Despidida Familia/ Family Farewell

I remember looking through the ACM semester calendar when it was first emailed to us in August and focusing on the what the class schedule was like – 7:30 classes every day – and thinking that was early. Significantly early. It was.

I remember looking at it more closely once I got here and concentrating on the field trips – Guapiles, Sarapiqui, Cahuita, Punta Leona, Heredia, Llano Bonito de Leon Cortes, Irazu volcano and the Basilica of Cartago – and being excited for all of them. I had good reason to be.

And I remember looking through it during my first week and noting the words I didn’t understand: recorrido (trip), sala (room), gira (field trip) and, towards the end, on the last page of the calendar, paseo de despedida, on November 19th. I remember not looking up what “paseo” or “despidida” meant because Novemeber 19th was so far away. That day was today. And paseo de despidida means a day of family and friends and futbal (soccer) and food and dance and more food in commemorate our families and our time here as new members of their family.

We all arrived, serendipitously, at la finca (farm) at the roughly 10 am, despite some having taken the ACM bus and some (my family and Christina’s family) haven taken their cars. In Costa Rica, finca/farm doesn’t always mean a plot of land where a crop/crops are cultivated. Oftentimes, it refers to a recreational area in the country side that one can rent for the day. Aptly named for the party it was receiving today, Finca Los Amigos in Alajuela was a site of much laughter and, yes, love today. When you live for a family for three and a half months, study with the same students and professors for three and a half months, how could you not come to love them?

In true Tico fashion, the day started with food, fresh fruit (oh how I will miss tropical fruit) and little sandwiches, and was quickly followed by futbol (soccer). This legendary game had been talked about every since the beginning of the month for it features the ACM students playing against their families. Or, in other words, the gringos vs. the Ticos, whose blood course with futbol. In Costa Rica, as in Spain, futbol is inextricable from life. It’s impossible to escape. I haven’t met a single Tico who doesn’t have allegiance to one of the many teams here. As my mom demonstrates, even if you don’t play or go see games in the stadium, you know when who is playing and what they’re playing for. You know how to shout “Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool” when your team scores and make your breath stretch out that vowel till there is no more air in your lungs.  It is said of this game that the students have never won. We played hard, put in our best effort and lost 3-15, carrying on the tradition. All our scores were made by Matt, who, if I’m correct, plays American football on Knox University’s team. The majority of the Ticos scores were made by a 12 year old.

Muddied and thirsty, we made our way back to the patio area and pool, where we spent the next hour or so basking in the sun and playing in the pool till the afternoon rain shooed us under cover. At the end of our wonderful lunch (never has food disappointed me here), two dancers appeared and entertained us with a variety of Latin dances before beckoning everyone to come join them. A party  in Costa Rica is never complete with some dancing and there was plenty of it today: round one after lunch and before dessert and the pinata and round two after we’d filled our bellies with sweets and presented our gratitude, love and small gifts  to our families. Though the gift may have been ACM, the words were all our own. There have been several times during this trip when I’ve wished I had a closer relationship with my family, of the kind that several other students have with theirs. Today wasn’t one of them. We may not talk for hours or enjoy a weekly telenovela (soap operas) together, but the relationship between my host parents and I is strong enough that we all held back tears as I, as all the other students had done, expressed the depth of my appreciation for sharing their family, their house, their food, their time and their love with me.

Through watery eyes and damp cheeks, we watched the dancers dance one last time and ended the day with a second round of group dancing. One of my favorite things about Costa Ricans is their confidence and their lack of fear of judgement. This translates in their relationships, their comportment, their conversation and their dance and always, always make for wonderful parties.

One the way home, my host father thanked me for my kind words. I wanted to hug him again, hug them both, and tell them that my kind words were minuscule in comparison to all they’d given me, but instead I listened as Edgar shared his feelings on the experience of families and host students.  I cherish these moments, when Edgar shares his thoughts or stories or explains something cultural for when he does, his speech slows down and I’m able to understand nearly every word he says.

The Ascent: Through and Above the Clouds of Chirripó

This time last week, I was three hours into a hike that would up taking 10 hours. To reach the base camp. Which nestles snugly against the back of a mountain two thirds up the climb. Let me introduce Mount Chirripó.

At 3820 meters/12,533 feet stands Mount Chirripó, Costa Rica’s tallest mountain. The alpine peak shares its name, which is taken from the Talamancan Indian word meaning “Place of Enchanted Water”, with the national park within which it is located. The area is renowned for its ecological wealth: Talamancan montane forest and Costa Rican Páramo, or in other words, some of the most beautiful landscape I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the cloud forests, moss forests, tundra-like vegetation, alpine lakes and glacier-carved pinnacles were beyond anything I could have imagined. This being said, I didn’t really visualize or plan out our actual ascent, only the to of our trip. I knew which bus we had to take, how long the ride would take (roughly, because it’s impossible to have a firm hold on time here), where we were staying the night before we began, more or less what equipment I needed to pack, etc,. But the actual ascent? Nope. And this become ever more evident with every step of Chirripó’s trail  we took.

We took the 11:00 am Musoc bus from San Jose to San Isidro which was roughly a four hour drive through some of the most stunning mountains and valleys in Costa Rica that I’ve seen.  I couldn’t sleep for want to see it all, the mountain ranges and ridges, the steep mountain sides delving into verdant valleys. We were already in the clouds. I couldn’t conceive how Chirripó could be prettier. From San Isidro, we took a taxi to San Gerardo. Split 5 ways, the taxi cost roughly $6 or $7, took around 45 minutes, and was a better alternative in all manners to taking the bus which takes around an hour and a half. We needed to get to the ranger’s station as soon as possible because each day there are 10 available walk-in tickets.The remaining tickets are reserved weeks or months in advance.

 We secured 5 tickets without any problems and for three day & two night stay it cost $67. Though it felt like a lot at the time, it didn’t take long until the money was completely worth it.

