This past week, I fell into a kind of rhythm. After returning from Samara, I jumped into my schedule of class in the mornings and my project with the kids in the afternoons. Looking back on the week, I am so amazed at how much my Spanish has improved. Somehow the sentences have begun to flow more easily from my mouth without hesitation, and my nerves have dissipated considerably. The kids at my project have seemed to notice the change. I’ve been able to get to know them better now that my vocabulary is coming back to me, bit by bit, from the forgotten dregs of my brain. My accent is also a tad less atrocious. Yesterday I was congratulated, by two seven-year-old girls on the swing, for my ability to properly say the name of a boy nearby. I found myself feeling so grateful to them and proud of myself. Then I snapped out of it and proceeded to fling kids around and lift them up high enough to hang by their little arms from one treacherous broken piece of playground equipment or another, all the while begging them to PLEASE keep the crayons out of their mouths.
Monday was Cameron and Madi’s final day in San Pedro. They are the brother-sister construction/painting team from Washington who helped fix some of the broken equipment at the Guarderia and also painted a beautiful mural on the outside of the building. I had just begun to thoroughly enjoy their company and to appreciate them as my friends, when I realized they had to leave on Tuesday morning for the turtle conservation project on the Caribbean Coast. Katie and I were so disappointed they were leaving us, so we planned a little suaree in their honor. And by suaree I mean a bunch of us went to a bar. This was my second night going out here in San Pedro, and after some deliberation, we ended up at the same bar we’d previously gone to. I don’t know what the bar is called, but it has ridiculously large beer mugs, and one of the drinks they offer (which Katie refers to as ‘The Incredible Hulk”) is a concoction of beer, lots of lemon, and green food coloring. The rim is dusted with salt. In reality, the drink is not good. It’s actually sort of terrible. But most of us seemed to fall prey to the temptation of drinking some sort of neon green liquid, whether it was a margarita or another lime-flavored cocktail, so our table soon looked as though it was home to a St. Patrick’s Day celebration one month too early and in an entirely inappropriate country. We enjoyed an evening of chatter, occasional dancing outbursts, telling chistes, eyeing the steady stream of pizzas being delivered to the table of ten middle aged men next to us (until they finally offered us a few slices), some embarrassing stories, and one memorable argument between myself and a new volunteer from Chicago who made the mistake of telling me that Brett Favre is an overrated quarterback (No blood was spilled, but the incident renewed my belief that Bears fans really are the worst). By the time Katie and I crawled into our beds and began to debrief the happenings of the evening, it was 3:30 in the morning.
Tuesday began too early for my liking, but as tired as I was, I really have not once felt like sleeping in since my arrival in Costa Rica. I wake up each day anxious to get a move on. My host mom smiled at me upon my entering the kitchen, then asked if I was hung over, and would I like coffee? I responded no to the hangover inquiry, yet the aggressive manner with which I answered “SI POR FAVOR” to the question of coffee led to my concession that perhaps I was hung over, but only “un poquito.” I started Spanish class with a new teacher and a couple of new students, which was great, and then it was onto the bus to travel to my project.
Buses are pretty much my second home here in Costa Rica. Whether in the morning to school, in the afternoon to my project, on the way home at night, or for many hours of each weekend getting to and from a faraway destination, I’d say I spend as much time on the bus each week as I do hanging out at my house. I’ve come to realize that using a city’s public transportation system gives one great insight into its people and culture. For example, if Tico bus drivers are any indication of the ways of the general population, these are a very utilitarian people, as bus drivers allow SO many people to cram onto the busses during rush hour that it is pretty much a sick chiste. There have been a couple of instances when Katie and I have squeezed onto a bus thinking we will surely be ordered to get off and wait for the next one, only to end up standing with half of our bodies hanging out the door as the bus proceeds to move. This does not seem to be a problem here. Playing of one’s personal music loudly on a cell phone, or texting incessantly without ever once thinking to put one’s phone on vibrate or silent seems to also be a standard procedure. Seats on the bus are taken seriously and Ticos and Ticas have no problem voicing their opinions when they feel someone should be giving up their seat for another more deserving person. Laughing at strangers when they fall or hit their heads is also fully acceptable, which I know, of course, because I have been known to do both of these things. All in all, Costa Ricans and bus rides with them are loud, honest, communicative, sometimes dangerous, and for the most part pleasant and interesting experiences. On bigger buses for long trips over the weekends, men are frequently allowed on board to sell snacks up and down the aisles, which for some reason always makes me think of the Hogwarts Express (though I don’t think the witch on the Hogwarts express sold fried pig skin).
An interesting personal development that those of you who know me well may be interested in is my recent recovery from germaphobia. Some of you may recall hearing a rousing rendition of a little song Trevor and I like to call “Sanitize Me.” Well, I am proud to say that though the situations listed in that song may still gross me out a little bit, they no longer leave me paralyzed with revulsion, thanks to my time spent here in Costa Rica. San Jose is generally a pretty dirty city. Additionally the guarderia where I volunteer is filled with kids who are normally covered in filth; their own filth and the filth of the outdoors. There isn’t a day that goes by when I leave without having lifted up a child who previously wet themselves, or rolled around with booger and spit covered kids pawing at my face. I know this is a gross thing to blog about, but I see it as a triumph in my life. I’m not saying I don’t use Purell immediately upon exiting each day, but I’ve learned not to be afraid of the germs. I grab the pole on the bus and don’t think about it all day afterwards, and when a new friend asks for a sip of my beer, I say, “sure!”
Of course, today I woke up with a sore throat, a fever, and coughing up a storm. Maybe I had it right all along.
☺
Love,
X-tine.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
From this post on, I am officially a surfer chick.
That’s right, you read correctly. I now surf. And by this I mean to say that I took one surf lesson on Saturday, and it was amazing! But let me start at the beginning…
Katie and I escaped San Jose this past weekend and took a five-hour bus ride to Playa Samara, which is quite possibly the most wonderful place on Earth (in league only with Eleuthera, Bahamas and Prince Edward Island, Canada). The bus ride was long because buses here go pretty slowly on the hilly narrow roads, and also stop quite often to let more people on. I enjoyed the feeling of leaving the city behind and being able to see some more of this beautiful country. While we were driving, Katie said, “I may want my ashes spread here.” Her comment flashed me, as I looked out the window, to a conversation I had with my mom when I was about seventeen. I told her that if anything were to happen to me, she should know that I want my ashes thrown off the cliff on Lighthouse Beach in Eleuthera. Thinking about this, it struck me that for some reason I’d assumed she would be around to take care of MY ashes after MY death, however illogical the idea may have been of my dying before her. I guess the thought that I would spread her ashes felt foreign to me. It still feels foreign. The fact that she’s dead still feels strange and unreal pretty much all of the time, except of course for those moments when the realization that she is truly gone comes rushing over me at the most random times, like when staring out a bus window, doing my Spanish homework, or hearing some silly song. I relearn it over and over again, each and every day. Her absence is not yet one of those undeniable truths of my life. So I stopped thinking about ashes and instead finished reading my ridiculous romance novel, “Dear John.” I will say only this: I hope the movie version of this story with Channing Tatum is better than the book (and lets face it, Channing has the ability to make terrible movies amazing…not because of his acting skills).
