I am home. Woah. These last three months of living in the beautiful country of Costa Rica seem to be nothing but a dream; a feeling I am not too fond of. That's why this next chapter of my blog will be a valiant effort to capture any fleeting memories I can before they slip away. However, in this post: current thoughts about returning to the land of the free and home of the brave.
I made it through all of the good-byes, the full day of traveling, and even the greetings of family and friends without crying. I do not pride, nor punish myself for that fact as I believe everyone processes differently, and no one way is correct. However, as I sit down to write this–in my comfy bed–a couple tears are sliding down my cheeks. I don't know how many more to expect in the coming hours, days, weeks.
Ending a chapter in life is never an easy thing to do, especially if you don't feel like it has been completely written. The people you know who have studied abroad will tell you that those three or four months is indeed a chapter of their book, not a sentence as a vacation would equate to. Yes, I did live in Costa Rica. A place with eighty degree weather on a cold day. A land with the most beautiful beaches that I have seen accompanied by bathwater to swim in. A region with incredible landscapes and tropical storms that shout of God's existence and reflect His beauty. But it was no vacation. I wasn't visiting the country; I lived there. I had to create something of a life for myself in Costa Rica with routines, schedules, entertainment, can't forget school, and friends who quickly became my family.
All this is an effort to say that returning back to the United States is not at all the same as coming back from a couple-week vacation, and a different feeling than when I left because my life in Costa Rica–aside from the family created–is not something I will have, ever again. Leaving the U.S.A. in September, I knew that I would be picking up the life I put on hold in just three short months.
Don't get me wrong, I am my fair share of excited to be home. I wrapped my arms around the love of my life for the first time in what felt like forever. She isn't just an image on a screen anymore and I love it! I had spaghetti for dinner. If you know me at all, you understand the difficulty I had being away from spaghetti for three months. Okay, I had it twice while I was there, but it just wasn't the same. Soon I will be seeing the friends I had to leave. And though I haven't just yet, but I will today.. I get to drive! Stay off the streets because I am three months out of practice and have been influenced by the Tico, driving culture. If you hear my horn, it's probably me just saying hey. If I cut you off, well I apologize. I'm just on a mission.
Hey, by the way IT'S COLD! My friends and I began to process this well in advance, but the first experience of Oregon's thirty-seven degree weather was still a shock to the system. Just a couple weeks ago, my friends and I were bundled up with hot chocolate in hand listening to an outdoor Christmas concert in sixty-five degree weather.. However, I am elated to get re-acquainted with my sweaters, wool coat, and gloves. I have missed my winter wardrobe.
Speaking of Christmas, I still haven't quite entered the holiday spirit. The cold plus Christmas decorations is helping, instead of associating them with palm trees and eighty degree days. But it still hasn't fully developed inside of me, and it's only a week away! Don't worry, I will get there.
Needless to say, my thoughts and emotions about returning cover a wide spectrum of colors. I know that I am going to miss the relationships created there more than Costa Rica itself. It's not an easy thought knowing I won't be doing life with the people I have been for the last few months. But, I am excited for this next chapter of my life as well. It holds some exciting events within its pages.
I can flush my toilet paper again!
Monday, December 19, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Listen up, Ladies
That's right, this one is for you. However, all you guys should listen up as well because this has just as much to do about you, and your turn is coming soon; stay tuned. I want to hash out a rather simple problem that has been stuck in a downward cycle for quite some time. I say listen up to the ladies not because they are at solely at fault, but because they have a greater impact in this issue than I believe most realize.
The problem is the loss of masculinity in our culture. I'm not talking about the aggressive, testosterone driven, too manly to give a hug, impress other men with my muscles and how many different women I can lay, dick measuring version of masculinity our culture has come to know. That's actually the very problem I want to address. I am talking about genuine, chivalrous masculinity that was once a central part of every man's identity. The masculinity that meant opening a door for a woman, standing up in her presence, and knew how to treat her with respect rather than as an object.
Am I arguing that there aren't any of these men left? Not at all. However, they are harder to come by these days, and I believe the problem is rooted in a social misunderstanding of what masculinity is. Out of it spawns a list of issues longer than a family of seven's grocery list, but this only serves as a distraction to the central problem.
The misunderstanding is simple really. Men can't be sensitive. Not that they don't possess the power to be, but rather they shouldn't be. Men have to be strong and well, sensitivity is a sign of weakness. It's for women and for women only. The problem is, this isn't true. Sensitivity is not a woman-thing it's a human-thing. That means men can and in fact should be sensitive.
So why is it that we put men inside a box? Why do we fill it with a certain list of traits of what men should be, and when they 'accidentally' step out of that box they get stones thrown at them? Isn't it true? I see it happen often. A guy says or does something that ever-so-slightly strays away from his strict definition and he is labeled as a sissy, gay, woman, cry-baby, fag, wimp, pansy, queer to name a few. They increase in malignancy from there. Yes guys will use these names and it is offensive, but ladies I hear throwing these stones too and let me tell you that you have no idea the damage you are causing. Regardless of whether you actually mean it or are just saying it as a joke it is being interpreted the same way, and for good reason.
When you call a man one of these names–or any of the many unlisted–you are directly attacking the very core of who he is, or desires to be. It shouldn't take much to realize that is harmful. It's even more harmful when you add into the equation that the way to show a guy love is to respect him, which is the very opposite of what you are doing when you use these names. As anyone would, he puts his guard up because the last thing he wants is his vulnerability to be attacked a second time.
I don't know if you have noticed, but men also tend to have a problem with being wrong. It's a pride thing. But that means that the guy now has to prove that he isn't a wimp, pansy, or what have you by doing one, a few, or all of the things I mentioned in the second paragraph. Repeat this same instance as often as it gets repeated and you can see how it doesn't take long for the idea of masculinity to become twisted.
Though men in general punch harder, blows of this nature always hurt more when delivered by women. So ladies, I plead you to stop calling guys these names even in a joking manner and to broaden your view of what masculinity is to include all characteristics of basic, human nature. Whether they say it or not, or whether you believe it or not men will thank you for it.
The problem is the loss of masculinity in our culture. I'm not talking about the aggressive, testosterone driven, too manly to give a hug, impress other men with my muscles and how many different women I can lay, dick measuring version of masculinity our culture has come to know. That's actually the very problem I want to address. I am talking about genuine, chivalrous masculinity that was once a central part of every man's identity. The masculinity that meant opening a door for a woman, standing up in her presence, and knew how to treat her with respect rather than as an object.
Am I arguing that there aren't any of these men left? Not at all. However, they are harder to come by these days, and I believe the problem is rooted in a social misunderstanding of what masculinity is. Out of it spawns a list of issues longer than a family of seven's grocery list, but this only serves as a distraction to the central problem.
The misunderstanding is simple really. Men can't be sensitive. Not that they don't possess the power to be, but rather they shouldn't be. Men have to be strong and well, sensitivity is a sign of weakness. It's for women and for women only. The problem is, this isn't true. Sensitivity is not a woman-thing it's a human-thing. That means men can and in fact should be sensitive.