We stayed at Casa Mariposa [http://www.hotelcasamariposa.net/hostel.html] a wonderful hostel (and the least hostel-like hostel I’ve stayed at) owned by a Canadian and Californian, Jill and John respectively, who are such genuinely warm and funny people. We almost didn’t want to leave for the hike because we all liked the place so much. But we did, at 5 am, in the last hour of darkness before sunrise. We were eager and unaware. None of us had done a hike of this caliber before, in terms of elevation or duration or backpack weight. We were ill-prepared and didn’t know it and in this blissful state of ignorance, we enjoyed watching the sun light the mountains around us in fierce gold as we climbed the steep seven and a half kilometers to the “half-way shelter” and water station. Mud plagued the tread of our boots for the first two kilometers and gradually gave way to enchanting rain forest.  It took us six hours to get to Llano Bonito, the shelter, due to our frequent photo, snack and breathing breaks. At the end of our a forty-minute lunch break, which we quickly realized we’d allowed ourselves to extend for far too long, the rain came to remind us what we were actually doing: climbing the tallest mountain in Costa Rica, the second tallest in Central America and the Carribean, and the 38th tallest in the world with food and equipment for three days and two nights. We suited up, making ourselves as rainproof as possible with raincoats for ourselves and ponchos for our backpacks and set off to finish the seven kilometers remaining. They were the hardest to come.

Steepness, difficult footing, the cold and the wet exacerbated what are already considered the hardest kilometers of Chirripó, seven to nine. Dispirited and loosing our will as fast as the steam rising off the back of Joey’s neck, we struggled onward. Each step seemed to add weight to our already-heavy and poorly-packed backpacks, seemed to leaden our legs. Our minds  sludging through  a quagmire of low moral, Joey halted us and said seriously: We’re just past halfway. If we want to turn around, this is the point. Despite my lacking motivation and will, turning around was not in my book of options. I could see the thoughts working in Margarita’s worn mind and was relieved to hear her say “No”. From that point on, Margarita (or Barbie as ACM has nicknamed her) led the way, steaming ahead out of sight and acting as a magnet drawing us forward. Knowing she was up there in front of us, had powered through the cold and the steep and the rivulet that was the trail inspired me to keep moving, to take that next step back into motion after every break I took. And there were many. We moved through rain forest to cloud forest to cloud, our view limited by whiteness. Bamboo began to appear in thevegetation then gave way to stark trees draped in luminescent moss. We approached the infamous páramo and caught up with Margarita at kilometer marker 10. Together, we made it to the base of La Cuesta de los Arrependitos, The Hill of the Repentants, so aptly named for its slightly vertical, wide-angled switchbacks, which marks the 1.5 kilometer point from the base camp. We nearly made it to the “refugio”/hut altogether, but Joey needed to take a break after we’d climbed the brunt of incline. Though we’d stuck together this entire climb, our paces somehow matching despite his 6”3′ frame and correspondingly long legs and my 5”3′ stature, I left, for better or worse, not knowing how I could boost him on or recharge his moral. As I’d later come to realize, this hike would ply the line between solidarity and solitude for all of us.

We arrived in ten minute intervals, Margarita, me, then Joey, after what had turned out to be a ten hour ascent. Matt and Kallie were somewhere behind us and darkness was closing in fast, but before we could worry about them, our wet clothes needed to be off. Changing into dry clothes and all our layers warmed us enough to re-engage our appetites. During our smorgasbord of granola, Ritz, tuna, mayonnaise and tea, we became more and more concerned about Kallie and Matt. At about 5:30, after an hour and a half, we went to the ranger’s desk to inquire about our friends. Several calls to various people revealed no information. As Joey and Margarita were deciding to head back out, the two Midwesterners arrived soaked to the bone with wet and cold. We didn’t realize just how taxing their climb had been until Matt started stuttering and acting disoriented. We spent the night trying to warm him up and calm down his scattered speech with ramen, tea and a hot water bottle. Kallie filled us in that their climb had been incredibly strenuous, physically and mentally and that Matt had started getting dreamy-eyed around kilometer 10, when a mild case of altitude sickness and hypothermia probably set in. He was hiking in shorts and without a poncho for his pack so everything inside got soaked. Luckily, there are dryers at the base camp. Without these, I don’t know what we would have done. Despite our sore muscles and wearied minds, there was laughter that night, a lot of it. Matt stopped stuttering, was still a little disorientated, but was in remarkably high spirits given his current semi-delirious state. Glad to be all together, all safe and all warm, we didn’t stop talking till 10 pm.

The next morning, Margarita and I woke up at 1:30 am to be on the trail at 2:00 am heading towards the summit.  When we stepped out into the cold, the stars literally took our breath away. We stood, heads titled as far back as possible, drinking in their millions before giving into the need to start walking to catch the sun. Now, even though I knew we’d be leaving before the sunrise, that we were heading to the peak to watch the sun rise,  I didn’t connect this knowledge with the fact that we’d be hiking in utter darkness. An incomparable experience; eerie and unsettling, it was the most uncomfortable  and uncertain I’ve felt this entire trip. Sometimes the path would open up onto a small rock face and we’d have to search the perimeter of the stone to find the trail. Moving slowly and with little light (my flashlight, borrowed from Joey because my own was low in batter, was dying itself, and Margarita had a little blue keychain flashlight), we ran into three gringa girls we’d met at Casa Mariposa and the base camp as well. Their presence made a world of difference. Because they were climbing to the peak and returning to the bottom of the mountain in one day, they needed to power ahead. And so comforted by their light and buoyed by calls as they cheered each other on, Margarita and I continued climbing. In the dark, what we thought was the top turned out to be the saddle. After picking our way over stones and mud, with what I thought was a cloud but was actually Lake Chirripó to our left, we were confronted with Mount Chirripó, or, in Margarita’s words, the mountain from the Grinch. We could see the light of the girls moving almost vertically up the mountainside and had been warned that part of the climb would demand the use of our hands. This was it. Luckily, though, the nascent sun poured enough of a glow over the trail that we no longer needed our flashlights. In this semi-darkness, we summited. There we stood, the tallest things in Costa Rica, with the sun slowly growing through the clouds, illuminating the mountains and lake with a faint pink and bringing all out of the darkness. It was like what I imagine developing a picture must be like, but real, right in front of me, and of landscapes beautiful anything I’d seen in Costa Rica. Here, I rely on pictures to describe what the experience of  Mount Chirripó is like.