Katie and I were extremely sweaty and happy to be getting off the bus upon arrival at La Playa. Playa Samara is a very small beach town that pretty successfully defines “tranquilo.” There are so few people who live right in the town, and the beach is never overcrowded, even on the weekends. The town has a couple of affordable yet clean hotels, a few little stores and tents where they sell trinkets, some restaurants and coffee shops, and a few surf schools and fun little beach-side spots (one with delicious fresh smoothies). When we first got there, the two of us dropped our stuff in our room, noting that white towels had been folded into swans and placed on one of the beds, along with some fake flowers (a romantic valentine weekend for us! Haha), and then we walked around a bit. The beach was simply sublime. We had a romantic dinner date on the beach ☺, enjoying delicious cocktails and grilled delectableness. A group of older men sat near us, who were on a friend adventure of their own, and they reminded me of my Grandpa Bob! They were happy and lively and enjoying their time together. After dinner we each proceeded to don floral sundresses, and then to realize that we’d both packed only floral sundresses and that it was very strange that we were going to be the floral sundress duo two nights in a row. Then we went to reggae night at a local bar, and had so much fun dancing the night away and people watching, making up stories in our heads about each of the people and couples we saw at the bar, then discussing them. Katie and I are very easily amused. Playa Samara has a TOEFL program right on the beach, so there are many students from all over who actually get to LIVE pretty much on the beach. Katie and I have considered researching this more thoroughly, so we can rearrange our plans a bit and become true beach bums. What is quite certain is that Playa Samara is home to many hombres muy guapos (very handsome men). Katie and I didn’t actually SPEAK to any of them, of course, but we enjoyed imagining that one would be my surf instructor the following day. Don’t think we don’t know that we are slightly pathetic, because we sure do.
The next day, the two of us hit the beach and sunbathed. We chatted, read books, napped, and Katie made fun of me for spraying myself so often with sunscreen that she insisted I would actually be WHITER upon returning from the weekend then I’d been upon departure. But I was worried about burning!! I do not enjoy being burned. We also took advantage of our leisurely time on the beach by making a list in my journal of all the things we wish to accomplish during our time in Costa Rica. I will not share this list with you, as some of these things are embarrassing and/or ridiculous, or possibly chistes. But it was good to get them down on paper. The items on the list range from ‘drink straight from a coconut’ to ‘bungee jump.’
At one point as I lied there, two men rode by on beautiful horses, offering a horse ride on the beach to the loungers. I thought again of my mom, as I often do when I see horses, and about how I know she would have definitely taken the time to come visit me here. She’d have loved to see all the exciting things I’m doing, and would have been up for anything, no matter how long the bus ride, how sweaty and dirty the trek, how rundown the accommodations. Sometimes these moments, these thoughts, are happy and sad at the same time. These days, most things happy are also sad.
My surfing lesson was unbelievable! My instructor’s name was Christian and he was born and raised in Samara. He began by showing me how to hop up onto the surf board, which, let me tell you, is a FAR easier task when you’re safe on the sand than when you’re actually moving on water. I did well with getting up quickly on the board, and I believe it was due to my years of working at AER and taking the occasional free yoga class ☺ Thanks Bas! When we began to make our way into the water, I realized that there’s a lot to surfing that you don’t think about, like simply getting yourself far enough into the water with the gigantic heavy board to avoid the crashing waves, and keeping yourself from tripping on the cord attached to your back ankle, which was clearly an issue for me in particular since I tend to find ways to fall down when I’m just standing still on solid ground, no strange cords involved. In the beginning I think Christian thought I was a bit weird, because I kept cracking chistes, but then I think he began to thoroughly understand and enjoy me. We were floating in the water, waiting for my first wave, and I saw a really amazing surfer riding a wave expertly and doing cool tricks, and I turned to Christian and said: “So, I assume I’ll be able to do that by the end of our lesson, right? I expect to get my money’s worth.” He then began to enjoy me.
So I stood up on my first wave!!! And pretty much all of the ones after that. I’d like to point out, however, that just because I stood up, this doesn’t mean I STAYED up, and most of my rides did indeed end with me flailing about and falling, as you will see for yourselves if you wish to watch the videos Katie took of me with her camera, which I’m sure she’ll be putting up on Facebook soon enough. Katie is a HUGE stalker, which I realized upon finishing surfing and discovering that she’d been hiding behind a palm tree taking pictures of me practicing standing up on the board in the sand, and then proceeded to photograph or videotape essentially every moment of my lesson in the water. She is a gigantic creep. But I love it and her, because now I have evidence of how AWESOME I am. Katie said she had to explain that she actually knew me to an old couple who were watching her suspiciously as she hid behind the tree taking photos of me.
After Christian and I exchanged some more chistes in the water and he felt like I was comfortable enough with the process, he left me on my own to catch a few waves. I missed him immediately because he had helped me choose the right waves!! That was sort of half the battle. That and not chickening out when I felt like the wave may be just a bit too big, or that I wouldn’t be able to get my awkward body onto the board properly in time to catch one. But I rode a couple successful waves in, before becoming thoroughly exhausted and returning with Katie to the “pool” (cold bathtub outdoors) at our hotel to get some sun and enjoy afternoon Diet cokes. We spent the next few hours laughing and no doubt bothering each and every person staying in our hotel because neither of us have the tendency to speak in quiet nor dulcet tones, and then we had another floral-dress clad romantic dinner date. My arms had already begun to get sore at that point! I hope you all know that when I return from my time in Costa Rica, after having surfed almost every weekend, I will be seriously jacked. And did I mention a much cooler person, due to the surfing? So I’d advise against messing with me ☺
Sunday we spent as much time at the beach as possible, and then sadly boarded another long bus ride back to San Jose. As soon as I walked into the door of our house, Maybell smiled and gestured towards my face, saying “Muy roja!” And I was under the impression I’d gotten a nice, even tan. Perhaps my life really is one big chiste. That’s all for now!
Love,
Xtine (surfing extraordinaire)
Katie and I escaped San Jose this past weekend and took a five-hour bus ride to Playa Samara, which is quite possibly the most wonderful place on Earth (in league only with Eleuthera, Bahamas and Prince Edward Island, Canada). The bus ride was long because buses here go pretty slowly on the hilly narrow roads, and also stop quite often to let more people on. I enjoyed the feeling of leaving the city behind and being able to see some more of this beautiful country. While we were driving, Katie said, “I may want my ashes spread here.” Her comment flashed me, as I looked out the window, to a conversation I had with my mom when I was about seventeen. I told her that if anything were to happen to me, she should know that I want my ashes thrown off the cliff on Lighthouse Beach in Eleuthera. Thinking about this, it struck me that for some reason I’d assumed she would be around to take care of MY ashes after MY death, however illogical the idea may have been of my dying before her. I guess the thought that I would spread her ashes felt foreign to me. It still feels foreign. The fact that she’s dead still feels strange and unreal pretty much all of the time, except of course for those moments when the realization that she is truly gone comes rushing over me at the most random times, like when staring out a bus window, doing my Spanish homework, or hearing some silly song. I relearn it over and over again, each and every day. Her absence is not yet one of those undeniable truths of my life. So I stopped thinking about ashes and instead finished reading my ridiculous romance novel, “Dear John.” I will say only this: I hope the movie version of this story with Channing Tatum is better than the book (and lets face it, Channing has the ability to make terrible movies amazing…not because of his acting skills).
