livin the pura vida

Gloves & Deadlines

2011-04-05T20:02:00.006-06:00

The deadline has been extended! Due to some promised donations still arriving, I'm going to extend the deadline to May 1st to allow for the possibility of sending a surplus to the clinic. (Plus, I still have a babysitting job this week.) I'll send a check that day if I've surpassed my goal.

Because of these donors, our ugly little bear was gifted some rad Spiderman gloves* this week:
Christine D
Luke/Arushi
Emily R (again!)

I really can't thank you guys enough.

*in other words, if I had used the thermometer method of fundraising tracking, it would be filled 86% of the way

New total: $707.98
Amount left to reach goal: $103.45

And as always, I find it important to recognize those donors who have helped me thus far:

Kathleen S
Chester L
Raoul/Lynn
Marie D
Marisa H
Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

Remember: any extra money will go in a check to Pro-PAPA Missions.

To donate, you can:
1. Send a check to me:

137 W 116th St, Apt 6
New York, NY 10026

OR

2. Click on this link (PayPal keeps 3%)

Thanks for your support!

Honduras Trip, By the Numbers

2011-03-25T14:15:00.008-07:00

Number of patients served during entire brigade: over 600
Final Cost: 6 days @ $30 + insurance = $204 (+ $450 flight = $654)
Medical supplies total: $157.43
Donor support: $318.01
Babysitting funding: $296.00
Number of patients I helped fit for new glasses: over 120
Number of patients I personally registered: over 200
Amount still to raise: $197.42
Days left to fundraise: 7
Diseases I contracted: 0 (that I'm aware of right now)
Number of patients who hit on me: about 5

Thank you SO MUCH for your generous support:

Kathleen S
Chester L
Raoul/Lynn
Marie D
Marisa H
Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

Remember: any extra money will go in a check to Pro-PAPA Missions.

To donate, you can:
1. Send a check to me:

137 W 116th St, Apt 6
New York, NY 10026

OR

2. Click on this link (PayPal keeps 3%)

Thanks for your support!

Quick Update before Takeoff

2011-03-08T21:34:00.004-07:00

Before I fly out to Honduras on Thursday night, I want to give an update to interested parties.

I decided to increase my fundraising goal after talking to my aunt on the phone the other day. It looks like they could benefit from vitamins and other essential goods, so I'll be heading to a nearby CVS to fill up a box of goodies worth about $125.

Therefore, the new goal is $725.

However, that increase is just about the same amount of my babysitting earnings this week; therefore this bear unfortunately won't be adding to his wardrobe.

To sum it up, the new total is $584.48! That leaves $140.52 to reach my goal! As I said, though, any additional money will be used to buy goods for the clinic OR put into a check to send them. I'll be raising money until April 1st.

Thanks again to all of the generous donors that have not only provided financial support, but also have motivated and encouraged me in my efforts next week at the clinic:

Raoul/Lynn
Marie D
Marisa H
Cara/Kevin
Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

To donate, you can:
1. Send a check to me at:

137 W 116th St, Apt 6
New York, NY 10026

OR

2. Click on this link (PayPal keeps 3%)

Thanks for your support!

Well NOW we're really getting somewhere

2011-03-03T21:03:00.008-07:00

Four more donors and one babysitting job later, we're looking at a new total of $484.48! Amazing. There are still three more weeks of fundraising, and this bear is practically ready to go out in public already.

Thanks, new donors!

Raoul/Lynn
Marie D (and thanks for the bear's earring request)
Marisa H
Cara/Kevin

And of course, I must recognize all the previous donors:

Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

You all are fantastic, and I truly appreciate your help.

Once again, the information:

(*3% of your online donation will go to PayPal by clicking on this link. Otherwise you can mail a check to 137 W 116th St, Apt 6, New York, NY 10026.)