I didn’t think places like this existed in Costa Rica. My view had been limited by rain forests lush with incredibly biodiversity in animals and plants and tropical beaches of white, black and shell sand. But here were towering mountains, glacier-carved peaks, alpine lakes, crystalline rivers and waterfalls, austere pinnacles, more than I could imagine.

Walking down was a different hike entirely. What had been hidden before was now lit with that clean, piercing light of morning. Around two thirds of the way back to the hut, we ran into Joey, Kallie and Matt on their way up. Reuniting with hugs, I felt excited for them to experience the peak. Matt’s health had improved significantly. When Margarita and I returned, we schlepped semi-guiltily into sleeping bags for a siesta. I couldn’t sleep soundly, just as I hadn’t been able to the night before, which I attribute to the altitude or maybe over-exhaustion. The others returned around 12 and after lunch, Kallie and Joey headed back out to climb Mount Ventisqueros to watch the sunset and returned with awe-inspiring photos and stories. We were all rejuvenated with rest and wonder at the rugged beauty surrounding us and again didn’t fall asleep till 10  pm despite our aching muscles. That night, I slept soundly.

The next morning we set out at 5 am and, again, it was like a different hike. When we’d come up on Friday, the last half of the hike had  been in rain, and this Sunday morning, the sun was shining and the skies were clear. Descending strained different muscles  and for Matt, it stressed his knee to the point where it hurt to bend and bear weight on it. Joey kept him company the entire way down, coaching him kilometer to kilometer. After taking a stumble that tweaked something else in his knee, though, Matt and I swapped backpacks at the half-way shelter and I descended with a backpack with straps too big to tighten properly around my hips and on my shoulders. After a kilometer and a half, my back started hurting, my legs started burning and my feet were on fire. I was slightly miserable and was starting to lose heart. Two kilometers from the bottom, though, with aching things, calves and feet that couldn’t be eased in any position, I remembered how much of this hike had been about mind over matter. Mind over body. I had been amazed by Margarita’s ability to simply put her mind to her feet and go. Go, go, go. I admired Matt’s impermeability to rancor, even though he had every right do complain and snap and be snarky. And Joey had overcome his own personal battle and was now a invaluable source of  cheer and goodwill for us all. With the trials we’d overcome these two days in mind, I told myself to stop indulging my complaints, whining a

nd pain, put on a little perspective and walked, or rather slid for kilometer one and two are 98% mud, the rest of the way down much happier for it.

This trip not only tested the limits of our bodies, but the power of our minds, and the solidarity of the group in relation with the solitude of the self. I don’t think any of us could have gotten through the trip by ourselves and none of us could have done it without sheer self-will either. At the beginning of the hike, Matt asked me what my favorite part about hiking is. I answered “Solidarity, solitude and self-sufficiency”. He added “serenity” to the list, and during this trip, I learnt more about all of these than ever before.

 

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar - Antonio Machado

Traveler, your footsteps,

the way and nothing more.

Traveler, there is no way,  

the way is made by walking.

Some informative websites (that would have been good to read before the hike) and general tips I’ve learnt:

• Don’t pre-cook your pasta because you’ve heard that boiling water is difficult at high altitudes. Soggy, poorly-cooked pasta is better than carrying two large Ziplocks of water-leaden pasta.
• Put everything you can in plastic  bags. Line your backpack with a trash bag and pack extra plastic bags. Our boots were soaked and wearing plastic bags on our feet helped keep them warm from the wet. Something to cover your backpack, as well.
• Ramen is the way to go. Fast and easy. Tea, as well. Unusual, but carrots make a great snack. I thought granola and powdered milk was great for the hike. Peanut butter is awesome and Casa Mariposa actually sells organic peanut butter. They also sell Chirriposa bars which are amazing – oats, chocolate, raisins, yummyness – and wonderful energy pick-me-up. I had tortillas and beans in place of the traditional PB&J sandwich and the advantage was that tortillas pack better. Chocolate is such a treasure when hiking.
• Pack versatile clothing that can be layered. Socks. Light-weight because nothing will dry on its own. In fact, clothes seem to suck up moisture and cold there. Hat and gloves and flashlight.
• Mind over matter, over pain, over tiredness. As Mauricio, a Chirripó veteran of five times on his way to doing an Ironman, said  ”Exceedingly, above all else, it is the mind”.

http://www.peakbagging.com/Chirripo.html

http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:IRkD3PfbZrAJ:www.ocarinaexpeditions.com/expeditions/cms/front_content.php%3Fidart%3D100%26changelang%3D1+&cd=5&hl=en&ct=clnk

http://www.summitpost.org/cerro-chirripo/150327

http://www.infocostarica.com/places/chirripo_hp.html

http://costa-rica-guide.com/Natural/Chirripo.html

http://www.costarica-nationalparks.com/chirriponationalpark.html

http://trailpedia.org/cerro-chirripo/

 

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Los Chiquiticos/ The Children of Costa Rica

“And.. what are you teaching?” you might ask, especially if you’re familiar with the newly-implemented volunteer component in ACM Costa Rica’s fall semester program. Really, I’d just like to write about my experience teaching English to four to seven year olds, twice a week for three hours.

There are three different volunteer sites for the fourteen of us: the children’s hospital in San Jose where the volunteers mainly spend their time holding babies, the art and culture museum of San Jose which involves activities ranging from cutting out relevant clippings from newspapers to planning events, and the library of Guadalupe where I volunteer with four others. Our works consists teaching chiquitillos (little kids) how to say “my…name…is…” and “blu!”. It should also include painting a mural, which we’ve already designed, but, in the true Tico style of how things get done here, we have yet to put paintbrush to paint and then wall. This isn’t for lack of trying; every day we check the status of the mural and painting materials with Lilliam, the director of the library, but we still have yet to begin.

I have to admit that the five of us were woefully under-prepared our first day. A class of 15 children ranging from four to seven, mute to torrential babbling, blanks looks to complete “My name is _______”, hiding their faces in their mothers’ stomachs to confidently taking a seat next to “el grande”, long-legged and albatross-armed Joey who, at 6’3” towers above as all and dwarfs the children – how exactly does one prepare for that? I’ve never taught English before and neither have Christina, Crystal, Joey or Matt. And so, equipped with sheer will to counter our complete lack of experience, we somehow made it through the three hours, exhausted and proud for not having made any kids cry.