Katie and I were extremely sweaty and happy to be getting off the bus upon arrival at La Playa. Playa Samara is a very small beach town that pretty successfully defines “tranquilo.” There are so few people who live right in the town, and the beach is never overcrowded, even on the weekends. The town has a couple of affordable yet clean hotels, a few little stores and tents where they sell trinkets, some restaurants and coffee shops, and a few surf schools and fun little beach-side spots (one with delicious fresh smoothies). When we first got there, the two of us dropped our stuff in our room, noting that white towels had been folded into swans and placed on one of the beds, along with some fake flowers (a romantic valentine weekend for us! Haha), and then we walked around a bit. The beach was simply sublime. We had a romantic dinner date on the beach ☺, enjoying delicious cocktails and grilled delectableness. A group of older men sat near us, who were on a friend adventure of their own, and they reminded me of my Grandpa Bob! They were happy and lively and enjoying their time together. After dinner we each proceeded to don floral sundresses, and then to realize that we’d both packed only floral sundresses and that it was very strange that we were going to be the floral sundress duo two nights in a row. Then we went to reggae night at a local bar, and had so much fun dancing the night away and people watching, making up stories in our heads about each of the people and couples we saw at the bar, then discussing them. Katie and I are very easily amused. Playa Samara has a TOEFL program right on the beach, so there are many students from all over who actually get to LIVE pretty much on the beach. Katie and I have considered researching this more thoroughly, so we can rearrange our plans a bit and become true beach bums. What is quite certain is that Playa Samara is home to many hombres muy guapos (very handsome men). Katie and I didn’t actually SPEAK to any of them, of course, but we enjoyed imagining that one would be my surf instructor the following day. Don’t think we don’t know that we are slightly pathetic, because we sure do.
The next day, the two of us hit the beach and sunbathed. We chatted, read books, napped, and Katie made fun of me for spraying myself so often with sunscreen that she insisted I would actually be WHITER upon returning from the weekend then I’d been upon departure. But I was worried about burning!! I do not enjoy being burned. We also took advantage of our leisurely time on the beach by making a list in my journal of all the things we wish to accomplish during our time in Costa Rica. I will not share this list with you, as some of these things are embarrassing and/or ridiculous, or possibly chistes. But it was good to get them down on paper. The items on the list range from ‘drink straight from a coconut’ to ‘bungee jump.’
At one point as I lied there, two men rode by on beautiful horses, offering a horse ride on the beach to the loungers. I thought again of my mom, as I often do when I see horses, and about how I know she would have definitely taken the time to come visit me here. She’d have loved to see all the exciting things I’m doing, and would have been up for anything, no matter how long the bus ride, how sweaty and dirty the trek, how rundown the accommodations. Sometimes these moments, these thoughts, are happy and sad at the same time. These days, most things happy are also sad.
My surfing lesson was unbelievable! My instructor’s name was Christian and he was born and raised in Samara. He began by showing me how to hop up onto the surf board, which, let me tell you, is a FAR easier task when you’re safe on the sand than when you’re actually moving on water. I did well with getting up quickly on the board, and I believe it was due to my years of working at AER and taking the occasional free yoga class ☺ Thanks Bas! When we began to make our way into the water, I realized that there’s a lot to surfing that you don’t think about, like simply getting yourself far enough into the water with the gigantic heavy board to avoid the crashing waves, and keeping yourself from tripping on the cord attached to your back ankle, which was clearly an issue for me in particular since I tend to find ways to fall down when I’m just standing still on solid ground, no strange cords involved. In the beginning I think Christian thought I was a bit weird, because I kept cracking chistes, but then I think he began to thoroughly understand and enjoy me. We were floating in the water, waiting for my first wave, and I saw a really amazing surfer riding a wave expertly and doing cool tricks, and I turned to Christian and said: “So, I assume I’ll be able to do that by the end of our lesson, right? I expect to get my money’s worth.” He then began to enjoy me.
So I stood up on my first wave!!! And pretty much all of the ones after that. I’d like to point out, however, that just because I stood up, this doesn’t mean I STAYED up, and most of my rides did indeed end with me flailing about and falling, as you will see for yourselves if you wish to watch the videos Katie took of me with her camera, which I’m sure she’ll be putting up on Facebook soon enough. Katie is a HUGE stalker, which I realized upon finishing surfing and discovering that she’d been hiding behind a palm tree taking pictures of me practicing standing up on the board in the sand, and then proceeded to photograph or videotape essentially every moment of my lesson in the water. She is a gigantic creep. But I love it and her, because now I have evidence of how AWESOME I am. Katie said she had to explain that she actually knew me to an old couple who were watching her suspiciously as she hid behind the tree taking photos of me.
After Christian and I exchanged some more chistes in the water and he felt like I was comfortable enough with the process, he left me on my own to catch a few waves. I missed him immediately because he had helped me choose the right waves!! That was sort of half the battle. That and not chickening out when I felt like the wave may be just a bit too big, or that I wouldn’t be able to get my awkward body onto the board properly in time to catch one. But I rode a couple successful waves in, before becoming thoroughly exhausted and returning with Katie to the “pool” (cold bathtub outdoors) at our hotel to get some sun and enjoy afternoon Diet cokes. We spent the next few hours laughing and no doubt bothering each and every person staying in our hotel because neither of us have the tendency to speak in quiet nor dulcet tones, and then we had another floral-dress clad romantic dinner date. My arms had already begun to get sore at that point! I hope you all know that when I return from my time in Costa Rica, after having surfed almost every weekend, I will be seriously jacked. And did I mention a much cooler person, due to the surfing? So I’d advise against messing with me ☺
Sunday we spent as much time at the beach as possible, and then sadly boarded another long bus ride back to San Jose. As soon as I walked into the door of our house, Maybell smiled and gestured towards my face, saying “Muy roja!” And I was under the impression I’d gotten a nice, even tan. Perhaps my life really is one big chiste. That’s all for now!
Love,
Xtine (surfing extraordinaire)
Monday, February 15, 2010
"Yo pienso que si."
“Yo pienso que si.” Somewhere between eight and fifteen times a day, Katie speaks these words in response to inquiries. Yo pienso que si (I think so)”, and “Yo pienso que no (I don’t think so)” are sentences that will get you surprisingly far when trying to communicate in a language you’re years away from mastering. Additionally, Katie and I, as well as many other volunteers at Maximo, have begun inadvertently using these expressions even when speaking English amongst ourselves. Though I am very focused on improving my Spanish skills, so many volunteers at Maximo are English speaking, and therefore its impossible to avoid speaking in English with one another when we’re not working with the kids or at our home stays. It’s an interesting development, however, that we’ve come to intersperse certain phrases or words in Spanish with our conversations in English. This is something as well that is probably quite amusing to Costa Ricans who overhear our exchanges on bus rides or when walking around on the street. Some examples of such phrases and words are “Y a mi tambien (Me too),” “Y a mi tampoco (Me neither),” “Si, entiendo (Yeah, I understand),” “Es verdad (that’s true),” and finally, “Chiste (joke),” a personal favorite of Katie and mine. What’s even more hilarious and slightly embarrassing is when Lina, Deanna and I decide we will not speak in English for an entire bus ride to our project, and I then begin to notice the expressions on faces of locals sitting near us who are obviously aware, due to our accents and our frequent usage of “ummm” and “como se dice (how do you say…)” that we could much more easily be communicating with each other in English, but for whatever reason, have chosen not to.
Katie doesn’t give herself enough credit for the amount of Spanish she understands, and could probably speak were she to stop making fun of herself all the time and just concede to sounding like a fool when speaking Spanish, like the rest of us. My stepdad asked me on the phone the other day if Katie speaks Spanish well and she responded, with a laugh, “Yo pienso que no!” Then he asked me how she’s gotten by in Costa Rica without such skills and she responded, “Hand gestures, my electronic translator, and my good looks!” The two of us thought this was quite funny. I swear one of these days we’re going to be asked to leave our house because the laughing that goes on between the two of us deep into the night has, I’m sure, begun to become irritating to our host family, but we simply cannot help it. We basically are just constantly making fun of ourselves and each other. Oftentimes we fall into reminiscing about the olden days (AKA middle school), when we were brace-faced, awkward, and our senses of style left MUCH to be desired. The following is a transcript of a verbal trip down memory lane that occurred the other night:
Katie: “Do you remember when you used to always wear an orange handkerchief in your hair?”