Details:

Updates: new blog every few days to post first names of givers and the updated total fundraised (email me if you don't want your first name listed.)
Goal: $600 (any funds raised exceeding this goal will go in a check mailed to the clinic)
Deadline: April 1st, even though I will be volunteering March 11-17.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FACTS ABOUT HONDURAS (from WorldVision): Today, the government of Honduras has implemented a national poverty reduction strategy to combat the 28 percent unemployment rate and to help the 51 percent of people who live below the poverty line. Education reform is a key element to this strategy, including the provision of school food for all children. Other goals of the strategic plan are debt relief, health-care reform, utilization of national resources, and international cooperation.

Despite reform efforts, the quality of healthcare is still in decline due to a scarcity of medicines, supplies, human resources, and facilities. One out of four Honduran children under five years of age suffers from chronic malnutrition. In some rural communities in the western area of the country, that total can reach 88 percent. Poor housing conditions (including hay roofs, dirt floors, and interior cooking fires) also contribute to ill health among thousands of families.

Fundraising Update

2011-02-28T21:48:00.006-07:00

In my initial fundraising blog I posted that I would update you every few days on the fundraising. Well this time there's not much to report except my last week babysitting job brought the total to $258.27. I'm almost halfway to the $600 goal!

As you can see, these additional funds earned this bear a hat and a tattoo. (For those of you who are unaware, I decided not to do a thermometer to show the amount of funds raised, but rather to dress a random cartoon animal figure as more money comes in. Much more exciting, no?)

Thanks again to my generous supporters from last week:
Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

Once again, here's all of the info, including the link to donate:

(*3% of your online donation will go to PayPal by clicking on this link. Otherwise you can mail a check to 137 W 116th St, Apt 6, New York, NY 10026.)

Details:

Updates: new blog every couple days to post first names of givers and the updated total fundraised (email me if you don't want your first name listed.)
Goal: $600 (to be completely transparent, my costs are $30/day (I'll be doing the brigade for six days) and over $450 for the flight; if I raise any more than my goal (God willing!) the extra money will go in a check mailed to the clinic)
Deadline: April 1st, even though I will be volunteering March 11-17.

I appreciate your support!

Mama Bear Needs a New Pair of... Pants!

2011-02-25T12:59:00.004-07:00

I'm overwhelmed by the immediate generosity! Only two days have passed, and I've already raised $180 from you all! (Well, $173.27 after Paypal took its share.) That's almost 30%!

To make this a little more fun than a boring fundraiser thermometer, I decided to dress this bear as I reach my goal. Don't ask me why, but just go with it.

Thus far, you have the following people to thank for this creepy bear's shoes and underwear:

Emily R
Emily L
Julie/Mel
Bonnie/Anson
Harold B

(Shoes and underwear account for 30% of one's daily wardrobe, right?)

What's next, you ask? Donate to find out! Once again, here's the donate button* and miscellaneous info:

(*3% of your online donation will go to PayPal by clicking on this link. Otherwise you can mail a check to 137 W 116th St, Apt 6, New York, NY 10026.)

Details:

Updates: new blog every couple days to post first names of givers and the updated total fundraised (email me if you don't want your first name listed.)
Goal: $600 (to be completely transparent, my costs are $30/day (I'll be doing the brigade for six days) and over $450 for the flight; if I raise any more than my goal (God willing!) the extra money will go in a check mailed to the clinic)
Deadline: April 1st, even though I will be volunteering March 11-17.

I appreciate your support!

Heading to Honduras

2011-02-23T16:54:00.013-07:00

It's that time to head back to Central America. But this time, I won't be working in a rainforest office, nor will I be going for jogs during which I have to fight off vicious stray dogs, nor will I be rappelling down waterfalls.

Nope, this time will be different.

A few months ago I emailed my aunt, Sr. Laurinda, about visiting her and helping at her medical clinic in rural Honduras during my 2011 spring break. She put me in contact with the right people, and, long story short, now I'm heading there in about two weeks.