So why is it that we put men inside a box? Why do we fill it with a certain list of traits of what men should be, and when they 'accidentally' step out of that box they get stones thrown at them? Isn't it true? I see it happen often. A guy says or does something that ever-so-slightly strays away from his strict definition and he is labeled as a sissy, gay, woman, cry-baby, fag, wimp, pansy, queer to name a few. They increase in malignancy from there. Yes guys will use these names and it is offensive, but ladies I hear throwing these stones too and let me tell you that you have no idea the damage you are causing. Regardless of whether you actually mean it or are just saying it as a joke it is being interpreted the same way, and for good reason.
When you call a man one of these names–or any of the many unlisted–you are directly attacking the very core of who he is, or desires to be. It shouldn't take much to realize that is harmful. It's even more harmful when you add into the equation that the way to show a guy love is to respect him, which is the very opposite of what you are doing when you use these names. As anyone would, he puts his guard up because the last thing he wants is his vulnerability to be attacked a second time.
I don't know if you have noticed, but men also tend to have a problem with being wrong. It's a pride thing. But that means that the guy now has to prove that he isn't a wimp, pansy, or what have you by doing one, a few, or all of the things I mentioned in the second paragraph. Repeat this same instance as often as it gets repeated and you can see how it doesn't take long for the idea of masculinity to become twisted.
Though men in general punch harder, blows of this nature always hurt more when delivered by women. So ladies, I plead you to stop calling guys these names even in a joking manner and to broaden your view of what masculinity is to include all characteristics of basic, human nature. Whether they say it or not, or whether you believe it or not men will thank you for it.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Mr. Donavan, I Gotta Go
A month and a half back some friends and I ventured up to Nicaragua for the weekend. We stayed on an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua–a body of fresh water previously known for shark sightings and now known as a place Dana threw up–called Ometepe. It consisted of two volcanoes and an intense hike that ended with a five-hundred foot waterfall. Worth it? Absolutely.
However, the story I want to share with you actually occurred on the bus ride to the border. As we were closing in on it we entered stop-and-go traffic that consisted of semi-trucks and buses. At that moment one of the girls in our group, Kelly made it known that she had to use the bathroom and that she had to use it PRONTO. I greatly empathized with her as I had experienced the very same curse the evening prior. I don't think the people of the restaurant I encountered stepping off the bus that night saw anything more of me than the blue, blur of my North Face jacket. But that's beside the point.
Kelly built up the necessary courage to ask the bus driver–in Spanish–if she could exit the bus to find the nearest lou. He kindly responded, "yes, but if I have to start moving I won't be able to wait for you." Part of Kelly's courage was the fact that I told her I would get off the bus with her. So I did. We hurried to the closest thing we figured would have a bathroom. I think our facial expressions must have talked for us because as soon as we arrived the locals exclaimed, "¿Baño?" And before we had time to respond they pointed us in the right direction.
It proved a positive that I tagged along because the bathroom door didn't shut unless it was locked. From the outside.. I held the door shut as Kelly felt the sweet relief I did the night before. It worked out nicely that I could see the bus from where I was standing. Everyone in it had their eyes glued on us–me at that moment–in anticipation. I saw each pair of eyes widen as the bus started driving away. As did mine... I politely urged Kelly to hurry up, but you know how it is when you have been holding it in for a long time. There's really not much you can do about it.
Finally, she asked to be let out of the bathroom and the chase began. We zigged and zagged between buses and semi-trucks on the muddy, gravel road. As Kelly and I came up alongside our bus I hit the side of it twice to signal the driver. The door opened and since we are being quite honest in this story, I will admit that I felt pretty cool knowing the driver picked up what I was puttin' down, if you will. Kelly hopped into the doorway and I quickly followed, bus still moving and everything. As I made the turn from the stairs to the aisle however, the mud on my feet caused me to slip on the rubber-like floor of the bus and I basically fell onto the driver, which he didn't much appreciate. Didn't feel as cool after that one. The door closed, and the entire bus applauded our safe return. We took a bow, then our seats. Okay, we didn't bow.
Then we arrived at our destination. Not a minute later.
However, the story I want to share with you actually occurred on the bus ride to the border. As we were closing in on it we entered stop-and-go traffic that consisted of semi-trucks and buses. At that moment one of the girls in our group, Kelly made it known that she had to use the bathroom and that she had to use it PRONTO. I greatly empathized with her as I had experienced the very same curse the evening prior. I don't think the people of the restaurant I encountered stepping off the bus that night saw anything more of me than the blue, blur of my North Face jacket. But that's beside the point.
Kelly built up the necessary courage to ask the bus driver–in Spanish–if she could exit the bus to find the nearest lou. He kindly responded, "yes, but if I have to start moving I won't be able to wait for you." Part of Kelly's courage was the fact that I told her I would get off the bus with her. So I did. We hurried to the closest thing we figured would have a bathroom. I think our facial expressions must have talked for us because as soon as we arrived the locals exclaimed, "¿Baño?" And before we had time to respond they pointed us in the right direction.
It proved a positive that I tagged along because the bathroom door didn't shut unless it was locked. From the outside.. I held the door shut as Kelly felt the sweet relief I did the night before. It worked out nicely that I could see the bus from where I was standing. Everyone in it had their eyes glued on us–me at that moment–in anticipation. I saw each pair of eyes widen as the bus started driving away. As did mine... I politely urged Kelly to hurry up, but you know how it is when you have been holding it in for a long time. There's really not much you can do about it.
Finally, she asked to be let out of the bathroom and the chase began. We zigged and zagged between buses and semi-trucks on the muddy, gravel road. As Kelly and I came up alongside our bus I hit the side of it twice to signal the driver. The door opened and since we are being quite honest in this story, I will admit that I felt pretty cool knowing the driver picked up what I was puttin' down, if you will. Kelly hopped into the doorway and I quickly followed, bus still moving and everything. As I made the turn from the stairs to the aisle however, the mud on my feet caused me to slip on the rubber-like floor of the bus and I basically fell onto the driver, which he didn't much appreciate. Didn't feel as cool after that one. The door closed, and the entire bus applauded our safe return. We took a bow, then our seats. Okay, we didn't bow.
Then we arrived at our destination. Not a minute later.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Narcissism at its Finest
I will start this one off by saying: If you are not in the mood for some conviction, then you should probably just finish this sentence and go along your merry way. However, if you are up for some uncomfortable truth, then feel free to stick around.
Still with me? Sweet.
Complaining. We do it all too often, and if we are being honest with ourselves for some pretty lame reasons. I could go into a montage of some examples, but I'm sure plenty are rolling through your head right now so I'll move along. Lately, I have been trying to dig deeper and get to the root of why we gripe constantly. I have had my thoughts here and there, but it all clicked yesterday when I was listening to John Mark Comer's sermon on John chapter 11. For those of you who don't know, John Mark is one of the pastors at Solid Rock Church in P-town, Oregon. In his sermon he says that we (Americans) are such a narcissistic people. Did you just feel that slap of truth too?
Everything is about us. Right? I mean, the world revolves around us, our friends revolve around us, and God is our genie in a bottle there to cater to our every need? Therefore, when something doesn't jive with our desires of course we have every right to complain about it, because things should be going precisely our way. How dare that professor give me a paper to write, of course the rain would start just as I have to walk home, I don't want to get out of bed, school sucks, I'm tired, my head hurts, they changed Facebook's layout again, my internet is slow, it's too hot, it's too cold... Looks like that slur of examples came out after all.