Me: “It was a bandana!”
Katie: “Do you also remember when you convinced your mom to let you get cornrows and you went to Jordan’s Bar Mitzvah with cornrows looking like Snoop Dogg?”
Me: “They weren’t cornrows!”
Katie: “Oh I’m sorry…” (making quotation marks with her fingers) “BRAIDS.”
Me: “Well, do you remember when you wore very dark eye shadow with sparkles…like, to school? When we were in 8th grade? Every day?”
Katie: “Do you remember how we wore solely sweatpants, even when going out?”
In case anyone out there is wondering, yes, it’s true, for about a year of my life I wore an orange bandana in a triangle over my hair. At all times. And yes, I got my hair braided a few times. It allowed me not to brush it. No, I did not look like Snoop Dogg. Yes, it was awkward. Yes, Katie wore really ugly eye shadow every day for approximately two years. The shade of the eyeshadow was entitled “Midnight Cowboy.” No, it wasn’t cute. And yes, drawstring sweatpants were our standard uniform, but only black ones when “going out.”
Another topic of conversation that is often brought up between the two of us is my blogging, and how the fact that I blog makes me a gigantic loser. Exhibit A:
Me: “Perhaps I can blog this weekend.”
Katie: “You act like you need to keep your fans updated! Perhaps you need to hire a PR agent.”
Me: “Hey, I just received a text message requesting a new blog!”
Katie: “Yeah, from your uncle.”
Two minutes ago:
Me: “I am now blogging.”
Katie: “No one’s going to believe my stories about you, because you’re a giant chiste.”
No but seriously, you guys ARE waiting on bated breath for each of my new blog posts…aren’t you? Yo pienso que si. Thank you Uncle Dave for your request! I’d like to think of all of you as my fans, and I will continue to keep you updated, despite the fact that in social terms, having a blog does cost me a few points ☺ But I will not let you down. Love from Costa Rica!
Xtine.
Katie doesn’t give herself enough credit for the amount of Spanish she understands, and could probably speak were she to stop making fun of herself all the time and just concede to sounding like a fool when speaking Spanish, like the rest of us. My stepdad asked me on the phone the other day if Katie speaks Spanish well and she responded, with a laugh, “Yo pienso que no!” Then he asked me how she’s gotten by in Costa Rica without such skills and she responded, “Hand gestures, my electronic translator, and my good looks!” The two of us thought this was quite funny. I swear one of these days we’re going to be asked to leave our house because the laughing that goes on between the two of us deep into the night has, I’m sure, begun to become irritating to our host family, but we simply cannot help it. We basically are just constantly making fun of ourselves and each other. Oftentimes we fall into reminiscing about the olden days (AKA middle school), when we were brace-faced, awkward, and our senses of style left MUCH to be desired. The following is a transcript of a verbal trip down memory lane that occurred the other night:
Katie: “Do you remember when you used to always wear an orange handkerchief in your hair?”
Me: “It was a bandana!”
Katie: “Do you also remember when you convinced your mom to let you get cornrows and you went to Jordan’s Bar Mitzvah with cornrows looking like Snoop Dogg?”
Me: “They weren’t cornrows!”
Katie: “Oh I’m sorry…” (making quotation marks with her fingers) “BRAIDS.”
Me: “Well, do you remember when you wore very dark eye shadow with sparkles…like, to school? When we were in 8th grade? Every day?”
Katie: “Do you remember how we wore solely sweatpants, even when going out?”
In case anyone out there is wondering, yes, it’s true, for about a year of my life I wore an orange bandana in a triangle over my hair. At all times. And yes, I got my hair braided a few times. It allowed me not to brush it. No, I did not look like Snoop Dogg. Yes, it was awkward. Yes, Katie wore really ugly eye shadow every day for approximately two years. The shade of the eyeshadow was entitled “Midnight Cowboy.” No, it wasn’t cute. And yes, drawstring sweatpants were our standard uniform, but only black ones when “going out.”
Another topic of conversation that is often brought up between the two of us is my blogging, and how the fact that I blog makes me a gigantic loser. Exhibit A:
Me: “Perhaps I can blog this weekend.”
Katie: “You act like you need to keep your fans updated! Perhaps you need to hire a PR agent.”
Me: “Hey, I just received a text message requesting a new blog!”
Katie: “Yeah, from your uncle.”
Two minutes ago:
Me: “I am now blogging.”
Katie: “No one’s going to believe my stories about you, because you’re a giant chiste.”
No but seriously, you guys ARE waiting on bated breath for each of my new blog posts…aren’t you? Yo pienso que si. Thank you Uncle Dave for your request! I’d like to think of all of you as my fans, and I will continue to keep you updated, despite the fact that in social terms, having a blog does cost me a few points ☺ But I will not let you down. Love from Costa Rica!
Xtine.
This one is extremely long and possibly boring, yet informative.
Hello everyone! It’s Thursday the 11th of February, and I have now been living in Costa Rica for about four days, yet somehow it feels as though I've been here much longer. This isn’t due to not having fun, but rather its because I am extremely productive each and every day, which makes me feel healthier and more content with myself than I have felt even once during the past nine months of post-mom-death-depression. Each morning, Katie and I wake up at around 7 or 7:30. We joke around with each other and act ridiculous, Katie showers (I am a night showerer, and she is a morning showerer, which works out perfectly for our cohabitation and general relationship), we put on comfy yet unflattering clothing and sunscreen, I try to convince her to eat some adult gummy vitamins, she lends me anywhere from one to three things that I need but don't have, despite my overpacking (i.e. a belt, sunglasses, etc), she makes fun of me for not having anything I need, and then we head into the kitchen for breakfast. Normally Maybell has already sent her children off to school, and is in the midst of making us breakfast. Breakfast is a meal I have begun to eat regularly for the first time in years, because I eat dinner and go to bed much earlier here in Costa Rica than I do at home, and am therefore finally living a regular-human type of life. Yay me! Yesterday we had Gallo Pinto, which is basically rice and beans but it has extra herbs in it that makes it particular to Costa Rica. Gallo Pinto is a traditional cuisine eaten often here, in the mornings with eggs and toast, in the afternoons and evenings with some sort of meat and sometimes also potatoes and/or fried plantains. Me gusta mucho el Gallo Pinto. Sometimes for breakfast we just have cornflakes or fruit. Katie and I chat with Maybell during breakfast, then we head out on our walk to Maximo Nivel, the program center and the place where I have my Spanish classes. We can take the bus to Maximo, but we've found ourselves enjoying a nice half hour walk in the mornings, and during many of the evenings home as well. The weather is so nice here and there are always people walking around, so we chat and look around at people outside the stores on the way to Maximo.
When we get near Maximo, Katie heads towards a bus that will take her into San Jose and then outside the city to her project, and I come here to Maximo to do my Spanish homework or to check my email, etc, before my class at 11. I have Spanish class with one other girl named Lina, who was my first friend here. She is extremely nice and from Munich, Germany. Lina's been traveling around Latin America for the past four months, so her Spanish is a little better than mine, but the class is helpful to the both of us because its so small and really based on conversation and picking up vocab while we chat. Our teacher is my favorite human alive. Her name is Gabi. She's very small and cute, speaks only Spanish, is extremely relaxed and funny, and doesn't run a tight ship as far as class goes. The other day I told her that I hadn't done my homework because I went to a bar with some friends the night before and then had to go to sleep. She pretended to scold me and then she laughed.