Even though I'm doing some babysitting fundraising of my own, I thought I'd check to see if any of my family and friends were feeling generous. (And there might be a fun postcard on its way to the supporters.) Read below for more information, and if you would like to donate click here:
(FYI: 3% of your online donation will go to PayPal by clicking on this link. Otherwise you can mail a check to 137 W 116th St, Apt 6, New York, NY 10026.)

Details:

Updates: new blog every couple days to post first names of givers and the updated total fundraised (email me if you don't want your first name listed.)
Goal: $600 (to be completely transparent, my costs are $30/day (I'll be doing the brigade for six days) and over $450 for the flight; if I raise any more than my goal (God willing!) the extra money will go in a check mailed to the clinic)
Deadline: April 1st, even though I will be volunteering March 11-17.

I appreciate your support!

Ode to a Rainforest Base

2010-07-07T16:32:00.005-06:00

When I have to face a situation that me cuesta mucho, I try to make it funny just to ease the tension. So, on my last day here at base, I want to dedicate this poem to all of the fun and dynamic people I've met along the way here in Costa Rica. Thanks for everything, chicos. I will miss you.

It’s impossible to despedir
to you all and to this place
without a long poem of bromas about
such a crazy, dramatic base.

Enough happens here
to create a few reality shows;
bastante dynamic personalities
among all gringos y ticos.

When I make my way up,
into the office each day,
I wonder what chismas I’ll hear
en la area de café.

Maybe there’s a new pareja at CRROBS,
or the van broke down again?
Perhaps King attacked a porcupine,
or even an escaped chicken?

Funny situations and randomness
can keep us talking all week:
the broken gate, the missing dishes,
“no hay luz,” our roof with a leak,

nights of cold and barking dogs,
the secret guerras for the eggs,
lines for washing machines, no internet,
and bites all over our legs.

New fears appear and reappear
in day-to-day rainforest lives:
mice, spiders, attack dogs, steep hills,
and, of course, the impending mudslides.

There are Sylvestre’s sneaky moves,
the office’s invasion by colibris,
Bandido’s funny walk, King’s bad smell,
and Tejas’ role as the village tease.

But it’s the people who make this life
so interesting and fun;
like Joe’s and Laura’s inability
to hold back on some cheesy pun.

Like Esther’s love for animals
or Debbie’s love to save the trees.
Like Shawn’s love for the gym (and himself),
or Orlando’s love to tease.

It’s Katie’s understanding
of our ridiculous requests;
It’s Kelly’s and Mariana’s favors
because of their large chests.

It’s Carola’s, Lisa’s and Keltie's
endless ability to be silly,
but it’s their petite size, too,
that makes them the most chilly.

I’m going to miss Esteban, too,
with his dimples and big smile.
Dunia's energy and funny English
make up for email replies that take a while.

It’s also the phrases I hear around me at base,
like the affirmative “cool mon” from Jim,
or Larry’s daily “hola perros!”,
and my morning “Hola guapa!” from Carmen.

There’s Danny’s loud-ass car,
the constant compliments to Maggie’s arms;
Antonio’s startling “Ahs!”,
and Donna’s southern charms.

Stevie’s sweet and innocent nature
contrasts Emma’s tough attitude,
while Kathleen’s gift for baking
contrasted Tom’s old, moldy food.

Scott is the one to ask
if you need something made or bought,
and Greg was the one to ask
if you needed surf or Spanish taught.

In the end, it’s all a joke –
Some kind of variety show;
and I sure am gonna miss it,
but that’s just how things go.

At least my roommates can look forward
to no dirty dishes piling up,
or no baskets of laundry at the machines,
and no loud laugh to interrupt.

So in order to sum it all up finally
and say one last thing en mi voz:
I’m going to miss you all;
Buena suerte y adios.

Paradise Fights

2010-07-07T16:29:00.003-06:00

In day-to-day life, I'm constantly reminded of Dane Cook, a very quotable comedian among the Gen Y audience. Many times I think about his situations - even if exaggerated or completely made up - and wish they'd happen in my life. You know, just to make everyday life a tad less mundane.

Well last weekend, I think I one-upped Mr. Cook.