I'm about to rock your socks ladies and gents. The world does not revolve around you, and it does not revolve around me. God is not here for you, or for me, but rather the other way around. Does crap happen? Yes, it happens to all of us. It isn't wrong to recognize, or say it out loud. The brilliant thing is, we have a choice of how to act when it does happen. When we complain about the bad, we allow it to have power over us, and we become slaves to it. We can make the choice to gain power over it by being joyful in spite of whatever it is. Does it take more effort? Just as it takes more effort to pin someone to the ground than it does to be pinned. But which one gets their hand raised by the ref and a trophy at the end of the match?
Frankly, we have no right to complain about anything. Especially about the petty things like school, the weather, and Facebook. There are those who have it so much worse than us, you cannot even begin to fathom their circumstances. I have had the privilege to interact with several of them over the years and what's ironic is that they are often more joyful than we are. In talking with them you wouldn't be able to guess that they only made seventy-six cents that day, didn't have breakfast or lunch, and ate dinner from the garbage dump they live on. You wouldn't be able to guess it because they are so overwhelmed with joy over the fact that they are breathing for another day. Let me ask you, when was the last time you were genuinely grateful for the simple fact that you are alive?
Negativity is contagious. When a person complains, it sets the tone not just for him or her, but for everyone in the vicinity as well. Likewise, positivity is also contagious. When you are grateful for your circumstances and let the people around you know, it becomes inspirational. To the Christians reading this, how can we spread the love and joy of Christ if all that is coming out of our mouths is complaint after complaint? What sets us apart from everyone else? It's when we choose joy in the middle of all the crap that is happening that people start to wonder both why and how. So count your blessings, and find joy in them. Then make it known through your words and actions. If you aren't a Christian and are reading this, do it simply to help brighten someone's day. You have no idea how much of an impact it could make.
I am not claiming perfection in this area by any means. However, I have been working hard to continually change my mindset for the positive. Gandhi said that you have to be the change you want to see, so that's where I am starting. Care to join?
Still with me? Sweet.
Complaining. We do it all too often, and if we are being honest with ourselves for some pretty lame reasons. I could go into a montage of some examples, but I'm sure plenty are rolling through your head right now so I'll move along. Lately, I have been trying to dig deeper and get to the root of why we gripe constantly. I have had my thoughts here and there, but it all clicked yesterday when I was listening to John Mark Comer's sermon on John chapter 11. For those of you who don't know, John Mark is one of the pastors at Solid Rock Church in P-town, Oregon. In his sermon he says that we (Americans) are such a narcissistic people. Did you just feel that slap of truth too?
Everything is about us. Right? I mean, the world revolves around us, our friends revolve around us, and God is our genie in a bottle there to cater to our every need? Therefore, when something doesn't jive with our desires of course we have every right to complain about it, because things should be going precisely our way. How dare that professor give me a paper to write, of course the rain would start just as I have to walk home, I don't want to get out of bed, school sucks, I'm tired, my head hurts, they changed Facebook's layout again, my internet is slow, it's too hot, it's too cold... Looks like that slur of examples came out after all.
I'm about to rock your socks ladies and gents. The world does not revolve around you, and it does not revolve around me. God is not here for you, or for me, but rather the other way around. Does crap happen? Yes, it happens to all of us. It isn't wrong to recognize, or say it out loud. The brilliant thing is, we have a choice of how to act when it does happen. When we complain about the bad, we allow it to have power over us, and we become slaves to it. We can make the choice to gain power over it by being joyful in spite of whatever it is. Does it take more effort? Just as it takes more effort to pin someone to the ground than it does to be pinned. But which one gets their hand raised by the ref and a trophy at the end of the match?
Frankly, we have no right to complain about anything. Especially about the petty things like school, the weather, and Facebook. There are those who have it so much worse than us, you cannot even begin to fathom their circumstances. I have had the privilege to interact with several of them over the years and what's ironic is that they are often more joyful than we are. In talking with them you wouldn't be able to guess that they only made seventy-six cents that day, didn't have breakfast or lunch, and ate dinner from the garbage dump they live on. You wouldn't be able to guess it because they are so overwhelmed with joy over the fact that they are breathing for another day. Let me ask you, when was the last time you were genuinely grateful for the simple fact that you are alive?
Negativity is contagious. When a person complains, it sets the tone not just for him or her, but for everyone in the vicinity as well. Likewise, positivity is also contagious. When you are grateful for your circumstances and let the people around you know, it becomes inspirational. To the Christians reading this, how can we spread the love and joy of Christ if all that is coming out of our mouths is complaint after complaint? What sets us apart from everyone else? It's when we choose joy in the middle of all the crap that is happening that people start to wonder both why and how. So count your blessings, and find joy in them. Then make it known through your words and actions. If you aren't a Christian and are reading this, do it simply to help brighten someone's day. You have no idea how much of an impact it could make.
I am not claiming perfection in this area by any means. However, I have been working hard to continually change my mindset for the positive. Gandhi said that you have to be the change you want to see, so that's where I am starting. Care to join?
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
If I Could...
Today in class we had to do an activity that required us to write five or so sentences about what we would do differently with our lives if we could live them over again. At first, I was going to write down some cliché sentences as usual just to get it over with. Then I stopped and thought for a minute about what I would really do if granted this opportunity. Yes, one could argue that if I changed anything then things wouldn't be the same today, but if I were to re-live my life then I would not be privy to its current state. So let's skip that debate.
I'm about to get transparent with you, which for me–and this is a moment of transparency in and of itself–is not easy. I am and have been by nature the one who others confide in, meaning I haven't had much practice the other way around. I feel as though I am too young to have this many regrets. I won't get into the specifics of what they all are, but they're there. Summed up I wish I would have dedicated my time to much more valuable things. Like less time in front of the television and more time in front of a book, or less time improving my skills as a gamer and exercising my thumbs and more time playing soccer, learning an instrument, and making videos.
Another big area of regret is how I used my money. I was never one to buy a lot of things, however the things I did by were the best of the best, fairly expensive, and in reality unnecessary. And I was told multiple times by my extended family as a kid that I didn't know what it meant to save money, and they were right. However, them telling me that didn't really make me want to save it, but instead continue to spend it. I am not blaming them for how I handled my money; blaming others for your own actions is not a healthy way to live life. I just wish I would have responded to their statement differently. The one thing I don't regret in the financial sense is when I spent my money on others. I honestly enjoy spending it on others than on myself and when I am provided with the opportunity to buy someone lunch or a cup of coffee, I will generally take it.
Now, you can refute all I am saying and return compliments instead as that seems to be the natural, human defense when we here someone criticizing themselves, but it won't change anything. I know I didn't turn out too terrible of a kid, and I know I am going to be just fine financially. But I know the way I spent my time, and I wish I spent it different. Instead of continuing to dwell on what can't be changed, I am looking forward to what I do have control over, my future. I am going to live it to its fullest. I am going to make the most of the life I have left, and I want my money to be a bigger blessing to others than to myself. I know I can't change the past, but I can conquer the demons of regret by the way I choose to live my future.