After class Lina and I head out to our project with a brother and sister team from Washington named Cameron and Madi who are doing construction work at the center where we volunteer, and another girl named Deanna who’s been here for a few weeks. Our project is at a guarderia (child care center) where there are about twenty kids who spend either all day or after school hours, depending on their age, at the center. To get there we take two different buses out of the city and to a town in the hills outside San Jose. On the bus ride, I like to look out the window a bit and then to read whatever really stupid page-turner I’m immersed in. Currently it’s “Dear John” by Nicholas Sparks. Don’t judge me, the bus rides are long and I’m sick of reading things that require brainpower. I just spent the past semester reading only non-fiction or very complex literature, and I am officially on hiatus.
The kids at the center are absolutely amazing. The moment I arrived on my first day, they were hugging me, welcoming me, and begging me to play. One of the directors at Maximo informed us that most of these kids are very poor and come from single-mother households, and that many of them live in households with a history of domestic violence. The center is run by three extremely kind women who take good care of the kids, but it is in desperate need of supplies, repairs, and toys for the kids. The kids range in age from 6 months to eleven, and much of the energy and attention of the women who run the center goes towards taking care of the babies, while the kids hang out with each other. The outdoor area for the kids is basically just dirt, with one swing, one very rickety old see-saw that is definitely on the verge of breaking and seriously injuring a child, one usable plastic slide, and a completely broken and dangerous metal slide that Cameron and Madi are working on fixing. The babies have very few things to play with, and there are essentially no toys and only a few books for the kids. If anyone wants to send supplies, toys or books, please let me know and I’d love to coordinate with you.
When we get to our project each day we spend about 45 minutes just running around and playing with the kids, who are ecstatic that we’ve arrived because they can commence to order us to do things with them, mostly just picking them up and swinging them around. Their favorite activity is “avioncito,” which consists of me picking up a kid on their stomach, the kid making his or her arms into airplane wings, and me running around like a maniac. I swear my biceps have doubled in size and strength just over the past few days. On Tuesday, Katie, Cameron, Maddi and I went out, and Cameron and I were surprised to find that both our backs and arms were killing us after just one day of flinging the kids around. ☺ But I absolutely love seeing them smile, and can never say no.
After the chaotic play time, we usually like to organize some type of structured game like red light green light (verde rojo), freeze tag (quedar congelado), or freeze dance (baila congelado), which we just introduced them to the other day; SO MUCH FUN! Some of the time, I can’t understand what the kids are saying to me, so I apologize and say “Sabes que no entiendo nada!” (You KNOW that I don’t understand anything), to which they respond by rolling their eyes and laughing at me, then trying to slow down their speech in a condescending sort of way, and oftentimes finishing by informing me that I need to work on my Spanish. But most of the time we can communicate quite well, and I’m slowly but surely getting to know each kid, learning about their families and their time at school, and coming to know what types of things each kid likes to do the most. After playtime, Lina and Deanna and I usually have planned a short English lesson using visual aids, designed for the kids to learn a few words in English like those for clothing items or fruit. It helps us to remember the names for these things in Spanish, and it gives the kids something new to learn each day. Afterwards, we have coloring time. They LOVE to color. There are no drawing materials at the center unless we bring them with us, and I’ve never seen kids so grateful and excited simply to get a photocopied sheet from a coloring book or a piece of construction paper, and some crayons to share. It may sound corny and cliché, but little observations like this truly put the life I’ve led into perspective, and I find myself often thinking about how lucky I was and how lucky my little siblings are to be able to create any art project or to play any game, wherever and whenever. I enjoy coloring time, because we all calm down and chat with each other, and I know interacting with the kids is helping me improve my Spanish, even after only a few days. I’m so happy with my project, and am really glad that I’ll be able to spend the remainder of my time in Costa Rica working with these same kids.
By the time we are on the bus ride back from the project, I am usually thoroughly exhausted from the day. I get to Maximo around 6, Katie and I meet up and may grab a cup of coffee or a beer with some other kids, but normally we head off on our nightly walk home. It is so nice in the evenings because its cooled down from the standard 80 degrees, and I really have fun walking around. We get home and chat with Maybell while we eat dinner together. The other night, Maybell’s sister-in-law came over and Katie and I sat outside chatting with them for a couple of hours, which was so excellent. They are both very funny and very patient, and both have been hosting students and visitors in their houses for years now, so they are more than happy to help us with our Spanish and to talk with about their different experiences. After some of the stories we’ve heard, Katie and I know that we are excellent house guests. I understand SO MUCH in Spanish that it really amazes me, after all these years not studying it. My speaking skills are definitely lacking, but they improve each and every day, and I really do get so excited to find that I can sit and hear a story or an opinion of Maybell’s and understand completely what she’s saying.
Every night, Katie and I spend a couple of hours talking and laughing in our beds, then we fall asleep eventually, somehow. It takes a lot to shut both of us up, and I think exhaustion might be the only thing that can truly do the trick. Until next time, Pura Vida!
Xtine.
When we get near Maximo, Katie heads towards a bus that will take her into San Jose and then outside the city to her project, and I come here to Maximo to do my Spanish homework or to check my email, etc, before my class at 11. I have Spanish class with one other girl named Lina, who was my first friend here. She is extremely nice and from Munich, Germany. Lina's been traveling around Latin America for the past four months, so her Spanish is a little better than mine, but the class is helpful to the both of us because its so small and really based on conversation and picking up vocab while we chat. Our teacher is my favorite human alive. Her name is Gabi. She's very small and cute, speaks only Spanish, is extremely relaxed and funny, and doesn't run a tight ship as far as class goes. The other day I told her that I hadn't done my homework because I went to a bar with some friends the night before and then had to go to sleep. She pretended to scold me and then she laughed.
After class Lina and I head out to our project with a brother and sister team from Washington named Cameron and Madi who are doing construction work at the center where we volunteer, and another girl named Deanna who’s been here for a few weeks. Our project is at a guarderia (child care center) where there are about twenty kids who spend either all day or after school hours, depending on their age, at the center. To get there we take two different buses out of the city and to a town in the hills outside San Jose. On the bus ride, I like to look out the window a bit and then to read whatever really stupid page-turner I’m immersed in. Currently it’s “Dear John” by Nicholas Sparks. Don’t judge me, the bus rides are long and I’m sick of reading things that require brainpower. I just spent the past semester reading only non-fiction or very complex literature, and I am officially on hiatus.
The kids at the center are absolutely amazing. The moment I arrived on my first day, they were hugging me, welcoming me, and begging me to play. One of the directors at Maximo informed us that most of these kids are very poor and come from single-mother households, and that many of them live in households with a history of domestic violence. The center is run by three extremely kind women who take good care of the kids, but it is in desperate need of supplies, repairs, and toys for the kids. The kids range in age from 6 months to eleven, and much of the energy and attention of the women who run the center goes towards taking care of the babies, while the kids hang out with each other. The outdoor area for the kids is basically just dirt, with one swing, one very rickety old see-saw that is definitely on the verge of breaking and seriously injuring a child, one usable plastic slide, and a completely broken and dangerous metal slide that Cameron and Madi are working on fixing. The babies have very few things to play with, and there are essentially no toys and only a few books for the kids. If anyone wants to send supplies, toys or books, please let me know and I’d love to coordinate with you.