One of his stand-up routines defines nothing fights as stupid fights he hears between couples that are clearly about the most trivial topics, such as about items on a grocery list. With this example, Dane goes on to say that he likes to involve himself in these fights in order to further exaggerate a fight that shouldn't have even begun in the first place.

Even though I declare to have "one-upped" his nothing fights, I didn't join any fights to benefit my own amusement. I did, however, delight in the fact that I was sitting on a beach enjoying a tropical paradise while others were about to explode in anger over a boyfriend's sarcastic comment.

I don't know if it was the sound of the waves hitting the shore, the rustle of the palms in the soothing Pacific coastal breeze, the sipping of frozen drinks and fresh fruit smoothies, or the exotic Costa Rican birds flying above; but something was upsetting Playa Dominical's guests.

It was hilarious enough for me to see two arguments - in English - in such a beautiful, peaceful setting within a couple hours of one another. This was more beach excitement than I had expected, and I put full attention into the activities at hand.

In one of these dramatic beach episodes, the girl yelled at her guy to chip in for a meal and stop being so cheap with the trip expenses. This was just as they were concluding their meal at the beachside restaurant, Tortilla Flats. (Which, by the way, is a hostel bar that errs on the side of cheap.)

But this one wasn't as exciting as the next one a few hours later.

This episode began with a "pop" after which I flipped my melting body around and focused on a big SUV rental car that had just hit one of the palm trees. Outside of the damaged car stood the boyfriend (or so it appeared based on the situation that ensued afterward). The girlfriend got out of the car and tried to verbally abuse him for the next twenty minutes. I say "tried to" because, with his agile, cat-like skills, he was simultaneously trying to outsmart her with zig-zags and walking in circles. After all, he had a beer in hand that was waiting for his undivided attention. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't an alligator. She was able to stay in his face yelling. Sadly the beach breeze carried away the sounds, and all I picked up from the whole fight was, "You're such an a#shole!"

After 20-25 minutes of watching him avoid eye contact from his fuming girlfriend, I finally began to lose interest.

About 10 minutes after that, I glanced down the beach to see him in the distance hand-in-hand with his... beer. Yep, looks like the dude - and his beer - won.

Ahhh... paradise....

Daily Stresses of the Rainforest Lifestyle

2010-07-06T17:28:00.000-06:00

Eh... would we call them 'stresses?'

I guess it's more accurate to say, "discomforts in an otherwise hassle-free day."

But everything's relative. We rationally are aware how stress-free our lives are, and we make fun of ourselves - and each other - when we complain about our "discomforts." So much so, in fact, that we began keeping mental track of our "daily stresses list." I'm sure I'm going to look back on this entry and wonder why I ever left Costa Rica for something else. In any regard, I felt the need to finally document it - quite possibly to continue the mockery of our ridiculous lives. What better way to do it than in a poem?

It's the rock climb to get up our base's steep hill;
it's trying to find the Raid for a quick spider kill.
The tube under the sink detaching itself,
it's the little shops that can't break any large bill.

Taxistas get lost and decide to blame you.
The power goes out right after applying shampoo.
The static connection interrupts every call;
it's the house walls you can hear everything through.

Our base's gate gets locked, but only the boss owns a key;
working in the office, I got stung by a bee.
It's the internet dying at the most crucial moments;
it's the all-night Stray Dog Barking Symphony.

It's filing my nails on my skin from bug bites.
Blankets and layers are not enough on cold summer nights.
There's nowhere close to go when you run out of wine;
couch cushions are questionably filled with hundreds of mites.

You lose your clothes to moth holes, washing machines, mold;
you take showers in water that's ridiculously cold.
It's the fear of possible mudslides around;
It's taking time to straighten hair that will never hold.

Dogs may chase me when I go for a run.
My eyes open the moment my room fills with sun.
I may lose food to scurrying mice at night.
But all of this makes rainforest life comparable to none.

I'm going to miss it.

Who Put Ham in My Pants?