I'm about to get transparent with you, which for me–and this is a moment of transparency in and of itself–is not easy. I am and have been by nature the one who others confide in, meaning I haven't had much practice the other way around. I feel as though I am too young to have this many regrets. I won't get into the specifics of what they all are, but they're there. Summed up I wish I would have dedicated my time to much more valuable things. Like less time in front of the television and more time in front of a book, or less time improving my skills as a gamer and exercising my thumbs and more time playing soccer, learning an instrument, and making videos.
Another big area of regret is how I used my money. I was never one to buy a lot of things, however the things I did by were the best of the best, fairly expensive, and in reality unnecessary. And I was told multiple times by my extended family as a kid that I didn't know what it meant to save money, and they were right. However, them telling me that didn't really make me want to save it, but instead continue to spend it. I am not blaming them for how I handled my money; blaming others for your own actions is not a healthy way to live life. I just wish I would have responded to their statement differently. The one thing I don't regret in the financial sense is when I spent my money on others. I honestly enjoy spending it on others than on myself and when I am provided with the opportunity to buy someone lunch or a cup of coffee, I will generally take it.
Now, you can refute all I am saying and return compliments instead as that seems to be the natural, human defense when we here someone criticizing themselves, but it won't change anything. I know I didn't turn out too terrible of a kid, and I know I am going to be just fine financially. But I know the way I spent my time, and I wish I spent it different. Instead of continuing to dwell on what can't be changed, I am looking forward to what I do have control over, my future. I am going to live it to its fullest. I am going to make the most of the life I have left, and I want my money to be a bigger blessing to others than to myself. I know I can't change the past, but I can conquer the demons of regret by the way I choose to live my future.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Painting Up
Alright. Wednesday night, was game night. Not just any game. La Liga vs. Saprissa, the arch rivals of Costa Rica. It was an action packed, edge of your seat, boxing match with some soccer sprinkled on top. So here's how it went down.
Wednesday afternoon I showed up at my friends' house around 4pm. Earlier than everyone else so we had access to all the paint we wanted. Here's the result:
By 6pm the group of fifty-seven gringos had all shown up and we boarded a private bus that took us to Saprissa's stadium, because public transportation for a bunch of gringos sporting the colors of the away team would another not-so-bright-idea to tally up on the board. You see, Ticos are quite passionate about their soccer, and very passionate about their team. Which is great, until that passion is expressed through sheer hatred and a formidable desire to maim anyone from the opposing team. And we had targets painted on us.. Literally.
The bus came to a stop several blocks from the stadium and it was our job to stick together and make it the rest of the way in one piece. The excitement in the air, and the rush to get the best seats–we had a whole section reserved instead of individual seats–quickly broke our large, gringo group up into several mini, gringo groups all rushing to the entry. Somehow, in the mix of it all my friend–the 'L' in the picture–lost his ticket. I stayed with him outside the ticket checkpoint that was guarded with police in order to scan the streets for that magical piece of paper. There was 'L' and 'I' wandering seemingly aimless, but rather purposeful, in a mob of riled-up Saprisistas. We quickly got word from some gringo stragglers that one of our fellow gringos found the ticket. Only problem was, he had already passed through the checkpoint lined with police-men. A girl we knew was on the other side and slipped 'L' her ticket so he could pass through–ironically enough, she's the one above us in the picture. We then sprinted toward the stadium dodging stares, yells, and fists along the way to find the missing ticket holder. We found him, got the ticket, said thanks, and re-grouped with 'G' and 'A'. The four of us were together with three girls, and 'G's Tico dad. Where the rest of the 57 was? In my thoughts and prayers...
Next step was getting into the stadium. We got in line to enter, but once we got toward the front we were told that we were on the wrong side, and had to go around. Only thing is, they let three of the girls we were with inside and since they had their tickets ripped, were not being let back out without some begging. In the meantime, I had my ticket in hand ready to give it to the guard, but had kept it in hand while we were trying to get the girls back. As any smart Saprisista would, one passed in front of me and grabbed my ticket. To my surprise, I instinctively reached under his arm and grabbed his hand where a simple rotation of mine would have broken his wrist. He looked at me straight in the eyes and told me to let go, but I didn't. 'G' noticed the scene, and came to my defense shaking his head at the Saprisista. He quickly stood down, kept his wrist in tact, and blurred into his purple and white crowd. Soon after, the girls were released and we were escorted to the correct entrance by a guard who could explain the already ripped tickets. On that jaunt I felt someone try to pick my pocket, but since I was wearing a pair of pants that didn't have back pockets, all the guy got was a quick feel of my butt. I only hope that wasn't what he was after... We finally made it to the correct gate, entered the stadium, and found our seats. Not in the Liga section that we thought we would be in. We were a tiny drop of black and red in a vast sea of purple and white. The upside is it made us easy to spot by the photographers and film crew so we made it both on La Liga's website and Costa Rican television!
The game started and La Liga quickly scored. We went wild. 'G's Tico dad was running across our seats topless, waving his shirt around, and yelling at the top of his lungs. A little bit later in the game an honest to goodness bad call was made by the ref and Saprissa was able to take a penalty kick saving them from losing the game. They scored, and it was deafening. Twenty-thousand Saprissa fans were going off the chain. The ones surrounding us weren't cheering toward the field, but rather all turned toward us, yelling at us in mockery, flipping us off, and 'putting us in our place'. The first half came to an end with no additional goals.
In the second half, La Liga scored again. This was our turn to go off the chain, and we did. With glares and birdies around us we celebrated as if we had just taken out a foreign dictator. Then Saprissa responded in kind bringing it back to a tie. Only their voice was louder. It was now a fight–in the most literal sense of the word–for a third goal before the ref blew the final whistle. Saprissa broke La Liga's defense and was headed straight for the goal. A member of La Liga sacrificed himself and tripped the Sapprissa offender for a red card. The crowd took it out on us. As he walked off the field into the extended tunnel for his protection, he had his chin high and was yanking on his jersey in support for his team. The Saprissa fans were furious. And did I mention violent? They attempted to climb over the fence to attack the carded player, but were met with the business end of the riot police's night-sticks instead.
The game ended in a tie, probably the best outcome we gringos could have asked for. The Tico dad with us had told us we would be sleeping in the stadium if Saprissa had one. I can imagine it would be close to the same if they had lost as well. We waited for the stadium and streets to clear before we attempted our escape. Some lingering Saprissa fans continued to yell, flip us off, and urge us to fight them. They also decided to throw any trash they had with them at us both from our level and the balcony above. All the while I showed my pearly whites and interchanged between waving and the peace sign. Neither seemed to diffuse the situation, but I kept trying. A nearby Liga fan yelled at us in support, and we cheered back. A great moment of comfort to say the least.
Finally, the stadium had cleared enough to the point that we could safely move outside, where we were met by horse cops. We huddled under their wings of protection while we began coordinating our exit route with another policeman in a truck. 'L', 'G', 'A', and I decided that it would be to our benefit if we stripped our paint off. we began rubbing ourselves frantically and peeling of the acrylic from our skin. Not only was it less we had to do at home, it made us a little less of a target too. While continuing to scrub the paint off, we began to follow behind the police truck as he lead us safely to our bus. All fifty-seven of us made it on the bus, and made it home in one piece.
Giving all that you just read, I'm sure you are asking me what I was thinking. All I can say is that it was one of the best, worst decisions I have made and I would do it all over again. ¡Viva La Liga!