When we get to our project each day we spend about 45 minutes just running around and playing with the kids, who are ecstatic that we’ve arrived because they can commence to order us to do things with them, mostly just picking them up and swinging them around. Their favorite activity is “avioncito,” which consists of me picking up a kid on their stomach, the kid making his or her arms into airplane wings, and me running around like a maniac. I swear my biceps have doubled in size and strength just over the past few days. On Tuesday, Katie, Cameron, Maddi and I went out, and Cameron and I were surprised to find that both our backs and arms were killing us after just one day of flinging the kids around. ☺ But I absolutely love seeing them smile, and can never say no.
After the chaotic play time, we usually like to organize some type of structured game like red light green light (verde rojo), freeze tag (quedar congelado), or freeze dance (baila congelado), which we just introduced them to the other day; SO MUCH FUN! Some of the time, I can’t understand what the kids are saying to me, so I apologize and say “Sabes que no entiendo nada!” (You KNOW that I don’t understand anything), to which they respond by rolling their eyes and laughing at me, then trying to slow down their speech in a condescending sort of way, and oftentimes finishing by informing me that I need to work on my Spanish. But most of the time we can communicate quite well, and I’m slowly but surely getting to know each kid, learning about their families and their time at school, and coming to know what types of things each kid likes to do the most. After playtime, Lina and Deanna and I usually have planned a short English lesson using visual aids, designed for the kids to learn a few words in English like those for clothing items or fruit. It helps us to remember the names for these things in Spanish, and it gives the kids something new to learn each day. Afterwards, we have coloring time. They LOVE to color. There are no drawing materials at the center unless we bring them with us, and I’ve never seen kids so grateful and excited simply to get a photocopied sheet from a coloring book or a piece of construction paper, and some crayons to share. It may sound corny and cliché, but little observations like this truly put the life I’ve led into perspective, and I find myself often thinking about how lucky I was and how lucky my little siblings are to be able to create any art project or to play any game, wherever and whenever. I enjoy coloring time, because we all calm down and chat with each other, and I know interacting with the kids is helping me improve my Spanish, even after only a few days. I’m so happy with my project, and am really glad that I’ll be able to spend the remainder of my time in Costa Rica working with these same kids.
By the time we are on the bus ride back from the project, I am usually thoroughly exhausted from the day. I get to Maximo around 6, Katie and I meet up and may grab a cup of coffee or a beer with some other kids, but normally we head off on our nightly walk home. It is so nice in the evenings because its cooled down from the standard 80 degrees, and I really have fun walking around. We get home and chat with Maybell while we eat dinner together. The other night, Maybell’s sister-in-law came over and Katie and I sat outside chatting with them for a couple of hours, which was so excellent. They are both very funny and very patient, and both have been hosting students and visitors in their houses for years now, so they are more than happy to help us with our Spanish and to talk with about their different experiences. After some of the stories we’ve heard, Katie and I know that we are excellent house guests. I understand SO MUCH in Spanish that it really amazes me, after all these years not studying it. My speaking skills are definitely lacking, but they improve each and every day, and I really do get so excited to find that I can sit and hear a story or an opinion of Maybell’s and understand completely what she’s saying.
Every night, Katie and I spend a couple of hours talking and laughing in our beds, then we fall asleep eventually, somehow. It takes a lot to shut both of us up, and I think exhaustion might be the only thing that can truly do the trick. Until next time, Pura Vida!
Xtine.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
La dia primera.
I really couldn't ask for a better host family. Upon arriving at their house on Sunday, my host mom Mirabell was extremely welcoming and sweet with me. She definitely seemed to have a few concerns about the amount of things I had chosen to bring with me to Costa Rica, exclaiming on occasion, "Muchas cosas! (Lots of things)" or "Mucha Ropa! (Lots of clothes)", but I'm happy to say that at least at that point my bag was still shrink wrapped and probably looked only to be about 2/3 of the size it actually is. Her husband Giovanni was very kind as well, and their son Andres is perhaps the most adorable child I've ever seen, second only to my little siblings! He is quite smiley and sweet. Mirabell explained that that day was election day, and that the election in Costa Rica was very historic, as there was a female candidate as well as a very revolutionary candidate running for president. She invited me to accompany them to Giovanni's parents' house and then to the school where she and Giovanni were to vote. I accepted and hopped in a cab with them. Santa Marta is up in the hills of Costa Rica not far outside of San Jose. It was cloudy that day so I couldn't see much, but I knew that the view of the mountains in the distance would be stunning soon enough. Giovanni's family was very very nice to me. He has a large family and I met many of his siblings and nieces, as well as his parents. Of course, I could not understand a WORD anyone was saying because they speak so fast, but when asked a direct question, I muddled through OK. Mirabell is so patient, and makes a point of speaking slowly for me to understand. I am shocked at how many substantive conversations we were able to have with one another just during that first day. She explained to me about her family and I about mine, and we talked very much about the three candidates running for president, and her personal choice, Otton Solis. In the end, Laura Chinchilla became the first woman president in Costa Rica's history, which was exciting for her supporters. All throughout the day cars drove by honking their horns and waving the flag representing their candidate of choice, playing music and laughing. People were out in front of their houses with their families having parties and showing their support with signs and flags. It was a truly amazing experience, and I soaked it all in. Back at the house, I unpacked my things and read the note left for me by my friend Katie who has been living in this house for about a month now, which explained that she was sorry she wasn't there to greet me, but she was working on her tan at the beach that weekend, and would see me on Monday. She proceeded to write, "Use anything of mine you want (I know you will anyway). The Cheese-Its are on our bookshelf in between the beds." Andres eventually knocked on the door to my room and when I opened it, he looked up at me smiling and said "La cena! (dinner)" in a sing-songy sort of way. I ate chicken and salad (Yes Candace, I have followed your command and stopped being a vegetarian, but I want you to know that this is done in an effort to avoid being the asshole staying with a family who makes them cook especially for me, and not because I like killing animals and eating their flesh). After dinner, I fell asleep at about six o'clock. Though I felt a little nervous and homesick throughout the day, as far as first days in a foreign place go, it was a truly excellent one.
Xtine!
Xtine!
The Voyage
So I didn’t sleep last night. Shocking, I know, what with my history of having such a healthy sleeping schedule. Roie picked me up at 2 AM (she deserves a medal of honor) to take me to the airport for my 5 AM flight to San Jose. I was really getting pressed for time to do my actual packing because somehow I found myself very busy over the past few days. And then at 11 PM that movie “Fools Rush In” with Selma Hayek and Chandler from Friends came on TBS, and though I packed while I watched it, I feel like I need to blame it for the fact that I didn’t get at least a little sleep. That movie is so great, even though its terrible.
So about halfway through the packing process I realized there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to fit everything into only one checked bag. I considered not bringing the month’s supply of mini-Luna bars with me, in an effort to lighten the load, but I seriously rely on those peanut-butter cookie ones. They are truly a revelation. (‘Thank you for the sundried tomato aioli, because it’s a revelation” –Sydney Fife) So, I filled my huge suitcase as well as my amazing new eggplant-colored hiking backpack (Thanks Uncle Dave and Suzanne!) with stuff, both to be checked. I also had my small day backpack and my guitar to bring on the plane.