2010-06-08T14:10:00.004-06:00

I think I get much more of a workout defending myself from the devil-possessed guard dogs that populate Costa Rica's local villages than I do from the shoot-me-now rainforest jogs around base that are meant more for rock climbing than jogging.

I'm still not sure exactly how I begin to become so winded when the attack is taking place. Regardless of how the unfortunate inception happens, I'm going to argue that the combination of

1) my stick-waving technique (for ankle protection),
2) my sissy knee-hiking stride,
3) my increased heart rate as I lock my eyes with the hungry carnivore, and
3) my high-pitched screams

make for pretty good exercise.

So here's a tip to the producers of "The Biggest Loser: Costa Rica Edition" looking for the next big weight-loss competition*: any time contestants attempt to snack, force them to stuff that forbidden food into their running shorts and let 'em loose - with a stick, of course - into a pack of angry Costa Rican village dogs.

*be sure to check their hearts before including this in the show

Blinded by the Hair Goop

2010-03-27T14:20:00.005-07:00

After just returning from Nicaragua and Guatemala, I learned that the shiny hair was not a male Latin thing. It was clearly a male Costa Rican thing.

Yesterday, I was standing on the bus aisle keeping my balance by holding onto one of the bars attached to the top of the bus seats. Something pricked my fingers. "Ow," I thought. "What is that?" I'll tell you what it was:

Too much hair gel in some guy's hair.

Men here go through a bottle of the hair gel per week; at least, it seems like it must be that way. All of the evidence is there: you can smell the gel from about 50m away (although, that can also be attributed to the cologne baths they take); their hair does not move when strong winds hit it; the hair shine blinds you when a light hits it; and I've watched men apply it, glob after glob, on the bus in the morning on their way to work or school.

"The Tico Ken Doll" look can be overwhelming to the senses, but it is definitely appreciated company after spending most of my days around instructors and students who haven't given themselves a decent shower for weeks. No, thanks. I prefer the prickly, blinding shine.

Christmas Just Isn't the Same

2009-11-15T11:52:00.002-07:00

Snow | Rain.

Pine trees | Palm trees.

Classical, easy-listening music | Loud, pelvic-thrusting reggaeton.

Coats | Flip-flops.

Yes, Costa Rica Christmas decorations are everywhere. Of course there are - this is a Catholic-heavy country where locals make the sign of the cross every time they pass a church. But something is wrong about seeing the tawdry, shiny decorations when it is pouring down rain and your hearing the thumping Latin cacaphony blasting out the windows of the 1980s piles of rust racing down the street.

I've been through this before. China didn't exactly give me the same nostalgic feeling I get every year when November comes around. And reasonably so: the official religion is atheism. The decorations they DID have were inaccurate and substandard. That's what you get when you decorate with westerners' factory "leftovers", including posters of Santa hugging giraffes and 'Merry Christmas banners' drawn with bunnies and blue ribbons. But because it was cold, because there was maybe an inch of [acid] snow, and because my friends were all getting into Christmas, it made up for it. It still felt a little bit like my favorite time of year.

Rainforest definitely derails the "happy holiday feelings" that accompany this season for me. However, this is why I move to other countries, right? To experience the culture? I talked with our base's maid, Doña Carmen, last week about the Christmas Season. She said she loves this time of year. She loves the feeling and the weather. Now, I didn't hear the next few things she said as I tried to unscramble my bewilderment of the fact that there is actually a different 'feeling' among a climate that doesn't change, but I think she explained how the air is fresher and there are different flowers this time of year. It's the first full month without rain following the rainy season (a.k.a. winter), and it is tad chillier.

Maybe there is something to Costa Rica's Christmas season. I may not "feel" the same nostalgia of the local Ticos, but there is at least something TO feel. I can adopt it, bright and tacky and all, as my green, flowery, fresh, rainforest Christmas. ¡Pura vida!

Fire Ants, Organic Cacao, Broken Bike Chain, Screaming Monkeys

2009-10-25T17:12:00.007-07:00

Life is good.