Wednesday afternoon I showed up at my friends' house around 4pm. Earlier than everyone else so we had access to all the paint we wanted. Here's the result:
By 6pm the group of fifty-seven gringos had all shown up and we boarded a private bus that took us to Saprissa's stadium, because public transportation for a bunch of gringos sporting the colors of the away team would another not-so-bright-idea to tally up on the board. You see, Ticos are quite passionate about their soccer, and very passionate about their team. Which is great, until that passion is expressed through sheer hatred and a formidable desire to maim anyone from the opposing team. And we had targets painted on us.. Literally.
The bus came to a stop several blocks from the stadium and it was our job to stick together and make it the rest of the way in one piece. The excitement in the air, and the rush to get the best seats–we had a whole section reserved instead of individual seats–quickly broke our large, gringo group up into several mini, gringo groups all rushing to the entry. Somehow, in the mix of it all my friend–the 'L' in the picture–lost his ticket. I stayed with him outside the ticket checkpoint that was guarded with police in order to scan the streets for that magical piece of paper. There was 'L' and 'I' wandering seemingly aimless, but rather purposeful, in a mob of riled-up Saprisistas. We quickly got word from some gringo stragglers that one of our fellow gringos found the ticket. Only problem was, he had already passed through the checkpoint lined with police-men. A girl we knew was on the other side and slipped 'L' her ticket so he could pass through–ironically enough, she's the one above us in the picture. We then sprinted toward the stadium dodging stares, yells, and fists along the way to find the missing ticket holder. We found him, got the ticket, said thanks, and re-grouped with 'G' and 'A'. The four of us were together with three girls, and 'G's Tico dad. Where the rest of the 57 was? In my thoughts and prayers...
Next step was getting into the stadium. We got in line to enter, but once we got toward the front we were told that we were on the wrong side, and had to go around. Only thing is, they let three of the girls we were with inside and since they had their tickets ripped, were not being let back out without some begging. In the meantime, I had my ticket in hand ready to give it to the guard, but had kept it in hand while we were trying to get the girls back. As any smart Saprisista would, one passed in front of me and grabbed my ticket. To my surprise, I instinctively reached under his arm and grabbed his hand where a simple rotation of mine would have broken his wrist. He looked at me straight in the eyes and told me to let go, but I didn't. 'G' noticed the scene, and came to my defense shaking his head at the Saprisista. He quickly stood down, kept his wrist in tact, and blurred into his purple and white crowd. Soon after, the girls were released and we were escorted to the correct entrance by a guard who could explain the already ripped tickets. On that jaunt I felt someone try to pick my pocket, but since I was wearing a pair of pants that didn't have back pockets, all the guy got was a quick feel of my butt. I only hope that wasn't what he was after... We finally made it to the correct gate, entered the stadium, and found our seats. Not in the Liga section that we thought we would be in. We were a tiny drop of black and red in a vast sea of purple and white. The upside is it made us easy to spot by the photographers and film crew so we made it both on La Liga's website and Costa Rican television!
The game started and La Liga quickly scored. We went wild. 'G's Tico dad was running across our seats topless, waving his shirt around, and yelling at the top of his lungs. A little bit later in the game an honest to goodness bad call was made by the ref and Saprissa was able to take a penalty kick saving them from losing the game. They scored, and it was deafening. Twenty-thousand Saprissa fans were going off the chain. The ones surrounding us weren't cheering toward the field, but rather all turned toward us, yelling at us in mockery, flipping us off, and 'putting us in our place'. The first half came to an end with no additional goals.
In the second half, La Liga scored again. This was our turn to go off the chain, and we did. With glares and birdies around us we celebrated as if we had just taken out a foreign dictator. Then Saprissa responded in kind bringing it back to a tie. Only their voice was louder. It was now a fight–in the most literal sense of the word–for a third goal before the ref blew the final whistle. Saprissa broke La Liga's defense and was headed straight for the goal. A member of La Liga sacrificed himself and tripped the Sapprissa offender for a red card. The crowd took it out on us. As he walked off the field into the extended tunnel for his protection, he had his chin high and was yanking on his jersey in support for his team. The Saprissa fans were furious. And did I mention violent? They attempted to climb over the fence to attack the carded player, but were met with the business end of the riot police's night-sticks instead.
The game ended in a tie, probably the best outcome we gringos could have asked for. The Tico dad with us had told us we would be sleeping in the stadium if Saprissa had one. I can imagine it would be close to the same if they had lost as well. We waited for the stadium and streets to clear before we attempted our escape. Some lingering Saprissa fans continued to yell, flip us off, and urge us to fight them. They also decided to throw any trash they had with them at us both from our level and the balcony above. All the while I showed my pearly whites and interchanged between waving and the peace sign. Neither seemed to diffuse the situation, but I kept trying. A nearby Liga fan yelled at us in support, and we cheered back. A great moment of comfort to say the least.
Finally, the stadium had cleared enough to the point that we could safely move outside, where we were met by horse cops. We huddled under their wings of protection while we began coordinating our exit route with another policeman in a truck. 'L', 'G', 'A', and I decided that it would be to our benefit if we stripped our paint off. we began rubbing ourselves frantically and peeling of the acrylic from our skin. Not only was it less we had to do at home, it made us a little less of a target too. While continuing to scrub the paint off, we began to follow behind the police truck as he lead us safely to our bus. All fifty-seven of us made it on the bus, and made it home in one piece.
Giving all that you just read, I'm sure you are asking me what I was thinking. All I can say is that it was one of the best, worst decisions I have made and I would do it all over again. ¡Viva La Liga!
Close Encounters
Throughout my travels, I have had some decently close encounters with the end of my life; most pertaining to metal, moving objects with lights. In 2003 I was crossing a New York City street when a FedEx truck ran the red light and whizzed by just a few feet behind me. I don't know where I would have been going if it had hit me, but I am sure I would have gotten there on time. This last May I was in Cambodia and to cross a street there was like parting the Red Sea. Traffic didn't stop for you in Cambodia. It just goes around you as you delicately place one foot in front of the other. It was honestly one of the cooler sensations I have had.
However, the closest yet happened this last Tuesday when walking from my house here in San José, to the university. Between the two is a four lane highway, split by a grassy median–think of it as a midway checkpoint. On the rare occasion, you can walk all the way across without stopping if you time it right. When it happens, it's an atop of the world feeling. Tuesday night I thought I had it timed right. It was right around 6:30pm and I was headed to the school to meet up with some friends in order to rehearse for a talent show we had coming up on Friday. As I was crossing the first half of the highway I saw a girl I know from school named, Madison crossing from the other side. Before I greeted her, I looked to my right to make sure no cars were coming, and that it was safe for me to continue my trek across the great divide. It was clear, so I looked back to her and said hello as my right foot stepped off the curb. She responded screaming at me to stop, as she covered her eyes in preparation for the worst. I halted on my right foot, and as I turned my head a tour bus flew by inches from taking the skin off the tip of my nose. Oddly enough, I felt no adrenaline run through my body and had an unexpected calm. Enough to even be able to tell you that it was a very nice tour bus with some fancy, pink and purple lights along the top of it. I casually played it off as if I was just trying to give Madison a scare, and went on my merry way.