Upon arrival at JFK’s LACSA terminal I realized that I really couldn’t carry everything at once. I also realized that even before getting to Costa Rica I was officially already the only person in that entire section of the airport who wasn’t a fluent Spanish speaker. So after dragging my belongings through the line for half an hour and drawing as much attention to myself as was physically possible, I finally got up to the check-in counter, ecstatic about unloading two of my four monstrous items. The lady behind the counter gave me a sad sort of sympathetic frown, and said, “You have a problem. Your bag is too big. It will have to be on stand-by.” STAND-BY. The word hit my ears and I was immediately paralyzed with fear. I considered going home. I would not land in Costa Rica without my clothing, it was simply out of the question. After all, I am a twenty-something year old girl completely reliant on my material possessions. ☺ What if “stand-by” turned into “sitting at Kennedy Airport forever because someone forgot to send it to San Jose?” No way. I looked at her with what I assume was a mix of panic, anger, and confusion written across my pale un-rested New-Yorker-in-February face. She then suggested that getting my bag shrink-wrapped would help make it smaller. So I shrink-wrapped my duffel bag. Have you ever seen anyone do this? It’s kind of amazing. So after it had been sealed in heavy duty saran wrap and was unrecognizable, I sent it through security and prayed that it would arrive to San Jose on time.
I don’t remember the flight. I got on, asked for a blanket, and woke up only a couple of times to tell the flight attendants that I didn’t want anything. These past few weeks have been so devoid of sleep and so filled with activity and anxiety, so I think finally sitting down on that plane was such a stress reliever that I just passed out. I arrived in San Jose at nine AM this morning, and guess what? So did my bag! WOOWOO, I have my belongings. A very nice taxi driver named Leo who works exclusively for Maximo Nivel, the program I’m volunteering with, picked me up at the airport and drove me to my home stay in Santa Marta, not far outside San Jose. Leo was very nice and when he asked me if I spoke Spanish I proceeded to nervously explain (in Spanish) that I don’t know how to speak Spanish very well, even though I took it in high school and lived in Barcelona for a month before starting college, but that I really need to perfect it because I’m applying to graduate programs in Social work and that lots of people in the United States, especially New York City, speak only Spanish and that its imperative that I become a fluent speaker, which is why I’m staying in Costa Rica for a whole four months, but that I was really terrible at speaking Spanish. Upon finishing my explanation I realized how much Spanish I had just spoke. Leo said, “Pero hablas mucho espanol! Y muy bien!” I felt so relieved.
So about halfway through the packing process I realized there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to fit everything into only one checked bag. I considered not bringing the month’s supply of mini-Luna bars with me, in an effort to lighten the load, but I seriously rely on those peanut-butter cookie ones. They are truly a revelation. (‘Thank you for the sundried tomato aioli, because it’s a revelation” –Sydney Fife) So, I filled my huge suitcase as well as my amazing new eggplant-colored hiking backpack (Thanks Uncle Dave and Suzanne!) with stuff, both to be checked. I also had my small day backpack and my guitar to bring on the plane.
Upon arrival at JFK’s LACSA terminal I realized that I really couldn’t carry everything at once. I also realized that even before getting to Costa Rica I was officially already the only person in that entire section of the airport who wasn’t a fluent Spanish speaker. So after dragging my belongings through the line for half an hour and drawing as much attention to myself as was physically possible, I finally got up to the check-in counter, ecstatic about unloading two of my four monstrous items. The lady behind the counter gave me a sad sort of sympathetic frown, and said, “You have a problem. Your bag is too big. It will have to be on stand-by.” STAND-BY. The word hit my ears and I was immediately paralyzed with fear. I considered going home. I would not land in Costa Rica without my clothing, it was simply out of the question. After all, I am a twenty-something year old girl completely reliant on my material possessions. ☺ What if “stand-by” turned into “sitting at Kennedy Airport forever because someone forgot to send it to San Jose?” No way. I looked at her with what I assume was a mix of panic, anger, and confusion written across my pale un-rested New-Yorker-in-February face. She then suggested that getting my bag shrink-wrapped would help make it smaller. So I shrink-wrapped my duffel bag. Have you ever seen anyone do this? It’s kind of amazing. So after it had been sealed in heavy duty saran wrap and was unrecognizable, I sent it through security and prayed that it would arrive to San Jose on time.
I don’t remember the flight. I got on, asked for a blanket, and woke up only a couple of times to tell the flight attendants that I didn’t want anything. These past few weeks have been so devoid of sleep and so filled with activity and anxiety, so I think finally sitting down on that plane was such a stress reliever that I just passed out. I arrived in San Jose at nine AM this morning, and guess what? So did my bag! WOOWOO, I have my belongings. A very nice taxi driver named Leo who works exclusively for Maximo Nivel, the program I’m volunteering with, picked me up at the airport and drove me to my home stay in Santa Marta, not far outside San Jose. Leo was very nice and when he asked me if I spoke Spanish I proceeded to nervously explain (in Spanish) that I don’t know how to speak Spanish very well, even though I took it in high school and lived in Barcelona for a month before starting college, but that I really need to perfect it because I’m applying to graduate programs in Social work and that lots of people in the United States, especially New York City, speak only Spanish and that its imperative that I become a fluent speaker, which is why I’m staying in Costa Rica for a whole four months, but that I was really terrible at speaking Spanish. Upon finishing my explanation I realized how much Spanish I had just spoke. Leo said, “Pero hablas mucho espanol! Y muy bien!” I felt so relieved.
Part 1 of ridiculously long blog that I broke into pieces.
“I’m gonna pack light.”
This is one of the few lies I tell, and tell often, to myself and to others. It happens each and every time I decide to go on some sort of trip. “Yeah, I’m just gonna pack light. I’ll end up wearing the same pair of jeans every day anyway,” I say with confidence, feeling as though I am the coolest twenty-something year old girl to have ever walked the planet. I hold my head high, proud to be above such superficialities as reliance on material possessions. Yet somehow, when it gets down to the wire and I’m standing in line at La Guardia or JFK, I always seem to be paying an oversized luggage fee.
When going somewhere for a period of three to seven days, I am actually an accomplished light packer. I take only my favorite brown suede duffel bag that I believe was my mother’s before I borrowed it from her once and purposefully never returned it to her. My stepdad says that it’s actually his, but I won’t relinquish it. There’s something so wonderful about the amount of things you can fit into it, and how easily it can be placed in an overhead compartment. Plus it’s soft and round. Anyway, packing light for a short period of time is easily done, because I can clearly visualize in my head the amount of clothing that I’ll need to wear. I’m packing enough for a week, I tell myself, and then I’ll be home. One day more than seven and I utterly fall apart. Two weeks, forget about it. I can’t picture how many individual outfits I’ll need so I get overwhelmed, then I think about how much I hate doing laundry in other people’s laundry machines, and inevitably I end up packing my entire wardrobe into this huge green duffel bag of mine that weighs roughly double what I do.
Yesterday I had to pack for my stay in Costa Rica---a four month stint in a pseudo tropical environment where its warm during the day but can turn cold at night. A stay during which I plan on adventuring to various terrain, in a country where I don’t know that they’ll have the specific toiletries I like, and where my only option for getting my laundry done is by someone else washing my clothes for a small fee. Now, if any of you know me (which you must, because why would people who didn’t know and love me have any interest in continuing to read this?), you also know that I have germ issues, as well as control issues, and above all else a compulsive need to do my laundry. So the idea of having someone else wash and fold my clothing is pretty much horrifying to me. I don’t want some stranger touching my underwear.
So returning to the point, I packed SO MUCH STUFF to come to Costa Rica, in the hopes of never experiencing an unprepared moment, and maybe, just maybe, getting through the entire time here without once having allowed someone I don’t know to touch my dirty clothes. Honestly, looking now at all the stuff I’ve managed to stack onto the shelves in my room, and thinking about the other half of them that I couldn’t fit which are living in the green duffel bag below my bed right now, I’d say there’s a distinct possibility that I just might accomplish this goal.
