite a distance, but we did get to go on a nice nature hike through the forest (I think that´s what they call it here, rather than bush or jungle or something else I don´t know). Lots of palm trees, vines, and those wacky plants that you can grow in a little shell on the side of your fridge-- bromeliads, I believe they are called. They are happy growing anywhere, and don´t need a lick of dirt. (I won´t be mentioning that to any of my first graders, for it will just confuse them.) We saw howler monkeys and various birds. Everyone ooooohed and ahhhhed while the guide said "This is the most common monkey/bird in Costa Rica." As I said before, I wasn´t too bowled over, although seeing the hummingbird nest with two little (and I mean little) chicks in it was pretty cool, even for someone as jaded as myself.
My favorite part of the hike, however, was hearing this American guy ask a woman with an accent where she was from. She said Israel, to which he replied, "Cool. I have a friend who just went to India." (I think he might have been someone in Guatemala who would have melted his shoes on the lava.)
After the hike we went to a lookout spot at dusk so we could see the lava coming down the side of the volcano. We were (literally) miles away, but it was pretty neat nonetheless. From there we went to a hot springs spa place, with 25 pools of different temperatures. I particularly liked the Giant Jacuzzi, as well as the pool that had tile recliners built into it. But, as in Thailand when we went to the hot springs (although this place, thank goodness, didn´t smell like sulphur), we were allotted two and a half hours there, and I was ready to go after 20 minutes. I assumed something like this would happen, so I had brought a book.
One evening in La Fortuna, at a restaurant where the poor waitresses were forced to wear ridiculous lacy-collared blouses and huge peasant skirts (I wanted to give her an extra big tip just for having to endure that, but when I had to ask twice for the bill, I decided on a regular tip), I saw a child with a paper napkin tucked into her shirt-- but not as a bib as I would have expected. No, this child had hers tucked into the BACK of her shirt and was wearing it as a cape. That´s my girl.
Two nights there in a hostel (I was in a dorm room, but happily had the whole room to myself), and then I came back to San Ramón. Not much going on here, so I read a lot, studied my Spanish a bit, and then took myself to the movies. You know you are truly desperate for entertainment when you pay to see Dragonball: Evolution... in Spanish. That was Saturday afternoon. Yesterday, Easter, I treated myself to Monsters vs. Aliens, again in Spanish. Luckily, neither of these plots were terribly hard to follow, and the dialogue was pretty predictable, so I was able to catch bits and pieces of it. I think my next movie will be that Benjamin Button one (in English, but with sub-titles, so I can read along and perhaps learn a bit). The final movie they have here (I still have 5 days in Podunk) is Infamundo: Mays 18. Does anyone know anything about that, or what "Mays 18" means? Is that like NC 17, because if so, I need to be mentally prepared before heading in. Maybe I´ll see that on Wednesday, when it only costs $2.40 to go to the movies (as opposed to full price of $3.80!!).
Oh yeah, I´m wishing that there was another volunteer here with me, but I did find Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Diary of Anne Frank, so at least my reading has classed up a bit. (I tend to rotate between a real book, like The English Patient, which I finished in La Fortuna, and mindless rot, like the Patricia Cornwell book I finished yesterday morning.)
I would have loved to ask my hostess if there are any special things that they do or eat on Easter (I saw no evidence of eggs, or bunnies, or chocolate of any sort), but that question is just too beyond my level of Spanish (please see David Sedaris´s story in Me Talk Pretty One Day about discussing Easter traditions in French class).
I guess that´s it for now. Adios, amigos y amigas!
As I mentioned before, La Fortuna is basically just a tourist hotspot, but at least that meant it didn´t shut down completely on Good Friday. I wandered around the town a bit (okay, I pretty much walked through the entire town in about half an hour), popping in to various souvenir shops. No, I didn´t buy a hammock or sarong, which seemed to be mostly what was on offer. I did look at various wooden bits and bats, but I´m not willing to carry anything around the country. Maybe I´ll head back into a claptrap shoppe right before I leave. Maybe not.
I did get to go on an outing to see the volcano. Unlike in Guatemala, we weren´t allowed to actually climb on this volcano. (In Guatemala, I could have touched lava if I were insane. No barriers, no guards. Just common sense protecting us. Or at least some of us.) In fact, we saw it from quite a distance, but we did get to go on a nice nature hike through the forest (I think that´s what they call it here, rather than bush or jungle or something else I don´t know). Lots of palm trees, vines, and those wacky plants that you can grow in a little shell on the side of your fridge-- bromeliads, I believe they are called. They are happy growing anywhere, and don´t need a lick of dirt. (I won´t be mentioning that to any of my first graders, for it will just confuse them.) We saw howler monkeys and various birds. Everyone ooooohed and ahhhhed while the guide said "This is the most common monkey/bird in Costa Rica." As I said before, I wasn´t too bowled over, although seeing the hummingbird nest with two little (and I mean little) chicks in it was pretty cool, even for someone as jaded as myself.