As the weeks have gone by, we’ve progressed, us as teachers and the children as learners and English speakers. We’ve got our colors down, know our “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes and [sometimes] eyes and ears and mouth and nose” as well, and can more or less guess our numbers. More than this, though, I feel like we’ve progressed with the class structure. The cultural norm within classrooms in Costa Rica is one of disorder. The system of raising hands to answer questions or waiting to be called on doesn’t exist. When a question is asked, whichever student(s) know the answer calls it out and the unsure are left in the dark, unable to decipher the answer from the tangled chorus of their classmates responses. Students know they can rely on their classmates to know the answer and satiate the teacher’s desire for a response. In turn, the teacher is complacent with hearing a jangle of guesses which may or may not carry the correct answer. Rote learning is a large part of the education system, as is a lack on concentration. “While a teacher lectures or helps individuals at their desks or hers, other students talk, walk about the room, fidget…and show every [other] sign of boredom” (1). Add grab a book from the library shelves, whisper to their neighbor or pull out a toy from their pocket to this list and you’ve got our classroom on a weak day. “[The teacher's] calls for silence often go unheeded” (1). Yep. It usually takes two or three times for a student to swivel their head and divert their attention away from their friend reading a book or playing with his toy. Amazingly, it didn’t take too long to establish some class expectations, which further demonstrates the “cultural acceptance of mediocrity” (1). “The pobrecito (“poor thing” or victim” complex fosters a reluctance to work, [or pay attention]” and instills low expectations and a general lack of accountability for actions. As we’ve, five gringos who have no experience teaching English, have discovered, though, it doesn’t take much to reset this norm. Patience, time and energy, but most importantly consistency. It isn’t easy, but it’s worth it to hear five year old Valesca, whose name remained a mystery because she refused to speak, whisper “apple”.

There are some kids who know it all - numbers, colors, body parts, fruits, animals. There are some who take a few thoughts, those cogs turning hard, to remember how to say “bluu” or “fohr” in English. There are some who are on different planes entirely, inaccessible by neither Spanish nor English, tickling or airplaning.  And there are some who remain blank-faced and stare back at you mute for eight seconds that feel like eight days who will then surprise you with “purrpul” as you’re turning tot he next student. I am constantly surprised by these kids, by how fast they learn, how mercurial they are day to day and how they all learn differently.

1)Biesanz, Mavis Hiltunen., Richard Biesanz, and Karen Zubris. Biesanz. “Education.” The Ticos: Culture and Social Change in Costa Rica. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1999. Print.).

 

Reading The Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar to all

 

 

So.. what are you learning?

Honestly, the answer to that question would involve a colored brain-map, several skits and lots and lots of time. So, instead I will focus on this past week. This week, I learnt that what I really want to do, how I really want to spend my time and what I would be doing in an ideal world is this: learning how to live sustainably by reading about methods that have been successful for other people (or better yet, travelling to communities [http://www.ic.org/] or households that are already living in sustainable ways) and then going out and doing it myself. This revelation came thanks to the Biodiversity and Neotropical class I’m taking. While it may sound more akin to a biology class, environmental issues lay at the heart of this course. Being in Costa Rica, of course, acts like a catalyst, which is further testament to the importance of national parks, conservation areas and biology reserves. It’s one thing to be sitting in a suburban house surrounded on all four sides by a green, well-kept lawn and entirely another to be standing in the rain forest learning about the root systems of buttress trees, or an organic cacao plantation home to two-toed and three-toed sloths, or on top of  the aquifer that provides water to more than 70% of Costa Ricans living in the Central Valley, which is what we did last Friday  during our fieldtrip to Heredia.

To introduce the theme of this fieldtrip, we watched the movie “Flow” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGd9D4J0lag and http://www.flowthefilm.com/about), a “documentary and a three-alarm warning [which] dives into our planet’s most essential resource [,water] — and third-largest industry — to find pollution, scarcity, human suffering and corporate profit. And that’s just in the United States.”  (http://movies.nytimes.com/2008/09/12/movies/12flow.html?ref=movies). I recommend this movie to everyone.

Like many other documentaries, this one questions what it means to live sustainably, both globally and within our communities. Chris, the director of the program here and teacher of the Biodiversity class I and five others are taking, attempted to answer this question on the individual scale.  Exploring what it takes to lead a sustainable life, Chris lived for 15 years without electricity. He built a large house from trees on his property that had naturally fallen or that he has since replaced by planting more than 200 trees for around $30,000. At one point, he had a wind turbine which did not generate much energy. At another, he had a small diary farm with around 30 cows. Sometime before or after this endeavor, Chris tried selling sun-dried bananas made from the banana trees on his property, whose numbers are high enough that the farm is like a mini-banana plantation. Just completely different from all the other banana plantations in Costa Rica which are not friendly to the environment (pesticides, herbicides, deforestation and minimal biodiversity) or wildlife (loss of natural habitat and introduction of humans into the area) or people (banana workers generally do not enjoy job stability or a high, or even medium, quality of life). On the farm, there  is a well-sized organic garden with lettuce, cabbage, beets, broccoli, herbs, cassava, beans and more.  Chris does not live on the farm now. As he says “I tried. I tried the sustainable life. But I can’t live there anymore because of my work. And if I really want to influence other people, I can’t just stay up there meditating on life”.

While explaining the process of the mini banana plantation, Fio, Chris’s right hand man, caretaker of the farm and all-around great guy who also has his own farm, mentioned that they used to have a big rodent problem. Or, groundhog problem, which they solved by capturing these animals. When he did not carry on to explain what they did with the groundhogs after catching them, Kallie raised her hand and asked. Chris responded that they used them as mulch. Surprised and probably a little shocked, Kallie asked whether or not the groundhogs were a native species. They are. The ensuing discussion of the ethics of killing a species so that land can be farmed for human benefit perfectly illustrates the socioeconomic issue in environmentalism and conservation. How much are we willing to or should we sacrifice to live sustainably? The home of one species? How much are we willing to put up with? In my eyes, the purist can not exist within the sustainable life model; we cannot have it all. Just like other animals, humans compete for resources as well. The scale on which we compete, though, and our methods, are a different story. One of unnatural-ism.