The next day, I saw her during break at school and thanked her for saving my life. She said sure thing and that she wouldn't have been able to sleep if she had seen the alternate ending. I told her I probably wouldn't be able to either, and again went on my merry way.
I know this event is one that a few of you are wishing I had left unsaid. But I write about it not for the purpose of evoking worry, or looking for the response of: be more careful. It's more about the thoughts I have had since about life, mine in particular.
It's unfortunate that it takes such a near miss with death to get us thinking about life, but it seems so often that is the case. Since that night, I have been analyzing what I am doing with my time, who I am impacting, what my motives are for what I do, and that each and every breath we take is truly a privelage. I can't say that I have come to any conclusions about things yet, other than I know that my time is best spent not focusing on myself and the little things that in the end don't really matter, but instead on loving the people around me and doing everything in my power to better their life. So, from here on out I want this to be my main goal, because I believe that if I am not working to make someone's day better, then I am wasting my time.
None of us is perfect, which means there is something all of us could be doing better. My hope for you is that you don't wait for such a close call with your life before you take a look at it and find what could use some fixing.
However, the closest yet happened this last Tuesday when walking from my house here in San José, to the university. Between the two is a four lane highway, split by a grassy median–think of it as a midway checkpoint. On the rare occasion, you can walk all the way across without stopping if you time it right. When it happens, it's an atop of the world feeling. Tuesday night I thought I had it timed right. It was right around 6:30pm and I was headed to the school to meet up with some friends in order to rehearse for a talent show we had coming up on Friday. As I was crossing the first half of the highway I saw a girl I know from school named, Madison crossing from the other side. Before I greeted her, I looked to my right to make sure no cars were coming, and that it was safe for me to continue my trek across the great divide. It was clear, so I looked back to her and said hello as my right foot stepped off the curb. She responded screaming at me to stop, as she covered her eyes in preparation for the worst. I halted on my right foot, and as I turned my head a tour bus flew by inches from taking the skin off the tip of my nose. Oddly enough, I felt no adrenaline run through my body and had an unexpected calm. Enough to even be able to tell you that it was a very nice tour bus with some fancy, pink and purple lights along the top of it. I casually played it off as if I was just trying to give Madison a scare, and went on my merry way.
The next day, I saw her during break at school and thanked her for saving my life. She said sure thing and that she wouldn't have been able to sleep if she had seen the alternate ending. I told her I probably wouldn't be able to either, and again went on my merry way.
I know this event is one that a few of you are wishing I had left unsaid. But I write about it not for the purpose of evoking worry, or looking for the response of: be more careful. It's more about the thoughts I have had since about life, mine in particular.
It's unfortunate that it takes such a near miss with death to get us thinking about life, but it seems so often that is the case. Since that night, I have been analyzing what I am doing with my time, who I am impacting, what my motives are for what I do, and that each and every breath we take is truly a privelage. I can't say that I have come to any conclusions about things yet, other than I know that my time is best spent not focusing on myself and the little things that in the end don't really matter, but instead on loving the people around me and doing everything in my power to better their life. So, from here on out I want this to be my main goal, because I believe that if I am not working to make someone's day better, then I am wasting my time.
None of us is perfect, which means there is something all of us could be doing better. My hope for you is that you don't wait for such a close call with your life before you take a look at it and find what could use some fixing.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Already and Only
This weekend marks the halfway point of my time here in Costa Rica. I cannot believe that I have already been here for a month and a half, and on the flip side, I can't believe it's only been a month and a half. The concept of time is simply mind-bending.
Quickly re-capping my trip thus far at 32x, I think about how much I have done, all that I have seen, and the amount of knowledge I have gained. I feel like I have seen all there is to be seen and done all there is to be done, though I know that is far from the truth. I just can't fathom what this next half of my trip will entail, other than the continuous improvement of my Spanish speaking abilities–Lord willing.
I have been blessed with the opportunity to see some of the most beautiful places, meet amazing life-long friends, and drink incredible coffee, all of which shatter any excuse I could come up with to not believe in our awesome Creator. My adventures here have been life-giving, life-enriching, and at times life-threatening. And I wouldn't trade any one of them for the world.
I also think about how I have to do the time I just did over again before I get to throw my arms around my bride-to-be and hold her while sharing tears of joy just outside security in the PDX airport. That I have to do it over again before I get to enjoy my fireplace, a cold glass of eggnog, and a movie with my family. That I have to do it over again before I am enjoying the cool, crisp mornings of winter countered by a peppermint mocha, my wool coat and scarf.
Thinking of all these things I can't help but wrestle with the two poles of already, and only.
Quickly re-capping my trip thus far at 32x, I think about how much I have done, all that I have seen, and the amount of knowledge I have gained. I feel like I have seen all there is to be seen and done all there is to be done, though I know that is far from the truth. I just can't fathom what this next half of my trip will entail, other than the continuous improvement of my Spanish speaking abilities–Lord willing.
I have been blessed with the opportunity to see some of the most beautiful places, meet amazing life-long friends, and drink incredible coffee, all of which shatter any excuse I could come up with to not believe in our awesome Creator. My adventures here have been life-giving, life-enriching, and at times life-threatening. And I wouldn't trade any one of them for the world.
I also think about how I have to do the time I just did over again before I get to throw my arms around my bride-to-be and hold her while sharing tears of joy just outside security in the PDX airport. That I have to do it over again before I get to enjoy my fireplace, a cold glass of eggnog, and a movie with my family. That I have to do it over again before I am enjoying the cool, crisp mornings of winter countered by a peppermint mocha, my wool coat and scarf.
Thinking of all these things I can't help but wrestle with the two poles of already, and only.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Opposing Soundtracks
When dealing with the statistical analysis you frequently come across the term 'normal distribution.' It says that in any given sample the majority of participants' results will land close to the average, with few outliers on either side. If one were to plot this data, it would form the shape of a bell; the reason it is called a normal bell curve. See figure below.
Another example of this graph is how much a person likes something over a given period of time. Let's use Adele's song, Rolling in the Deep to illustrate my point. If I had to guess, I'd say that you liked the song most after hearing it more than the first time. However, after you heard it a few too many times as I have, I'm sure you lost every desire to hear it again. You liked it least in the beginning and now, and the most somewhere in between. That's where the bell comes in. So, a word from the wise: If you really like a song and want to continue enjoying it, do not over play it..
Here in Costa Rica, I have found two 'soundtracks' that for me, the bell curve does not apply to. The first I awake to every morning, and that is to the sound of a cat whining it's furry, little head off. I have despised this sound from the very first wail of that self-centered feline. The second track however, is one that I have the joy of listening to just about every afternoon. It's one that I have loved incessantly and will continue to do so for the rest of my time in Costa Rica and to be honest, for the rest of my life. That is the brilliant–sometimes deafening–crashes of thunder that fill San José's skies. It's icing on the cake when they are accompanied by the sound of the tropical rain pattering against the rooftops and streets. Though I will say, the icing melts a little when I am caught walking in it instead of being lulled to sleep while laying in my bed. In any case, there is just something about thunder that I connect with. It's a great reminder of the awesome power God has, and of how miniscule a being I really am.