My favorite part of the hike, however, was hearing this American guy ask a woman with an accent where she was from. She said Israel, to which he replied, "Cool. I have a friend who just went to India." (I think he might have been someone in Guatemala who would have melted his shoes on the lava.)
After the hike we went to a lookout spot at dusk so we could see the lava coming down the side of the volcano. We were (literally) miles away, but it was pretty neat nonetheless. From there we went to a hot springs spa place, with 25 pools of different temperatures. I particularly liked the Giant Jacuzzi, as well as the pool that had tile recliners built into it. But, as in Thailand when we went to the hot springs (although this place, thank goodness, didn´t smell like sulphur), we were allotted two and a half hours there, and I was ready to go after 20 minutes. I assumed something like this would happen, so I had brought a book.
One evening in La Fortuna, at a restaurant where the poor waitresses were forced to wear ridiculous lacy-collared blouses and huge peasant skirts (I wanted to give her an extra big tip just for having to endure that, but when I had to ask twice for the bill, I decided on a regular tip), I saw a child with a paper napkin tucked into her shirt-- but not as a bib as I would have expected. No, this child had hers tucked into the BACK of her shirt and was wearing it as a cape. That´s my girl.
Two nights there in a hostel (I was in a dorm room, but happily had the whole room to myself), and then I came back to San Ramón. Not much going on here, so I read a lot, studied my Spanish a bit, and then took myself to the movies. You know you are truly desperate for entertainment when you pay to see Dragonball: Evolution... in Spanish. That was Saturday afternoon. Yesterday, Easter, I treated myself to Monsters vs. Aliens, again in Spanish. Luckily, neither of these plots were terribly hard to follow, and the dialogue was pretty predictable, so I was able to catch bits and pieces of it. I think my next movie will be that Benjamin Button one (in English, but with sub-titles, so I can read along and perhaps learn a bit). The final movie they have here (I still have 5 days in Podunk) is Infamundo: Mays 18. Does anyone know anything about that, or what "Mays 18" means? Is that like NC 17, because if so, I need to be mentally prepared before heading in. Maybe I´ll see that on Wednesday, when it only costs $2.40 to go to the movies (as opposed to full price of $3.80!!).
Oh yeah, I´m wishing that there was another volunteer here with me, but I did find Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Diary of Anne Frank, so at least my reading has classed up a bit. (I tend to rotate between a real book, like The English Patient, which I finished in La Fortuna, and mindless rot, like the Patricia Cornwell book I finished yesterday morning.)
I would have loved to ask my hostess if there are any special things that they do or eat on Easter (I saw no evidence of eggs, or bunnies, or chocolate of any sort), but that question is just too beyond my level of Spanish (please see David Sedaris´s story in Me Talk Pretty One Day about discussing Easter traditions in French class).
I guess that´s it for now. Adios, amigos y amigas!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Homeward Bound
A couple of months ago I was in a hostel somewhere in New Zealand and, as always, I had gone to bed early with my book. While reading, I could hear the other hostel guests sitting below my window, listening to music and chatting away. I was only vaguely aware of all this until I heard the familiar strains of Simon and Garfunkle´s Homeward Bound. I stopped reading and listened closely to the words, which suddenly had new meaning to me. After a minute I realized that all the conversation had stopped among the other guests, and they too seemed to be listening intently to the song. Apparently they also longed to be where their thought are escaping, where their music´s playing, where their loves lie waiting silently for them.
I have been singing that tune to myself (and sometimes out loud) for quite a while, but now I am singing it a bit louder and more frequently. I will be homeward bound in just a few weeks, about which I am very excited. I think I am done with traveling, certainly with traveling alone. I see other people with their friends, and I get jealous. I have read a lot of books. I have spent a lot of time sitting and thinking (sometimes I just sits). I have seen many lovely things, but at this point I have simply become jaded, and as I see another monkey in another jungle-vined tree, I think to myself, "Seen it already."
Is this what it means to be world weary? I don´t think so, but that is exactly how I feel. Right now I just long to be Homeward Bound....