A mini ecosystem exists in this part of Heredia, though. A closed circuit, if you will, or, in other words, localism, which to me seems to be the solution I run into most frequently. The compost for the garden at Chris’s farm is from Fio’s. And the cows (though they aren’t exactly cows), are fed grass cut from Chris’s.  So while some things were given up, like intact biodiversity which decreased by the killing, but not total eradication, of the groundhogs, other systems have been put in place to support sustainability.

It is no surprise that my experiences in Costa Rica have experienced a surplus of fuel for my interest in environmental studies. But I was definitely not expecting to be seeing an example of the problems farmers face when trying to establish their crops and maintain a healthy environment, or an example of more sustainable living, this past Friday. It’s incredible, to say the least, to see something you just read about happening right in front of your eyes, which has also been the case between a lot of our Biodiversity readings and visits to national parks. Talk about bridging that gap between classroom and experiential learning. Que lindo es la pura vida.

Adjustments

Like most of my Sundays in Oberlin and not that many here in Costa Rica, I spent today doing homework. More specifically, I was trying to write my second essay for Introduction to Costa Rica. Though we’ve only been back for one week, it’s evident that the second block will be more work than the first. For example, this coming week I have two presentations and an essay due. It is all manageable, though. We now have class starting at 8 am everyday, a much kinder start to the day than 7:30. It’s amazing the difference that half hour makes.

On Mondays and Wednesdays we only have class in the morning, Introduccion a Costa Rica, and in the afternoon our volunteer projects. Tomorrow will be our first day at our volunteer jobs and mine is literally across the street from my house at the public library. The Guadalupe girls (me, Christina and Crystal), Joey and Matt will be designing and creating a mural there and teaching English to three classes of 15 students each. I’m looking forward to it.

Tuesday and Thursday we have our electives. I’ve chosen Literature over Conversation and Composition and am quite happy with my choice (which wasn’t really a choice, but rather the deciding factor in selecting a study-abroad program. The reason I’m on this one is it’s the only one I could find that had a Literature class that didn’t require direct matriculation, something I did not think my four semesters of Spanish had adequately prepared me for). It’s just like an English class in English, which makes it alternatingly terrifying and familiar.

Second block we have no classes on Fridays. They are devoted to field trips. Last Friday,  we went to Punta Leonas. The focus of the trip was the biodiversity of the area, especially the Carara National Park. That tour was hands down the best tour I’ve had the pleasure of taking. Our guide, Roy Arroyo, who was Joey’s host father during his rural stay, transformed what could have easily been a twenty minute walk through the park into an in-depth, informative exploration of the ecosystems surrounding us. We learnt about the complexities of a leaf-cutter ant’s life, how they cultivate fungus for food and and are, in Roy’s opinion, the best natural composters. He likes to steal their discarded leaf-mulch to use in his own garden. He explained how the Carara National Park truly is a singular area, it marking the only intersection between the Mesoamerican dry forest and Pacific forest. It contains more primary rain forest than Manual Antonio despite it’s rather small size. Carara is home to one of the largest populations of scarlet macaws and its preservation and conservation is essential to their survival of scarlet macaws. The $7 entrance fee goes directly towards the maintenance of the park and is extremely well-worth it.

After our tour, we went to the Playa Blanca, a short beach with easy swimming waves and a gorgeous rocky point. There we saw multiple families of scarlet macaws indulging in a fruit tree. To say the least, it was amazing seeing these rare birds free from cages and living their lives as they are meant to.

Our first week back from our rural stays has been a little odd for everyone. I haven’t felt very grounded and in the present this week and maybe it’s because I’ve been preoccupied with all the work that needs to be done. My ability to really delve into a task and think critically seems to have suffered from my three weeks free of relative mental taxation, but I’m hoping it’s a temporary matter. I think this week has been a full of minor adjustments in quick succession and am hoping their toll is nearly over. I’m looking forward to falling back into the moment.

Mi Primera Despidida Verdadera / My First Real Farewell

And who knows if it really is a goodbye forever? As the car pulled away, I told my host mother “Hasta mas tarde”; and when my host sister/Esther’s host mother hugged us goodbye, after double-checking we had everything we needed to return to San Jose safely and comfortably, she told us “Hasta pronto”. So maybe my last day in Ciudad Quesada wasn’t my first real farewell. This did little to prevent it from feeling like one.

My last week at Ciudad Quesada was probably the least content week I’ve had in Costa Rica, which I say to emphasis not the degree of my unhappiness, but rather the pervasiveness of my happiness here. The source of my discontent was this: I was in my rural stay, or, in other words, my immersion experience (As Mario put it, “immersion total”) and I was less immersed in the language than I was in San Jose; I was speaking more English daily than I was in San Jose, where the temptation to speak our native tongue was arguably stronger. And this is the distinction that needs to be made: it was not out of weakness that I was allowing myself to speak English, it was out of necessity. The other volunteers at Zoologico, of which there were four for the majority of my time, were from Switzlerand or Germany: Caroline, Mario, Anouschka and Wendy. Mario was  exceptional: the only male volunteer, the only volunteer over 22, and the only one who had studied Spanish for more than two weeks. Caroline had taken one week of Spanish before arriving at Zoologico and rarely used her knowledge of the language, preferring to speak, when she decided to speak, in English, a language with which she was slightly more familiar. Anoushka and Wendy had taken 2 weeks of Spanish classes, but their travels prior to Zoologico had improved their mastery of the language. For the most part, they could understand  Alberto, Victor, Alban and Alberto. Caroline couldn’t really and was never comfortable in doing so.  However, they still found it easier to express themselves in and understand English. Well, they found it all easier in German, which they all spoke. So to be fair, I guess my immersion experience had an extra bonus: a mini German-immersion course. My options of communication were effectively limited to speaking English or learning a fourth language here and having them teach me German. Consequently, the majority of my work day was spent immersed in English. With Alban, Victor, Alberto or Carlos, I spoke Spanish and enjoyed doing so. However, I usually didn’t work with one of them. And even if I managed to arrange it so that I did, sometimes they would leave me to a task solo or, more than often, with Caroline, who, for all intents and purposes, could not be spoken to in Spanish. My last week, I mentioned my feelings of mild frustration  to Victor. He listened sympathetically and may have been about to relate this information to Alban, but Caroline’s arrival prevented him from doing so; though she does not really understand Spanish, she can recognize her name and when she is being talked about.  While expressing my frustration with and disappointment in this situation made me feel better, that sentiment was fleeting, as right after my mini-rant, Victor put me to work solo.