Another example of this graph is how much a person likes something over a given period of time. Let's use Adele's song, Rolling in the Deep to illustrate my point. If I had to guess, I'd say that you liked the song most after hearing it more than the first time. However, after you heard it a few too many times as I have, I'm sure you lost every desire to hear it again. You liked it least in the beginning and now, and the most somewhere in between. That's where the bell comes in. So, a word from the wise: If you really like a song and want to continue enjoying it, do not over play it..
Here in Costa Rica, I have found two 'soundtracks' that for me, the bell curve does not apply to. The first I awake to every morning, and that is to the sound of a cat whining it's furry, little head off. I have despised this sound from the very first wail of that self-centered feline. The second track however, is one that I have the joy of listening to just about every afternoon. It's one that I have loved incessantly and will continue to do so for the rest of my time in Costa Rica and to be honest, for the rest of my life. That is the brilliant–sometimes deafening–crashes of thunder that fill San José's skies. It's icing on the cake when they are accompanied by the sound of the tropical rain pattering against the rooftops and streets. Though I will say, the icing melts a little when I am caught walking in it instead of being lulled to sleep while laying in my bed. In any case, there is just something about thunder that I connect with. It's a great reminder of the awesome power God has, and of how miniscule a being I really am.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Negotiating with the Culture
I have been fortunate enough to grow up with Latin, cultural values and blessed with the opportunity to travel to multiple Latin American countries in the past several years. This combo has served me well in adjusting to the culture here in Costa Rica. I get that my personal-space bubble popped upon hitting the tarmac in San José, I know that I am going to be touched several times throughout any conversation with a Tico, and I have been acquainted with the cheeks touching, kiss the air greeting. Before coming here, I was even comfortable with surrendering my anxieties every time I enter any mode of transportation.
The one thing about this culture that I have not come to terms with–and probably won't–is the attention that my amigas receive when walking from A to B. What is considered cultural here would be considered harassment back home and to simply pass it by is contrary to a couple of my strongest core values–treat women with the utmost respect, protect the well-being of others even if it means negating my own. However, I know that if I were to react, I would be placing us all in a worse situation; so I don't. Though that doesn't keep me from processing the action-steps I would need to take if things were to indeed escalate. I just hope it doesn't tip over that point, even though it came quite close a couple days ago.
On the flip-side, it was interesting to learn that in the U.S. there are groups of Latinas who suffer from depression and a lack of self-confidence because men aren't whistling at them on the street, or honking at them as they drive by. That fact made it apparent to me that this is a matter of cultural understanding. The difference is that Ticos tend to take it a step or two further with the foreign women they encounter versus the native women they see on a daily basis, making it difficult to accept it solely as a cultural norm.
The one thing about this culture that I have not come to terms with–and probably won't–is the attention that my amigas receive when walking from A to B. What is considered cultural here would be considered harassment back home and to simply pass it by is contrary to a couple of my strongest core values–treat women with the utmost respect, protect the well-being of others even if it means negating my own. However, I know that if I were to react, I would be placing us all in a worse situation; so I don't. Though that doesn't keep me from processing the action-steps I would need to take if things were to indeed escalate. I just hope it doesn't tip over that point, even though it came quite close a couple days ago.
On the flip-side, it was interesting to learn that in the U.S. there are groups of Latinas who suffer from depression and a lack of self-confidence because men aren't whistling at them on the street, or honking at them as they drive by. That fact made it apparent to me that this is a matter of cultural understanding. The difference is that Ticos tend to take it a step or two further with the foreign women they encounter versus the native women they see on a daily basis, making it difficult to accept it solely as a cultural norm.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Unfathomable Love
Without fail, the waterworks flow every time I watch this video or see this drama performed live. It is an excellent demonstration of the Gospel, and the unfathomable love that our Savior has for each of us.
The video speaks adequately for itself, but it awes me to see that Jesus does not begin fighting for the girl until she begins fighting for him. Prior to that you see him longing for the relationship they had in the beginning, calling to her, and asking God to bring her back to him. Christ's love for us is so great that he wants us to choose him, but will allow us the freedom to be apart from him. This is what makes loving God real and far greater than simply following a set, list of rules. Then you see that once you desire that relationship with him, he'll fight to the end for you.
I had the privilege of watching a group of young Ticos living in some of the roughest neighborhoods in San José perform this Friday night. It was one of the most impacting experiences I have had in my time here.
The video speaks adequately for itself, but it awes me to see that Jesus does not begin fighting for the girl until she begins fighting for him. Prior to that you see him longing for the relationship they had in the beginning, calling to her, and asking God to bring her back to him. Christ's love for us is so great that he wants us to choose him, but will allow us the freedom to be apart from him. This is what makes loving God real and far greater than simply following a set, list of rules. Then you see that once you desire that relationship with him, he'll fight to the end for you.
I had the privilege of watching a group of young Ticos living in some of the roughest neighborhoods in San José perform this Friday night. It was one of the most impacting experiences I have had in my time here.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Estoy Afortunado
Today in my Spanish class we did an activity where we had to write a mock solicitation for a matchmaking website. We worked in groups and asked each other what our ideal match would look like, be like, etc. with the objective of practicing the subjunctive form of the Spanish language. Then we had to share what the other members in our group said. After mine was shared and it was made known that this person actually exists and is my fiancée, the profesora said, "Brandon está afortunado" or, Brandon is fortunate. Loosening my fingers and adjusting my neck, it's time to get sappy.
I am fortunate enough to get to spend the rest of my life with my best friend. An incredible woman of God who continues to amaze me on a daily basis. She puts up with my sense of humor, and chooses to love me in my short-comings. Her desire to care for others reflects the love that Christ has for us and is truly an inspiration to me. It is also what will make her a nurse any hospital would fight to have on its team.
When I look into her eyes I wish I never had to break my gaze. Her smile lights up the room, her joy is contagious, and hearing her laugh will turn the worst of days upside down. I love that when I am with her I never want to leave, and that people are disgusted when they see us together. When we are apart, I count the seconds until I get to see her again.
Danika, you are my sweetheart, my angel, my cuddlebug. I love you with all that I am. I'm honored to call you mine and I cannot wait for the day I get to call you my wife. I thank God daily for blessing me with you. Thank you for being so amazing.
I am fortunate enough to get to spend the rest of my life with my best friend. An incredible woman of God who continues to amaze me on a daily basis. She puts up with my sense of humor, and chooses to love me in my short-comings. Her desire to care for others reflects the love that Christ has for us and is truly an inspiration to me. It is also what will make her a nurse any hospital would fight to have on its team.
When I look into her eyes I wish I never had to break my gaze. Her smile lights up the room, her joy is contagious, and hearing her laugh will turn the worst of days upside down. I love that when I am with her I never want to leave, and that people are disgusted when they see us together. When we are apart, I count the seconds until I get to see her again.
Danika, you are my sweetheart, my angel, my cuddlebug. I love you with all that I am. I'm honored to call you mine and I cannot wait for the day I get to call you my wife. I thank God daily for blessing me with you. Thank you for being so amazing.
Day One in Costa Rica: God's Provisions
Okay, I admit that I am a little late in the game with blogging about my adventures here in Costa Rica. It's already been a month and some odd days, and I have experienced more than I previously thought I could handle. So these will be my best efforts in retracing my steps and bringing y'all up to speed. Yes, I did just use y'all; I do that sometimes.