My final day with Adam and Keke - spent in Puerto Viejo - was full of excitement, danger, beauty, laughter, retrospection, flavor, relaxation, activity, pain, exhaustion, contentment, hurry, serenity, wonder, curiosity, exhiliration, disappointment, appreciation, badinage (humor), serendipity, and unpredictability.

(Patience, please, while I practice my new GRE vocabulary in my blogs.)

Waking up in the hostel's second-most luxurious suite (thanks, Adam and Keke!) does have its benefits. We may have woken up to rain, discouraging us from watching the sunrise, but walking out onto our own personal deck (away from the 564 mirrors in our ecclectic room) to lie in a hammock under the steady sound of rain was just as gratifying. I didn't even care about the sand fleas were biting up my feet and ankles. As A & K woke up, I was nervous they'd decide to favor indolence, relaxing at the hostel (Rockin' J's) over biking around; but these super-adaptive travel compañeros know how to live up their trip regardless of weather.

So we got in our suits, put our valuables in plastic bags, and were on our way to Bread & Chocolate (pictured right) in the steady drizzle. We enjoyed another two-hour meal with ridiculously-satisfied taste buds. (I have to take a moment to reflect on the homemade bread in the homemade French toast topped with homemade cream and homemade strawberry jam; sharing a plate of homemade cinnamon pancakes in the shape of a sun, and a side of fresh fruit underneath homemade granola. Did I mention their French press for their fresh cafe con leche?) As we tried to take our minds off the gluttony that had just taken place, we made a game out of guessing the homeland of our hot waiter. Our guesses? Belgium, Germany, France, Croatia, Italy, and Spain. The answer? Maryland.

Yeah. Way off.

About ten pounds heavier and feeling more content than ever, we got back on our wet bikes to be the only ones fully embracing the Caribbean warm rain. I got my bus ticket, we replaced Adam's pedal-resistent bike, and we were on our way to a remote beach, Punta Uva - about 10km south. Along the way we delt with a ruthless idiota behind the wheel who almost ran Adam over. Then there was my implacable chain on my bike. Between the frustration of that stupid thing and my anger with the caballo driver, I felt the intrepid urge to show him how I felt with a simple, assumably universal, hand motion. (He either didn't understand it or he was ebullient being a prick, because every time he passed us that day on the bumpy, detritus-filled road, he smiled and honked.) But my growing frustration was palliated when one of the chain malfunctions happened in front of a "Chocolart" sign.

"Se vende chocolate." (We sell chocolate.)

It's obvious what happened next. Five minutes later we had ridden down a narrow dirt road through the jungle and were parking our bikes around a palm tree. The fire ants that attacked my already-sand-flea-bitten feet couldn't enervate me - I was entering a chocolate farm in the middle of the rainforest where homemade chocolate was made weekly. Once parked and fighting away the ants, we approached my paradise.

Okay, okay, the mud path was NOT fudge, the thatched roof was NOT liquorice, the hut was NOT lined in shnosberry wallpaper, there were NO Umpa-Lumpas, the tours were of a farm and NOT an enigmatic factory, and the man making the chocolate was NOT Willy Wonka. In fact, he only had a few old bowls of dried chocolate and only sold about nine sticks of the chocolate he had left. On the bright side, we learned how it was made (not by magic chickens and Umpa-Lumpas), how many cacao seeds were in cacao fruit (80), and I ingested the freshest, best chocolate I ever had as we looked at a secluded view over the tropical rainforest listening to the sonorous noises of frogs and birds. Needless to say, he had to make more chocolate after Adam's, Keke's and my sweet teeth attacked his little chocolate bungalow.