This is one of the few lies I tell, and tell often, to myself and to others. It happens each and every time I decide to go on some sort of trip. “Yeah, I’m just gonna pack light. I’ll end up wearing the same pair of jeans every day anyway,” I say with confidence, feeling as though I am the coolest twenty-something year old girl to have ever walked the planet. I hold my head high, proud to be above such superficialities as reliance on material possessions. Yet somehow, when it gets down to the wire and I’m standing in line at La Guardia or JFK, I always seem to be paying an oversized luggage fee.
When going somewhere for a period of three to seven days, I am actually an accomplished light packer. I take only my favorite brown suede duffel bag that I believe was my mother’s before I borrowed it from her once and purposefully never returned it to her. My stepdad says that it’s actually his, but I won’t relinquish it. There’s something so wonderful about the amount of things you can fit into it, and how easily it can be placed in an overhead compartment. Plus it’s soft and round. Anyway, packing light for a short period of time is easily done, because I can clearly visualize in my head the amount of clothing that I’ll need to wear. I’m packing enough for a week, I tell myself, and then I’ll be home. One day more than seven and I utterly fall apart. Two weeks, forget about it. I can’t picture how many individual outfits I’ll need so I get overwhelmed, then I think about how much I hate doing laundry in other people’s laundry machines, and inevitably I end up packing my entire wardrobe into this huge green duffel bag of mine that weighs roughly double what I do.
Yesterday I had to pack for my stay in Costa Rica---a four month stint in a pseudo tropical environment where its warm during the day but can turn cold at night. A stay during which I plan on adventuring to various terrain, in a country where I don’t know that they’ll have the specific toiletries I like, and where my only option for getting my laundry done is by someone else washing my clothes for a small fee. Now, if any of you know me (which you must, because why would people who didn’t know and love me have any interest in continuing to read this?), you also know that I have germ issues, as well as control issues, and above all else a compulsive need to do my laundry. So the idea of having someone else wash and fold my clothing is pretty much horrifying to me. I don’t want some stranger touching my underwear.
So returning to the point, I packed SO MUCH STUFF to come to Costa Rica, in the hopes of never experiencing an unprepared moment, and maybe, just maybe, getting through the entire time here without once having allowed someone I don’t know to touch my dirty clothes. Honestly, looking now at all the stuff I’ve managed to stack onto the shelves in my room, and thinking about the other half of them that I couldn’t fit which are living in the green duffel bag below my bed right now, I’d say there’s a distinct possibility that I just might accomplish this goal.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
This one starts with a cheesy but relevant song lyric.
"And of these cutthroat busted sunsets, these cold and damp white mornings, I have grown weary."
-Ray Lamontagne
New York is depressing me. The sky is a constant gray. It gets dark at around five o'clock. I have no daily responsibilities so I sleep too late, which makes me feel worse. My mother has been dead for nine months now. Thank God I'm going to Costa Rica in four days! I'm feeling a little anxious about going, but more than anything I am excited to get the hell out of here. I haven't felt this sad in a very long time. I don't know if it's the weather or the fact that none of my parents have been with me over the past couple of weeks nor will they be with me when I leave for Costa Rica. Or maybe it's just this goddamn weather. My Uncle Dave came to visit me to make me feel less sad, and I am eternally grateful to him. I think my graduating from college and embarking on this journey to another country is in some way serving as a reminder to me that my mom is gone, and that's what's making me feel so awful these days. I was so determined to accomplish my goal of graduating from college by January, that i put all of my energy into that and didn't have much time to focus on this gnawing pain that has yet to go away. Now I'm focusing on it, and when I get on that plane, I know I'll be able to start focusing on something else; something great. I think part of it is that I've acquired the realization over the past couple of weeks that I would never be leaving home for four months if my mom was still alive and sick. I'm allowing myself to go away because there's nothing that's keeping me here any longer; no mother to be with, or to help save. But what makes me feel contented with going is that my having a chance to go abroad and perfect my spanish and do something for me was one of the only things my mom had me promise I would do. That and graduate. So I'm two for two! I'm trying to conjure up some sort of belief or some sort of faith that somewhere somehow she knows that I've done both of these things. What I can have absolute peace about is that she knew, before she died, that I would.
On a brighter note, I had such an amazing graduation slash going away party this past weekend! I am ridiculously in love with all of my friends. You know who you are, and thank you for coming and celebrating with me. Last night my Uncle Dave and I looked on his Iphone Weather App and it showed that its going to be about 80 degrees in Costa Rica this whole week, including the day I get there! I can't wait to feel sunshine, and to meet new people, and to hang out with kids and to meet my host family, and to play soccer and to go to the beach and to do some adventuring!
I'm looking around my extremely messy room right now, at all of the Target bags and the clothing and the books and everything I need to pack, and though its overwhelming, it is an indicator that I'll be up and out of here soon. YAY! Can't wait to let you all know about the amazing things I'm doing down there. A reminder: There are some pretty affordable tickets to be found for flying to Costa Rica over the next couple of months. COME VISIT ME! I'll have weekends free and would love to do some fun stuff with anyone! Another update is soon to come.
Latres on the Menjay,
Xtine
-Ray Lamontagne
New York is depressing me. The sky is a constant gray. It gets dark at around five o'clock. I have no daily responsibilities so I sleep too late, which makes me feel worse. My mother has been dead for nine months now. Thank God I'm going to Costa Rica in four days! I'm feeling a little anxious about going, but more than anything I am excited to get the hell out of here. I haven't felt this sad in a very long time. I don't know if it's the weather or the fact that none of my parents have been with me over the past couple of weeks nor will they be with me when I leave for Costa Rica. Or maybe it's just this goddamn weather. My Uncle Dave came to visit me to make me feel less sad, and I am eternally grateful to him. I think my graduating from college and embarking on this journey to another country is in some way serving as a reminder to me that my mom is gone, and that's what's making me feel so awful these days. I was so determined to accomplish my goal of graduating from college by January, that i put all of my energy into that and didn't have much time to focus on this gnawing pain that has yet to go away. Now I'm focusing on it, and when I get on that plane, I know I'll be able to start focusing on something else; something great. I think part of it is that I've acquired the realization over the past couple of weeks that I would never be leaving home for four months if my mom was still alive and sick. I'm allowing myself to go away because there's nothing that's keeping me here any longer; no mother to be with, or to help save. But what makes me feel contented with going is that my having a chance to go abroad and perfect my spanish and do something for me was one of the only things my mom had me promise I would do. That and graduate. So I'm two for two! I'm trying to conjure up some sort of belief or some sort of faith that somewhere somehow she knows that I've done both of these things. What I can have absolute peace about is that she knew, before she died, that I would.
On a brighter note, I had such an amazing graduation slash going away party this past weekend! I am ridiculously in love with all of my friends. You know who you are, and thank you for coming and celebrating with me. Last night my Uncle Dave and I looked on his Iphone Weather App and it showed that its going to be about 80 degrees in Costa Rica this whole week, including the day I get there! I can't wait to feel sunshine, and to meet new people, and to hang out with kids and to meet my host family, and to play soccer and to go to the beach and to do some adventuring!
I'm looking around my extremely messy room right now, at all of the Target bags and the clothing and the books and everything I need to pack, and though its overwhelming, it is an indicator that I'll be up and out of here soon. YAY! Can't wait to let you all know about the amazing things I'm doing down there. A reminder: There are some pretty affordable tickets to be found for flying to Costa Rica over the next couple of months. COME VISIT ME! I'll have weekends free and would love to do some fun stuff with anyone! Another update is soon to come.
Latres on the Menjay,
Xtine
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