My time in Costa Rica started abruptly with adventure. I flew in with a few of my friends also in my program--Dana, Shawnté, and Amy--a week early in order to spend some time with a couple Fox alums in Cahuita, a chillaxed reggae town where they live.
The plan: Land in San José, take a taxi to Dana's dad's friend's best friend, Andy's house to leave our surplus luggage we didn't need for the week in a 'safe' place. I'll pause momentarily for you to process that last sentence... Alright, let's continue. From Dana's.. friend's house, take a taxi to the bus station, then take the bus to Cahuita, and meet Chris and Jenn (the Fox alums) to stay with them for the week. Easy, right?
Immediately upon exiting the airport we were bombarded by taxistas trying to grab our luggage in order to secure our business. Fortunately, the one with the micro-bus reigned victorious. We gave the driver the 'address' to Andy's house and we were on our way. I say address with care because here in Costa Rica, there really aren't addresses. More so directions via landmarks, whether they currently exist, or did once upon a time. We ended up making it in relatively good time. This is where the news was broken to me that I was supposed to have my carry-on packed with a week's worth of clothes.
While frantically re-arranging my luggage the girls tried to figure out where the bus station was that we needed to get to. It was just when we were losing all hope that Andy's daughter (who speaks English) walked through the door. We quickly eased her anxiety of the four strangers in her house by introducing ourselves, and sidetracking her by pleading for help. She kindly agreed, and began researching. She figured out that the bus station was in a nearby province called La Huela. However, she doubted that we would be able to get tickets for the same day as buses on this route tend to fill up quick. Nonetheless, we were determined. She called us a cab, we said our goodbyes, and headed off. In the San José rain.
That is when the taxi driver got lost. He had made a call to his company asking if they knew where the Caribeños bus station in La Huela was, but to no avail. Dana, being quick on her feet had the taxi driver call Jenn to ask for help. She made the driver aware that the station was indeed in San José and not La Huela, and we were back in the race. An unnecessary stop to the ATM and a currency explanation by our driver later, we were at the bus station. We thanked the driver, exited the car into the rain, and began to search for the correct ticket window. For the sake of time--we found it, bought the last four tickets, grabbed the last four seats with just under ten minutes to spare.
The ride went smoothly, minus the Tico (a person from Costa Rica) showing his abs off to Shawnté, and being obnoxiously loud for its duration. Then we get to our stop in Cahuita--about 4 and a half hours later--where they let us off. It was pitch black, we were on the side of the road, and Chris and Jenn were no where to be found. Should we walk somewhere, or stay put? We saw a car pulled off the side of the road down from us a ways, was that them? After deciding it probably wouldn't be the greatest idea to approach a foreign car, in a foreign place at night we decided to walk the opposite way. Soon after, we see two bikers who three people with backpacks, and one with a rolling suitcase. They questioned our names, and we responded in elation. We had made it. Alive.
They lead us up a steep and rocky road into the jungle where their humble abode awaited our arrival. Jenn made us an abundant amount of patacones (fried plantains), the best possible meal we could have asked for after a days travel, and a continual craving of ours since. We enjoyed each others company for a short while and then headed to bed for the first time in forty-eight hours.
My time in Costa Rica started abruptly with adventure. I flew in with a few of my friends also in my program--Dana, Shawnté, and Amy--a week early in order to spend some time with a couple Fox alums in Cahuita, a chillaxed reggae town where they live.
The plan: Land in San José, take a taxi to Dana's dad's friend's best friend, Andy's house to leave our surplus luggage we didn't need for the week in a 'safe' place. I'll pause momentarily for you to process that last sentence... Alright, let's continue. From Dana's.. friend's house, take a taxi to the bus station, then take the bus to Cahuita, and meet Chris and Jenn (the Fox alums) to stay with them for the week. Easy, right?
Immediately upon exiting the airport we were bombarded by taxistas trying to grab our luggage in order to secure our business. Fortunately, the one with the micro-bus reigned victorious. We gave the driver the 'address' to Andy's house and we were on our way. I say address with care because here in Costa Rica, there really aren't addresses. More so directions via landmarks, whether they currently exist, or did once upon a time. We ended up making it in relatively good time. This is where the news was broken to me that I was supposed to have my carry-on packed with a week's worth of clothes.
While frantically re-arranging my luggage the girls tried to figure out where the bus station was that we needed to get to. It was just when we were losing all hope that Andy's daughter (who speaks English) walked through the door. We quickly eased her anxiety of the four strangers in her house by introducing ourselves, and sidetracking her by pleading for help. She kindly agreed, and began researching. She figured out that the bus station was in a nearby province called La Huela. However, she doubted that we would be able to get tickets for the same day as buses on this route tend to fill up quick. Nonetheless, we were determined. She called us a cab, we said our goodbyes, and headed off. In the San José rain.
That is when the taxi driver got lost. He had made a call to his company asking if they knew where the Caribeños bus station in La Huela was, but to no avail. Dana, being quick on her feet had the taxi driver call Jenn to ask for help. She made the driver aware that the station was indeed in San José and not La Huela, and we were back in the race. An unnecessary stop to the ATM and a currency explanation by our driver later, we were at the bus station. We thanked the driver, exited the car into the rain, and began to search for the correct ticket window. For the sake of time--we found it, bought the last four tickets, grabbed the last four seats with just under ten minutes to spare.
The ride went smoothly, minus the Tico (a person from Costa Rica) showing his abs off to Shawnté, and being obnoxiously loud for its duration. Then we get to our stop in Cahuita--about 4 and a half hours later--where they let us off. It was pitch black, we were on the side of the road, and Chris and Jenn were no where to be found. Should we walk somewhere, or stay put? We saw a car pulled off the side of the road down from us a ways, was that them? After deciding it probably wouldn't be the greatest idea to approach a foreign car, in a foreign place at night we decided to walk the opposite way. Soon after, we see two bikers who three people with backpacks, and one with a rolling suitcase. They questioned our names, and we responded in elation. We had made it. Alive.
They lead us up a steep and rocky road into the jungle where their humble abode awaited our arrival. Jenn made us an abundant amount of patacones (fried plantains), the best possible meal we could have asked for after a days travel, and a continual craving of ours since. We enjoyed each others company for a short while and then headed to bed for the first time in forty-eight hours.
Time to Use This Thing
If you look at the history of this blog, you will notice one, lonely post sitting there. From 2009. A couple of years ago I was inspired to start a blog, and did. Unfortunately that is where it ended. So here I am now, dusting off the cover and putting my pen to the paper--fingers to the keys--once again.
I am currently in a stage of figuring out what to do for the rest of my life, continually examining my heart and its alignment with God's, and working towards spending the (Lord willing) many years of life I have left with the woman of my dreams. All while living in San José, Costa Rica to learn me some Spanish. I tell you this, because it's what is in my heart and on my mind so it is most likely what you will be reading about should you continue to follow along.
I am currently in a stage of figuring out what to do for the rest of my life, continually examining my heart and its alignment with God's, and working towards spending the (Lord willing) many years of life I have left with the woman of my dreams. All while living in San José, Costa Rica to learn me some Spanish. I tell you this, because it's what is in my heart and on my mind so it is most likely what you will be reading about should you continue to follow along.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