Ten minutes later we parked our bikes on the empty, picturesque beaches of Punta Uva where we floated between waves discussing our Bucket List. (Mine, of course, consistently includes winning a radio contest, being fluent in Spanish - maybe Chinese - getting good at drumming and piano playing, receiving my SCUBA certification, biking across America, having a family, going to Switzerland, getting my masters degree, doing the splitz, doing the Camino de Santiago pilgrimmage in northern Spain, going on an African safari, suring at least 5 meters down a wave, volunteering in a poor country, and going to the Olympics. That last one would've been accomplished if China hadn't been so supercilious and illogical. Thanks, China.) Aside from the specs of people we saw on a distant cliff in front of an unbelievable scene of fog and mountains, we were the only ones out there, reflecting on life and enjoying the water as the sun made its way through the parting clouds.

But my time was in the hands of my 4pm bus to San Jose, and we had to get going. I didn't seem too concerned when I recommended we stop at the adorable Miss Milly's Deli nestled perfectly among the luscious, overgrown tropical plants to enjoy sandwiches, hummus, and wine on the quaint little porch. And my urgency was curtailed even more when we stopped to hear the loudest, most obscure, and most interesting animal sounds coming from high in the canopy.

How do I explain this sound in a blog...?

Think of a growl, a ribbet, an irascible bark, then combine them to increase the decibel level about five times. That's the sound of a howler monkey (pictured right) - scary if you don't know what it is, and awesome if you do.

But I had a bus to catch and a bike chain that broke every five minutes. (Thanks Adam, Mr. Fix-It.) When I got back to the hostel and changed out of my sticky suit and sandy clothes, I had a receptionist and a taxi driver helping me chase a bus for which I was already 10 minutes late. Thank God for Tico time. I arrived literally 3 seconds before my bus to San Jose did. "¡Qué suerte tienes!" (How lucky you are!) exclaimed Pedro, my new taxi driver amigo.

My thoughts exactly.

Vagabonds That Board Our Buses

2009-10-15T16:30:00.006-06:00

A veces (sometimes) I get lucky enough to get on a bus in which a paramour American Idol boards hoping to make a few extra colones. A ride of this past week was one of these unforgettable moments.

Before his friend, the bus driver, picked him up on the side of the road without demanding bus fare, my ride was pretty boring: listening to the men obsessively talking about last night’s futbol game, monitoring the balancing techniques of a young mom with two kids and ten bags stacked on her lap, observing the bus driver’s stellar ability to maneuver the bus’ massive manual stick while spotting and saluting his friends out the window, and watching traffic waiting for the serpentine moves of a showboating caballo on his moto to end in disaster. But all of that was about to change when I saw that ebullient, bright-eyed vagrant hop aboard and take center stage on my public bus. And there he was, facing his lucky new fan club of eight (including myself, ears perched, paper and pen in hand, ready for his signature upon performance completion, of course), with the composure of a star.

He began.

It took five seconds before I wished I was Simon Cowell so I could shake my head, hold up my hand, and tell him that his dreadful cacophonous singing needed to end right then and there. But I didn’t work for FOX, nor was he a contestant. I was stuck on a bus with a mendicant who unfortunately thought louder tones and higher notes would earn him more money.

After five minutes passed and my ears went numb, he came around to collect what he viewed as condign tips, and I had a decision to make: to tip or not to tip? Pity him or encourage his poor choice of money-making entertainment? (Some of the beggars just try to sell candy - maybe that's an option for him?) I decided to find a happy balance by donating under ₡200 (about $0.40). When I ferreted out my little change purse, I found a few old receipts, a credit card, a license, and some big bills. I had nothing to give him. I opted for the Simon Cowell route, in my own Costa Rica bus passenger style: put on my head phones, look out the window, and use my taciturn body language to hint to him to never put anyone through that again.

I Live in the Happiest Place?

2009-07-11T08:23:00.002-06:00

I just wrote a blog for work called "Voted the Happiest Place" based on a study just completed in Britain. Check it out. It describes how our students react to being here, and it links to you the CNN article as well as the official study. It's pretty interesting - NOT because Costa Rica ranked well, but because it raises the discussion of what makes people happy/content. The study, titled Happy Planet Index, ranked these nations on such things as life expectancy, environment, life satisfaction, and civil conflicts.