I have been singing that tune to myself (and sometimes out loud) for quite a while, but now I am singing it a bit louder and more frequently. I will be homeward bound in just a few weeks, about which I am very excited. I think I am done with traveling, certainly with traveling alone. I see other people with their friends, and I get jealous. I have read a lot of books. I have spent a lot of time sitting and thinking (sometimes I just sits). I have seen many lovely things, but at this point I have simply become jaded, and as I see another monkey in another jungle-vined tree, I think to myself, "Seen it already."
Is this what it means to be world weary? I don´t think so, but that is exactly how I feel. Right now I just long to be Homeward Bound....
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Grass Is Always Greener...
I am currently in the tourist mecca of La Fortuna, the town closest to the active volcano Arenal (to which I have booked a tour tomorrow). In my wanderings around town this afternoon, I saw a place called Cafe Vienna. Naturally I had to go check it out. The guy behind the counter greeted me in English (how could he tell I was a Gringa?) so I asked him if anyone there was actually associated with Wien. Yes, he was from there. I thought to myself, Great, now I can practice that German that I am so fluent in. I opened my mouth, but I could not think of one word in German. All I had in my head was Spanish.
I guess I am only fluent on the other side of the fence.
I guess I am only fluent on the other side of the fence.
GORP
I just ate a bunch of gorp that I got from SuperMega (the local supermarket), and noted that they seem to add a bit of cayenne or something to it, for it is kind of kicky. My tongue is tingling a bit. Unless, of course, it is the fact that I was eating it out of the hand that I just used to smear DEET all over myself.
Apparently, common sense seems to have taken a vacation....
Apparently, common sense seems to have taken a vacation....
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Constructing
Worry not, I bought lots of chocolate last night (but managed to consume only three chocolate covered coffee beans), and today the world is much better. I went to work on my own today, and spent the morning (work ended at noon, because of Holy Week) sifting dirt, cleaning up the site, and playing soccer (to the best of my non-abilities) and chatting with a six year old. If nothing else, this will be 10 days of total Spanish immersion. It was reassuring to me when the child could actually understand what I said to him (and vice versa). But clearly either he has quite a limited vocabulary or my accent is horrendous, for sometimes I would look up a word in my dictionary (always in my pocket), and he still had no idea what I was saying. (I'm guessing it's not HIS limited language....)
I do like talking to kids, not only because I am comfortable with them (after 10+ years I should be!), but because he had absolutely no qualms about chatting away in Spanish, despite the fact that I could only get a word here or there. It reminded me (as have many moments in the last few weeks) of the scene in Love Actually where Colin Firth and the Portugese woman (if it wasn't Jennifer Ehle, she's incidental) were holding a conversation of sorts, each in their own language. That's me (but alas, Mr. Darcy is nowhere to be seen).
The kid asked me the names of my students (I wasn't up to explaining that I don't have any this year, so I went with last year's class, all of whose names I eventually remembered... in alphabetical order). He got a kick out of hearing their names, and happily told me that he has an Abby in his class too. Hearing him attempt to pronounce "Oliver" what quite a trip. It just wasn't going to happen even remotely. Sort of like me trying to pronounce "Luigi" (I think that is at least a little bit like the name he was saying to me).
As to names, I've just admitted defeat, and now introduce myself as Lucia. It's just easier.
I do like talking to kids, not only because I am comfortable with them (after 10+ years I should be!), but because he had absolutely no qualms about chatting away in Spanish, despite the fact that I could only get a word here or there. It reminded me (as have many moments in the last few weeks) of the scene in Love Actually where Colin Firth and the Portugese woman (if it wasn't Jennifer Ehle, she's incidental) were holding a conversation of sorts, each in their own language. That's me (but alas, Mr. Darcy is nowhere to be seen).
The kid asked me the names of my students (I wasn't up to explaining that I don't have any this year, so I went with last year's class, all of whose names I eventually remembered... in alphabetical order). He got a kick out of hearing their names, and happily told me that he has an Abby in his class too. Hearing him attempt to pronounce "Oliver" what quite a trip. It just wasn't going to happen even remotely. Sort of like me trying to pronounce "Luigi" (I think that is at least a little bit like the name he was saying to me).
As to names, I've just admitted defeat, and now introduce myself as Lucia. It's just easier.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Costa Rica Service Trip
I knew that the service trip in Costa Rica would totally pale in comparison to that which I just did in Guatemala, but, three days in, I have to say that so far it pretty much sucks.
Granted, I didn't do a whole lot of research on the internet (being someone who can spend WAY too long mulling things over in her mind, but having limited time between deciding I wanted to do a service trip in CR and actually arriving here), but I will have quite a few things to put on the evaluation at the end. I was heartened when I met some folks in Antigua who had actually heard of the organization (called i-to-i), but it's gone downhill from there. It apparently is almost exclusively geared towards young adults, for there was way too much coddling going on during the orientation.