I can understand the difficulty of finding a site that does not receive volunteers with minimal Spanish given that part of the objective of such work is to learn Spanish. I can also understand how hard it is to find a place where globalization hasn’t pervaded the culture and English isn’t spoken. However, it seems to me that Zoologico being a major recipient of volunteers is a singular case with the other available project sites. A few other students had the same issue, coworkers with whom they needed to speak English, but not to the same extent and the majority of us had successful immersion experiences.

Our volunteer work is only one component of our rural stay, the most important being our families. And as I’ve expressed in previous posts, my family was wonderful. Welcoming, warm, funny. I am not the most talkative person in either language and would rather not force conversation, so my family and I did not converse as much as I hoped, but thanks to them, my Spanish did improve. I can feel it now in the ease with which words flow out of my mouth, though, yes, this flow is still impeded by verb conjugations and my still-growing vocabulary.

Real life pervades even mountains of Costa Rica and it arrived my second week in the form of preparation for Winter Term internships (read:writing a resume and cover letters), decisions about my major and minor, planning my next semester and summer jobs/internships. My frustration with the lack of immersion compounded the stress of these issues and I was ready to head back to San Jose and my immersion there. My preparedness to return was deceiving, though; it veiled how much I would actually miss Zoologico, my co-workers, both Costa Rican and European, and my family. I nearly cried my last day at work and I generally do not cry during farewells. The following morning as I received a kiss on the forehead from my host brother, Carlos, I felt tears well and my throat swell. Their presence was strongly felt as I said goodbye to my host sister, Mary, and host mother, with whom I had spent the majority of my time. The last thing I told Dona E was that I would be sure to find her on Facebook. We are now ‘friends’. Family first, and now ‘friends’.

Mary and Tita (Dona E) emphasized that their house is also my house and that I am welcome whenever I wish to come back. I hope that someday I can return to la casa con lapas. Hasta mas tarde.

Alberto is a-whistling

I wouldn’t say that physical appearance ranks in the top three of their priorities, but Ticos do take care in how the present themselves. Wearing sweatpants to school? Probably wouldn’t happen. But this superficiality seems to cease after style. When it comes to things that matter, like social equality, Costa Ricans look past your uniform.

Alberto is whistling. Now, usually this wouldn’t be remarkable or note-worthy (read: blog-worthy). But currently, we are working in the smelliest enclosure in Zoológico. Plantain peels accent thick mud with their stringy, decomposing husks. Unlike all the others, this area does not appear to be subjected to daily scouring. The air is dense even without the scent of organic matter breaking down into detritus. Fine beads of sweat moisten my forehead and all I’m doing is directly the spray of water to where Alberto is scrubbing. And he is scrubbing everything: the walls; the trough; the bases of the walls which require extra effort to reach because of his awkward, long-bristled broom; the outside, inside and top of the trough walls and each corner, which are just as awkward to reach as the wall bases. Within a minute of our work in the less-tame wild pigs’ enclosure, Alberto has run out of t-shirt on which to dry his face. I wish I had a bandana to give him. Besides his perspiration, however, Alberto shows no sign of his exertion. He reflects my smile whenever we share a look. Our conversation, though slight, remains light and is punctuated with laughter. By the time we finish cleaning one short side, his shirt has changed color with sweat and his arms glisten.

Just when I am beginning to think that he must be miserable, Alberto begins to whistle. Not a coherent tune, as far as I can tell, but bursts of cheerful melody. The discrepancy between his mood and his activity astound me. I have two thoughts: It takes a special kind of person to be happy at this type of work and You would never see this in the States. And then my mind begins to traverse Differences between U.S. and Costa Rica Highway once again.

Scrubbing out a pig enclosure doesn’t exactly seem conducive to happiness and not because of the activity itself. In the United States there exists a correlation between social status and job position. A CEO is looked upon more favorably than a high school janitor. Whether we like it or admit it, there is prejudice against manual laborers. I demonstrated that prejudice myself by thinking that must be different from most people because he can be happy while doing this. However, early on in my stay, I noticed that Costa Rica has not imported this prejudice and witnessing Alberto whistling contently as he scrubbed at mud demonstrated just how this affects Ticos.

Because there is no condescension cast against manual laborers, those in Costa Rica who lift, drag, carry, push, lift, work for their money are free from social prejudices telling them they are less than. Less than the CEOs who walk around air-conditioned buildings wearing dress shoes instead of rubber boots, who rarely, if ever, have mud under their fingernails or have to scrub up to their elbows before eating or change during break time so they can enjoy an hour free from their sweat-drenched work shirts.  Other people’s eyes do not look down on them, making them feel inadequate. Society isn’t telling them that they shouldn’t be happy with their job.

A job is a job here. While CEO’s may earn more than a zoo groundskeeper does, they aren’t necessarily happier, or meant to be happier. Costa Rica is still relatively free from the money-obsessed mindset that plagues most of the United States. Yes, money is necessary, but it does not dictate happiness. Life satisfaction is not dependent on your salary. Money does not equal happiness. These are things we know should be true in the States, but aren’t. They are in Costa Rica. Maybe that’s why it was awarded Happiest Country in 2009 (http://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/climate-action/why-is-costa-rica-smiling).

Costa Rica has other problems. But being content doesn’t seem to be one of them. Pura vida.

Pie & Tortillas

If you were so inclined as to ask me to describe what I did today in the form of a pie chart, I would tell you that this pie would not accurately reflect my day and that pies should be filled with berries, not activities. I might also tell you that my day was a yellow-translucent apple with pineapple pie.