Yes, everyone else in the room was 18-23 years old and on their first trip, but come on, how many times to I need to be told that I can call them any time I might want, and that I should take a shower each day (well actually, I probably should be told that). But I could handle all of that, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, because I do appreciate that others might have needed it.
What I am not particularly appreciative of, though, is that, unlike the three other service trips I've been on this year, this seems to be more of a middle-man for volunteer organizations, and I'm working for some Costa Rican/Canadian group (although I haven't seen any Canadians yet). Okay, whatever. But here's the kicker. I am the only freaking volunteer. Today there were four other volunteers, but it was their last day. All of them. So this week (which actually only consists of one more day because of Holy Week, which is another big issue I have... if I had known that sooner than yesterday, maybe I would have booked for a different week, or at least been able to look into what I want to do with my four day weekend when ALL of Costa Rica will be going on vacation and oh, the buses don't run on Thurdsay or Friday, so I'll be stuck in Costa Rica's version of Creve Coeur-- I'm actually at the mall right now) and next week I will be toiling away by myself and with whatever the local crew might be (today it was two guys). Well, I guess my Spanish will be much improved by the end of it, so if you need to know how to say, "How many scoops of concrete would you like in the wheelbarrow," just let me know.
I'm not impressed with Costa Rica thus far, no matter how much other people love it. I think I need to head into the grocery store behind me and stock up on copious amounts of chocolate (which clearly I am in need of) before it shuts for the long weekend. (I did buy myself three books in English yesterday, so that should get me through the weekend if all else fails.)
Granted, I didn't do a whole lot of research on the internet (being someone who can spend WAY too long mulling things over in her mind, but having limited time between deciding I wanted to do a service trip in CR and actually arriving here), but I will have quite a few things to put on the evaluation at the end. I was heartened when I met some folks in Antigua who had actually heard of the organization (called i-to-i), but it's gone downhill from there. It apparently is almost exclusively geared towards young adults, for there was way too much coddling going on during the orientation.
Yes, everyone else in the room was 18-23 years old and on their first trip, but come on, how many times to I need to be told that I can call them any time I might want, and that I should take a shower each day (well actually, I probably should be told that). But I could handle all of that, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, because I do appreciate that others might have needed it.
What I am not particularly appreciative of, though, is that, unlike the three other service trips I've been on this year, this seems to be more of a middle-man for volunteer organizations, and I'm working for some Costa Rican/Canadian group (although I haven't seen any Canadians yet). Okay, whatever. But here's the kicker. I am the only freaking volunteer. Today there were four other volunteers, but it was their last day. All of them. So this week (which actually only consists of one more day because of Holy Week, which is another big issue I have... if I had known that sooner than yesterday, maybe I would have booked for a different week, or at least been able to look into what I want to do with my four day weekend when ALL of Costa Rica will be going on vacation and oh, the buses don't run on Thurdsay or Friday, so I'll be stuck in Costa Rica's version of Creve Coeur-- I'm actually at the mall right now) and next week I will be toiling away by myself and with whatever the local crew might be (today it was two guys). Well, I guess my Spanish will be much improved by the end of it, so if you need to know how to say, "How many scoops of concrete would you like in the wheelbarrow," just let me know.
I'm not impressed with Costa Rica thus far, no matter how much other people love it. I think I need to head into the grocery store behind me and stock up on copious amounts of chocolate (which clearly I am in need of) before it shuts for the long weekend. (I did buy myself three books in English yesterday, so that should get me through the weekend if all else fails.)
Monday, April 6, 2009
Guatemala
I recently finished my two weeks in Guatemala, and I have two distint impressions about the country (or at least Antigua and Guatemala City, which is where I was exclusively). Firstly, there are a lot of guns in Guatemala. Secondly, (and completely unrelatedly) that country sure does love Lent!
I have never seen so many guns in my entire life (possibly put together). And I´m talking big guns. Every policeman, security guard, and even one random guy in regular clothes walking down the street, was carrying a shotgun. At banks, jewelry stores, street corners... everywhere. One day, when arriving back at my homestay, there was a delivery druck dropping supplies off at the little shop across the street, and standing next to the truck was a guy with a big gun. There were even armed guards at the amusement park we went to with the kids from Safe Passage. It was slightly disconcerting seeing big guns around small children. My favorite gun moment (if there can be such a thing) was when we saw a police car rear-end (quite gently, as they were inching along in traffic) another car. The cops got out of their car, bearing machine guns, and, surprise surprise, the whole incident seemed to be taken care of in about 15 seconds.
The ridiculous number of guns made me feel neither safe nor unsafe, merely bewildered. (I haven´t any idea, I´m happy to say, whether the guns were ever put to use, or if they were even loaded.)
As to the country loving Lent, well, Antigua is reknowned for their Holy Week celebrations. Although I left right as Holy Week was beginning (but not before I got to see Jesus walk down the street in front of my house on Palm Sunday), I did get to see quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. They had processions every Sunday, in which families paid (!) to have their son(s) dress in purple satin robes and help to carry around a monstrous float. Presumably this is a bit of a status thing, as well as a way to do penance. The floats were accompanied by a big brass band playing funeral dirge after funeral dirge. During the week I was there (the week before holy week), there were loads of processions as well. While wandering along, the float and band and all the guys in purple walking alongside, and anyone else that wanted to follow the procession, walked over ´carpets´ that people made (out of flowers and pine needles, or really elaborate ones out of dyed sawdust). Hours are spent making these, and then they just get pulverized. (I particularly liked seeing the cleanup crew and garbage trucks following along sweeping up and getting rid of the debris.)
It was all quite a trip. As I've left Guatemala now, I will share with you the other random things I saw, heard, and thought.
Only 18% of students in Guatemala finish elementary school.
Guatemala (or Latin America in general) is where school buses go to die. They get all pimped out and turned into what is affectionately called chicken buses. While there were no chickens on the bus we went on, there was way over the legal capacity of people! We were sitting three to a seat. On field trips with kids, that is no problem. But three to a seat with adults means that the third person has maybe one cheek on the seat and is being propped up by being smooshed into the third person on the opposite seat. (Lucky for me, it was a strapping 24 year old lad...) The chicken buses have loud, booming horns that they like to use. They use them when they think someone might cross the street in front of them or need picking up or when they get to a street corner or whenever they damn well feel like it. (My bedroom faced a large Avenue, and the honking started at about 5 am.) AND the chicken buses don't seem to have to have any emissions testing. The black smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe was exactly like (in color and size) the scary black smoke in the first season of Lost. (What WAS that?) I couldn't have the windows open in my room, because of the fumes. (And yes, I could smell them starting at 5 am also.) Blowing my nose emitted some lovely black stuff. Ick.
I got to feel two earthquakes while in Guatemala... one while I was skyping my brother (although he wouldn't have known it unless I pointed it out to him).
You are supposed to barter with the people peddling their wares. But when it is only $3 to start with, and that three bucks means way more to the Mayan woman who is selling it than to you, who cares? I bought myself a headband, and didn't blink at the price. She must have felt bad, for she threw in a bracelet for free. It reminded me of that haggling bit from Monty Python.
In wandering aimlessly around town one day, I went into a jade jewelry store. (Apparently, as in New Zealand, jade was big Guatemala.) I was totally followed around the store by a clerk the whole time. Yes, I had a back pack, and yes I looked scruffy, but really? (Welcome to racial-- or socio-economic-- profiling, take two!)
I saw a boy of about four swishing along one day in snowpants. It was about 75 degrees.
At an ATM one day, yet another armed guard made me wait outside while the (apparently incompetent) tourists attempted to work the machines. Eventually he went over to help them punch buttons.
At my homestay, the elderly and very deaf mother of my host lived with them. One night she was apparently ill, for I was awoken at about midnight by the most awful series of noises. Moans, retching, yells, and some other noises that I can't quite describe, but I'm pretty sure have been used in zombie movies. It was the only time in my entire trip that I have actually been scared. (I was very glad I had locked my door.)
In Spanish class one day, my teacher gave me a worksheet that had all sorts of kitchen implements on it (some of which I didn't even know the name of in English). On that sheet was the very useful vocab for 'meat grinder'. How often does one use that word? Well, it gave me the opportunity to wade my way through the story (in Spanglish) about the time that I was looking for an apple peeler/corer in my kitchen and couldn't find one, but found five (no, I'm not exaggerating), FIVE meat grinders.
I made flashcards for all the vocabulary I had been learning (not the kitchen stuff, for when will I use that? I did put down the phrase "I broke..." though). I went through them the next day, and the pile of stuff I knew was actually larger than that I didn't. (Probably wouldn't be now, if I did it again.)
Upon entering the security area in the Guatemala airport, these words actually came out of my mouth (hopefully not too loudly): "Why are they all green? And putting their pants on?" (It was a soccer team all wearing matching shirts and putting their belts back on after security.)