I washed. I washed the small cats cages (read: ocelots, margays and an overweight jaguar whose heft does nothing to discourage her ferocity) with Victor, I washed the lionesses cages (with one of them watching my every move just outside the door/ her scratching post), the food, water and inadvertent feces containers in Quarantine, the pig pens and the staff area. While washing the small cats cages, I was actually inside with the ocelots and margays which was thrilling and slightly scary. What starts as a throaty purr can quickly become a threatening growl and these cats are fast. For several minutes after lunch, I babysat a baby three-toed sloth recently christened Mario after our only male volunteer. The sex of the sloth was discovered recently and Doña Marta, my boss and host sister, told me that only male three-toed sloths have dorsal stripes like little Mario does. For a minute, I held a baby raccoon. And for a second, I touched the grand tail of a peacock. But for the vast majority of the day, I had a cepillo, escoba or magera (plastic broom or hose) in hand, and not the young leaves of the only tree species the baby sloth will eat. That being said, I had a wonderful day. Perhaps finally I have achieved what I term the “tica tranquila”, the art of taking it easy even while doing something hard. “Suavecito” as Don Victor says.

A new volunteer arrived. She’ll be here for a week. The comings and goings of volunteers are so low-key that it’s almost as if we’re family before we meet. “Oh, here’s the second the cousin of your great-aunt. She’ll be staying with us for a couple of days, helping us out around the place”. That’s kind of what it feels like.

A group of Norwegians also arrived today, though not as volunteers. They were from a TV show called similar to “Vets Around the World” and wanted a few clips of the daily activities of the zoo, so after break, Victor, Caroline, another volunteer, and I returned to the small cat’s, this time with a tall European vet, TV show host and cameraman in tow.

Mondays at Zoológico aren’t your typical Mondays.

And just to make my Monday a little sweeter, my host sister, Mary, and host mother, Doña E, taught me how to make tortillas this evening. It was fun and surprisingly simple here in this kitchen, but just wait ‘till I get home and try to recreate this measure-less recipe on my own. Doña E might check her Facebook one day to find a message from me asking for tortilla tips.

Pura Vacilonis? Costa Rica hasn’t come up with a word to describe this yet

Pura vida,  vacilón (as my host niece taught me), tuanis: right now, none of this costarriquenismos are doing what I feel justice. I am content. Despite my stomach ache, or the bugs clouding my light bulb, despite the fact that I miss my family and friends, that I still have difficulty communicating with and understanding my daily people, that there is un montón pequeño (a small mountain) of things to do and figure out for my F______ (read: future), I am at peace. Feeling Zen. Or what I think Zen may be. This may be because I spent the day with friends in one of the most beauty-full places in which I’ve had the pleasure of being.

By noon on Saturday, Esther and I were bound for the La Fortuna. We missed our 10:30 bus because the queue waiting to board had more people than the bust had seats and aisle room, but we hopped onto the 11:40 no problem and were at La Fortuna by 1:00. The ride from Ciudad Quesada/San Carlos was shorter and much more comfortable than I anticipated, largely due to the lovely vistas of the valley, forests and mountain range, at the end of which rises the volcano, Arenal. I sat next to a lady from San José on her way to La Fortuna to support her husband in a half-marathon. She was nervous about getting off at the correct stop and finding her way at la Fortuna. We talked about a number of things, ranging from what we were both doing on this bus, the destruction of the environment in the name of development and the politics behind such damage to whether that mountain that doesn’t look like the rest of the mountains could really be Arenal already. I’m neither one for small talk nor impromptu conversations so to be talking of such things with relative ease to a stranger in a different language made me buoyant. When we disembarked at La Fortuna, which came much earlier than we both expected, I bid my new friend safe travels and hoped all would go well.

With one foot still on the bus, I was asked if I was interested in a package deal for of “canopy, hot springs, volcano tour”. I politely declined. Approximately five seconds later, another brochure was presented to me and I was asked if I spoke Spanish. I said “Si, pero no gracias”, feeling very Tica at this variation of “si, pero no”. For your ease, all the tour guide companies are situated right next to the bus terminal; it’s practically effortless to hop off the bus and into the eager arms of a tour guide who will be your best friend for your stay in La Fortuna. And the actual town of La Fortuna is blessedly small so it’s also very easy to find accommodations. La Fortuna, like many, many other places in Costa Rica, is one place you can come to without a plan and have everything work out pleasantly. However, we were just there for the day and did have a plan: the waterfalls/ cataratas. Or, as they are known here, las cascadas.  All we needed was transportation. We turned around, spotted a large SUV red taxi (the trustworthy taxi company in Costa Rica: red with a yellow triangle symbol) and headed for it. Before we were even halfway, though, a guy who turned out to be the driver asked us if we were looking for transportation. Somehow, our need had been anticipated and after asking about the price – 1,000 colones per person (there were five of us), approximately $2 – we piled in. It was hot and stuffy, which made declining his offers of taking us on a more scenic route that would bump up the entrance fee a couple dollars easier.

The drive was short and pretty. We paid the requisite 5,000 colones/$10 entrance fee, changed into swimsuits and were on our way. Within a hundred meters was a look-out platform, which we climbed up and snapped a couple of pictures from before the pull of the waterfall was too strong to resist. The walk down is slightly steep, but there is a chain handrail with which to balance. We heard and caught glimpses of people ziplining (what they call “canopy” here) above the canopy as we descended closer and closer to the source of the faint pounding.

I’ve seen beautiful waterfalls in beautiful places. And I’d doubted whether paying $10 would be worth the experience. It was worth it. At the pool into which the water falls, glacial blue and fine mist contrast the brilliant moss shading the rock face. You can feel the raw force of the water just observing; actually submerging yourself in that actual pool is exhilarating. The river itself, where it is easier to swim, is faint cobalt tinged green. My camera does not do the place justice. It started to rain shortly after we got into the initial pool, but this simply prompted a migration to the river where we spent the next couple of hours exploring and talking. On the other side of the river, there are trails and before I knew it I was walking barefoot through the rain forest as drops gently fell of the wet vegetation to land on my bare shoulders. That’s the most un-invasive I’ve felt this trip.