My flight to Costa Rica had a layover in Nicaragua. There's another place I never in my life I thought I'd be....
I have never seen so many guns in my entire life (possibly put together). And I´m talking big guns. Every policeman, security guard, and even one random guy in regular clothes walking down the street, was carrying a shotgun. At banks, jewelry stores, street corners... everywhere. One day, when arriving back at my homestay, there was a delivery druck dropping supplies off at the little shop across the street, and standing next to the truck was a guy with a big gun. There were even armed guards at the amusement park we went to with the kids from Safe Passage. It was slightly disconcerting seeing big guns around small children. My favorite gun moment (if there can be such a thing) was when we saw a police car rear-end (quite gently, as they were inching along in traffic) another car. The cops got out of their car, bearing machine guns, and, surprise surprise, the whole incident seemed to be taken care of in about 15 seconds.
The ridiculous number of guns made me feel neither safe nor unsafe, merely bewildered. (I haven´t any idea, I´m happy to say, whether the guns were ever put to use, or if they were even loaded.)
As to the country loving Lent, well, Antigua is reknowned for their Holy Week celebrations. Although I left right as Holy Week was beginning (but not before I got to see Jesus walk down the street in front of my house on Palm Sunday), I did get to see quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. They had processions every Sunday, in which families paid (!) to have their son(s) dress in purple satin robes and help to carry around a monstrous float. Presumably this is a bit of a status thing, as well as a way to do penance. The floats were accompanied by a big brass band playing funeral dirge after funeral dirge. During the week I was there (the week before holy week), there were loads of processions as well. While wandering along, the float and band and all the guys in purple walking alongside, and anyone else that wanted to follow the procession, walked over ´carpets´ that people made (out of flowers and pine needles, or really elaborate ones out of dyed sawdust). Hours are spent making these, and then they just get pulverized. (I particularly liked seeing the cleanup crew and garbage trucks following along sweeping up and getting rid of the debris.)
It was all quite a trip. As I've left Guatemala now, I will share with you the other random things I saw, heard, and thought.
Only 18% of students in Guatemala finish elementary school.
Guatemala (or Latin America in general) is where school buses go to die. They get all pimped out and turned into what is affectionately called chicken buses. While there were no chickens on the bus we went on, there was way over the legal capacity of people! We were sitting three to a seat. On field trips with kids, that is no problem. But three to a seat with adults means that the third person has maybe one cheek on the seat and is being propped up by being smooshed into the third person on the opposite seat. (Lucky for me, it was a strapping 24 year old lad...) The chicken buses have loud, booming horns that they like to use. They use them when they think someone might cross the street in front of them or need picking up or when they get to a street corner or whenever they damn well feel like it. (My bedroom faced a large Avenue, and the honking started at about 5 am.) AND the chicken buses don't seem to have to have any emissions testing. The black smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe was exactly like (in color and size) the scary black smoke in the first season of Lost. (What WAS that?) I couldn't have the windows open in my room, because of the fumes. (And yes, I could smell them starting at 5 am also.) Blowing my nose emitted some lovely black stuff. Ick.
I got to feel two earthquakes while in Guatemala... one while I was skyping my brother (although he wouldn't have known it unless I pointed it out to him).
You are supposed to barter with the people peddling their wares. But when it is only $3 to start with, and that three bucks means way more to the Mayan woman who is selling it than to you, who cares? I bought myself a headband, and didn't blink at the price. She must have felt bad, for she threw in a bracelet for free. It reminded me of that haggling bit from Monty Python.
In wandering aimlessly around town one day, I went into a jade jewelry store. (Apparently, as in New Zealand, jade was big Guatemala.) I was totally followed around the store by a clerk the whole time. Yes, I had a back pack, and yes I looked scruffy, but really? (Welcome to racial-- or socio-economic-- profiling, take two!)
I saw a boy of about four swishing along one day in snowpants. It was about 75 degrees.
At an ATM one day, yet another armed guard made me wait outside while the (apparently incompetent) tourists attempted to work the machines. Eventually he went over to help them punch buttons.
At my homestay, the elderly and very deaf mother of my host lived with them. One night she was apparently ill, for I was awoken at about midnight by the most awful series of noises. Moans, retching, yells, and some other noises that I can't quite describe, but I'm pretty sure have been used in zombie movies. It was the only time in my entire trip that I have actually been scared. (I was very glad I had locked my door.)
In Spanish class one day, my teacher gave me a worksheet that had all sorts of kitchen implements on it (some of which I didn't even know the name of in English). On that sheet was the very useful vocab for 'meat grinder'. How often does one use that word? Well, it gave me the opportunity to wade my way through the story (in Spanglish) about the time that I was looking for an apple peeler/corer in my kitchen and couldn't find one, but found five (no, I'm not exaggerating), FIVE meat grinders.
I made flashcards for all the vocabulary I had been learning (not the kitchen stuff, for when will I use that? I did put down the phrase "I broke..." though). I went through them the next day, and the pile of stuff I knew was actually larger than that I didn't. (Probably wouldn't be now, if I did it again.)
Upon entering the security area in the Guatemala airport, these words actually came out of my mouth (hopefully not too loudly): "Why are they all green? And putting their pants on?" (It was a soccer team all wearing matching shirts and putting their belts back on after security.)
My flight to Costa Rica had a layover in Nicaragua. There's another place I never in my life I thought I'd be....
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Speaking Spanish
I am nearing the end of my second week (that's semana en espanol, for those of you who aren't quite as fluent as I in Spanglish), and I am more or less managing to avoid any major catastrophes with my utter lack of language skills. (As you may have deduced from various posts, I took four years of German in college, preceded by 6 very useful years of Latin in high school. My total amount of Spanish would be a few phrases from Sesame Street. So as long as someone is asking me whether a door is opened or closed, I am all set.)
My Spanish speaking started off well last week. On the first day of our service trip, we went to the Safe Passage office, where we got to pick out two t-shirts. (By the way, my wardrobe has doubled in the last two weeks, as I got two t-shirts from Safe Passage, one from Bowdoin, one from the house building I'll be doing in Costa Rica, and one from the Spanish school. Getting dressed in the morning now is really hard, because I actually have decisions to make about what to wear!) I told the woman doling out shirts that I would like una blanca pico y una verde pico (probably totally screwing up all endings, but whatever). She told me, "Muy bien," to which I responded, "Danke... Bitte.... Scheisse!" (That would be German for Thank you... You're welcome... $#!t.)
While I had the Spanish-speaking Bowdoin folks around me, I pretty much rested on my linguistic laurels and let them do the talking. (I was eavesdropping on a fellow alum who thought he was talking about bacon one day, and I said "I could go for some [whatever the word was he said and I naively repeated]." The person I was speaking to looked blankly at me, and told me I had just said I could go for a Guatemalan woman. Hmmm, not today, I think.)
(By the way, I am happy to tell you that I am able to tune out children in any language. On the van to the amusement park on Saturday, I sat happily thinking my own thoughts while the din of excited children rang around me. Much the same thing happens on field trips at home. Happily, it was the OTHER van which contained the students who all started singing Waddlyacha, for which the other volunteers were not thankful to me.)
This week I am taking Spanish class for four hours each morning, and then doing my own thing in the afternoon. (Sometimes I have homework! I haven't had homework in 15 years. Sad to say, as soon as I pulled it out that first night, I automatically turned on the TV. It worked so well for me in college, why not continue thus? I like to pretend that watching American TV and reading the Spanish subtitles counts as language research.) I am staying with a family, and they chat to me in Spanish. So long as I have context and a fair amount of sign language, I can understand a fair bit, but I am not so good with the speaking myself. I managed to communicate to them that I don't eat breakfast, but I did inadvertantly accept a cup of coffee the other afternoon. (I don't drink coffee.) It came with a big chocolate cookie from this amazing bakery in town, so I decided it was worth it.
Taking Spanish class is funny to me, for I haven't been a student in quite a while. One morning I was learning to tell time in Spanish, so my teacher drew a clock and put the hands on it. She wanted me to read 6:30, but I was hung up on the fact that she had both hands pointing exactly to the 6. As anyone who teaches time (especially to the half hour) knows, when the big hand is at the 30, the little hand is half way to the next number! (I redrew the hands for her, and told her the time.) There was another time when she had me doing a little exercise where I had to change verbs from singular to plural or present to past within the context of sentences I was reading. I could do the exercise because I understood the formula, but couldn't have told you what any of it meant at all. There was no genuine understanding to be had that day!
Yesterday I decided that my Spanish skills were good enough (and I was in dire enough need) that I headed off in search of a place to get my hair cut. (I haven't had a haircut since the Gidget hack job that I had done in June.) The woman said something to me in Spanish, to which I looked blankly, and then she said "Shampoo?" No. No, I do not want a shampoo. No, I have not used any shampoo for the last week. Not sure what she was asking, but I think I answered it correctly. I told the woman that si, I wanted two or three fingers' worth of hair cut off. Then to emphasize the point, I put my hair in a ponytail to say that it still needed to be able to do that. I think my sign language translated to "Please cut it off to this length", for many inches of my hair fell to the floor. (Oh well, it grows.) I did have to do some corrective surgery with some kitchen shears when I got back to the casa, for there were quite a few hairs that hadn't gotten their due trim. Luckily the shaggy look is in. But for $6.60, what can I expect?