Esther and I took the 4:30 bus home because we didn’t want to be traveling too late after dusk. At the bus terminal in Ciudad Quesada, I was unsure about which bus to take. A man wearing the characteristic yellow shirt of Hogar Crea (http://www.hogarcreapr.org/Introduccion/introduccion.html, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hogares_CREA), from whom I’d bought a lottery ticket on the bus from La Fortuna to Ciudad Quesada to support the organization, recognized me and my look of confusion. He talked me in English as I explained in Spanish that I was unsure whether the bus in front of me would take me to San Juan. He kindly asked a man boarding the bus if it was. Upon receiving positive confirmation, I began to say that I’d like to double check with the bus driver (or choffer, read: chauffer, as they are called here. And most live up to that name), but he cut me off, thinking I was saying that I would like to check how much it costs. He said he would wait outside the bus for the choffer and ask him for me. With a smile, he helped me onto the bus and then turned around to stand watch for the driver, who I encountered just down the aisle. I didn’t get a chance to let my helpful friend know I’d found the choffer, but I hope my “muchísimas gracias” and gentle pat on the shoulder conveyed how appreciative I was of his genuine kindness.  Just another flower on the daisy chain that has been my Saturday.

Order Within Disorder

I feel like a place such as Zoológico La Marina could not exist elsewhere. Time is elastic here, elderly parents are as youthful as they were when they first had their children, help is always being offered by the next hand you meet, compassion is as way of life and what works is what is done. Only in Costa Rica would you find the mixture of these conditions, and countless others, which supports a place like Zoológico.

Today was my third day of work here and in this short period of time, I have come to appreciate the complexity and simplicity of how Zoológico La Marina, or Zoológico as it is called here, is run.  Every day is different; there is a routine maintained by the five workers here, but it doesn’t seem to adhere to a strict timetable. Volunteers work within this routine which is never really explained. Learn by doing. Those would be the words to live by at Zoológico. And “Don’t be shy”. “About anything, including asking questions.” This I learnt today. (I realize this reads ominously. Only positive events have been born from asking questions here).

Volunteers run the gamut and vary day-to-day; there are some regulars like myself, others are here just for the day. Some are here simply because they are in Costa Rica and found a place to work, others are here on volunteer or language programs and the day-long volunteers are students from the San Carlos high school fulfilling their required community service hours (just like the IB). Throughout the day, we all get dirty and tired. Most of us start around 7:30 and work till 3:00, with two one hour breaks, the first of which is at 9 o’clock and the second at 12 o’clock with constitutes lunch.

Each of the four workers, Alban, Alberto, Carlos, and Victor, has his own area (of expertise). Alban works with the birds, Alberto with the tapirs and pigs, Carlos with the monkeys and quarantine section and Victor with the big cats. Within this area, they have a timetable-less routine; they have certain things that need to get done, but that don’t get completed by the same time every day. This is a perfect example of how time operates in Costa Rica. These things always end up getting done, all smoothly, or “Suave” as Victor, the oldest worker here, says, so the lack of a hourly scheduled routine is never a problem. The application of a regiment would render Zoológico’s current state of management impossible. Given that some volunteers are here for a day, a few weeks or months, it would be impractical, stressful and unpleasant to attempt to stick to a timetable. At first, this lack of organization and consequent disorientation bothered me. Now, Pura Vida. Tuanis. Or, as my host niece has taught me, Barcelon.

Yes, finding one of the five in the morning to get the work ball rolling sometimes take a while. Today, I walked around the place nearly twice before I saw anyone else. The lucky person today was Victor and since his domain is the cats, I spent my morning washing out and scrubbing the two lion pens. My first two mornings were spent with Alban, whom I like a lot and who is very patient with my lack of Spanish fluency and comprehension, washing out and refilling the bird’s feed bowls. I don’t have any experience with birds and didn’t really think I needed any. Birds are birds. I’m not saying that they are stupid, but the saying ‘bird-brained’ comes from somewhere. They are simpler creatures. Or so I thought. Birds can act territorial and be fierce. Removing their feed bowls can be tricky, especially when it involves entering their cages, full body or just a hand depending on the type. Their beaks are large and they know how to use them and when they eye you whilst raising their wings and stepping towards you, it’s hard not to prevent a current of fear from running through you (which I’m sure they sense). Both times I worked with the birds, I was bitten. It didn’t hurt, it was more shocking than anything else, and only made me want to learn how to work with them properly. Time is one thing. A stranger entering their cage, logically, will be less welcomed than Alban, who has worked with them every day for years. (Alban also has a sixth sense with birds and could probably tell you exactly how many are in that tree 100 meters away.) I didn’t even consider this until talking to another volunteer, Kate, who helped me think about the birds differently. Even one day made a difference; Tuesday, even though I was still bitten, was smoother and calmer.

Birds can also tell the difference between men and women. There is one female parrot that gives females serious attitude, but is fine with males, which Alban explained and demonstrated. Clever girl.

Tuesday afternoon, Alban introduced me to two tapirs which I got to pet! He also pointed out several of the approximately 30 iguanas here. They are large and gorgeous. Fast, too, much faster than I thought.

Doña Marta, my host sister and boss, and her two children rode in the tope (horse parade) this Sunday. When I asked my host brother how they were involved, he told me that their father breeds horses. A lightbulb didn’t go off, though, until the following day when we rode home with Marta and her daughter, Alba, who were stopping by to spend time with their mother/grandmother, my host mother Doña E. We stopped at the land adjacent to Zoológico which turns out to be part of their property as well and where the [horse] magic happens. Marta’s husband, Juan Jose, is a Costa Rican Step horse breeder. Que dicha. So on Wednesday, I asked if I could divide my time between the zoo and the horses. Por supuesto! Of course! So that day, after the first break (during which Marta usually comes down to talk to us about the list of things the weekly biologist’s evaluation generates), Marta said I could go down to the horses if I so wished. If I so wished. Victor, the oldest of the four – and maybe for the same reason, the hardest to understand-, but also, from what he says about whiskey and women, the biggest reveler, helped me find my way and I spent the next two hours grooming and learning a new set of vocabulary with my latest friends Toni and Toni.

The rest of the week has passed incredibly fast. I still wake up with a dull feeling in my stomach, but this quickly passes when I remind myself of my actual situation. This reminds me of all the things I have to be excited about. Pura vida.