This afternoon I think I am going to treat myself to a hot chocolate while I make flashcards for myself. I head off to Costa Rica on Sunday for two weeks of housebuilding, so I'll be using my dictionary to translate such phrases as "Please hand me that hammer," and "I think I just chopped the top of my finger off."
My Spanish speaking started off well last week. On the first day of our service trip, we went to the Safe Passage office, where we got to pick out two t-shirts. (By the way, my wardrobe has doubled in the last two weeks, as I got two t-shirts from Safe Passage, one from Bowdoin, one from the house building I'll be doing in Costa Rica, and one from the Spanish school. Getting dressed in the morning now is really hard, because I actually have decisions to make about what to wear!) I told the woman doling out shirts that I would like una blanca pico y una verde pico (probably totally screwing up all endings, but whatever). She told me, "Muy bien," to which I responded, "Danke... Bitte.... Scheisse!" (That would be German for Thank you... You're welcome... $#!t.)
While I had the Spanish-speaking Bowdoin folks around me, I pretty much rested on my linguistic laurels and let them do the talking. (I was eavesdropping on a fellow alum who thought he was talking about bacon one day, and I said "I could go for some [whatever the word was he said and I naively repeated]." The person I was speaking to looked blankly at me, and told me I had just said I could go for a Guatemalan woman. Hmmm, not today, I think.)
(By the way, I am happy to tell you that I am able to tune out children in any language. On the van to the amusement park on Saturday, I sat happily thinking my own thoughts while the din of excited children rang around me. Much the same thing happens on field trips at home. Happily, it was the OTHER van which contained the students who all started singing Waddlyacha, for which the other volunteers were not thankful to me.)
This week I am taking Spanish class for four hours each morning, and then doing my own thing in the afternoon. (Sometimes I have homework! I haven't had homework in 15 years. Sad to say, as soon as I pulled it out that first night, I automatically turned on the TV. It worked so well for me in college, why not continue thus? I like to pretend that watching American TV and reading the Spanish subtitles counts as language research.) I am staying with a family, and they chat to me in Spanish. So long as I have context and a fair amount of sign language, I can understand a fair bit, but I am not so good with the speaking myself. I managed to communicate to them that I don't eat breakfast, but I did inadvertantly accept a cup of coffee the other afternoon. (I don't drink coffee.) It came with a big chocolate cookie from this amazing bakery in town, so I decided it was worth it.
Taking Spanish class is funny to me, for I haven't been a student in quite a while. One morning I was learning to tell time in Spanish, so my teacher drew a clock and put the hands on it. She wanted me to read 6:30, but I was hung up on the fact that she had both hands pointing exactly to the 6. As anyone who teaches time (especially to the half hour) knows, when the big hand is at the 30, the little hand is half way to the next number! (I redrew the hands for her, and told her the time.) There was another time when she had me doing a little exercise where I had to change verbs from singular to plural or present to past within the context of sentences I was reading. I could do the exercise because I understood the formula, but couldn't have told you what any of it meant at all. There was no genuine understanding to be had that day!
Yesterday I decided that my Spanish skills were good enough (and I was in dire enough need) that I headed off in search of a place to get my hair cut. (I haven't had a haircut since the Gidget hack job that I had done in June.) The woman said something to me in Spanish, to which I looked blankly, and then she said "Shampoo?" No. No, I do not want a shampoo. No, I have not used any shampoo for the last week. Not sure what she was asking, but I think I answered it correctly. I told the woman that si, I wanted two or three fingers' worth of hair cut off. Then to emphasize the point, I put my hair in a ponytail to say that it still needed to be able to do that. I think my sign language translated to "Please cut it off to this length", for many inches of my hair fell to the floor. (Oh well, it grows.) I did have to do some corrective surgery with some kitchen shears when I got back to the casa, for there were quite a few hairs that hadn't gotten their due trim. Luckily the shaggy look is in. But for $6.60, what can I expect?
This afternoon I think I am going to treat myself to a hot chocolate while I make flashcards for myself. I head off to Costa Rica on Sunday for two weeks of housebuilding, so I'll be using my dictionary to translate such phrases as "Please hand me that hammer," and "I think I just chopped the top of my finger off."
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
pix
I put up a couple pictures on the last few posts, so you can check them out. I´ll put some more of my favorites here. Enjoy.
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