Stuck at Bally's Total Fitness

2009-07-04T12:39:00.003-06:00

You know those crazy Bally's commercials where everyone looks like they stopped by the gym to spray themselves with water before heading to a modeling shoot? While no Bally's Total Fitness exists down here, I unknowingly joined its Costa Rican equivalent.

This morning at MultiSpa in a "Fuerza" class, I noticed 1) everyone's tight, muscle-expressive athletic outfits, 2) their obsession with looking at themselves in the mirror, 3) their skin glistened like a super model on the beach, 4) the grand total body fat in the room (of everyone but me) was enough for one forearm skin graft, 5) an unnecessary excitement in the form of "whoo hoo" shouts, and 6) my sopping wet KC Royals' t-shirt and cut-off pants did not belong here. This then led me to the conclusion that the 10% Adidas discount card they gave me when I signed up for MultiSpa was not a promotion - it was a suggestion.

I'm surprised it's been four months, and they haven't approached me to "reconsider" my look at the gym. Although, I'm starting to think they use a more passive-aggressive approach: the interesting glare the desk worker gives me in the morning, my class instructor's constant comments about my t-shirts, the up-and-down glance I get by the trainers, and the Adidas discount cards they tape to my locker while I'm working out. Okay, that last one's a little exaggerated, but you get the idea.

Too bad I'm stubborn. I'm not going to succumb to becoming a gym model. And that's that.

Fun Translations

2009-06-27T19:06:00.002-06:00

Almost every day I hear new phrases in Spanish that I hear from a Tico, the newspaper, or the people on TV. But only once or twice a week do I hear words or phrases that make me laugh thinking about their literal translation. My favorite one this week? Drum roll please...

English phrase:
surrogate mother

Spanish phrase:
madre de alquiler

Literal English translation:
mother of rent

Now that's getting right to the point.

Finding the Source

2009-06-20T19:27:00.003-06:00

3:15am: Scratching the tops of my feet.
3:42am: Scratching my left ankle.
3:58am: Scratching the back of my left calf.
4:10am: Only 35 minutes left to fall back to sleep.
4:43am: Still scratching, on different spots on both legs.
4:45am: Alarm is ringing.

For some reason, bites and rashes itch most when I'm trying to get some sleep.

As I remove my covers, I scratch my legs a few more times to ensure they're completely raw. Looking down at the red, heated spots on my ankles, feet, knees, calves, and thighs leads me to wonder: from where did these come THIS time?

Needless to say, I spend a lot of time washing my bedding and sweeping out my room. Each time I perform any one of these tasks, it's likely that I have left at least 43 bugs widowed or orphaned.

But it's not always related to the cities of bugs nesting somewhere in my house. I have learned not to sit on the beach too long people- and surfer- watching. Sand fleas. I also learned NOT to go without pants on a zip-lining canopy tour. Those gnats passed up 7 students, 3 chaperons, and 4 zip-lining guides to get to my exposed, sweet skin.

Recently, however, some mysterious poison ivy/oak has been attacking me at different places on my leg. I have yet to find the source, although I'm thinking the overgrowth on the sidewalk near the gym is one of the top-runners.

Cheers to a life where I never have to use a nail file! I have my rough, itchy skin to thank for that one.

Tree Day?

2009-06-16T00:02:00.002-06:00

June 15th is Dia del Arbol. It's a day to encourage people to plant trees. However, in La Nacion this morning, there was a full page ad that looked like this:

I'm not sure if this would fly in the States. Someone would sue someone for an increase in teen pregnancies in mid-March next year.

On the Driver's Schedule

2009-06-14T18:27:00.003-06:00

June 14, 2009

A snack. A cat nap. A drink of Coke. A chat with the local Soda owner. A quick skim of La Nacion’s latest news. Staring at the clouds. These are all completely justifiable reasons for not allowing the line of passengers into the bus to get to the airport, work, hospital, or some other time-sensitive destination.

Where I live in Costa Rica – the mountainside rainforest of the San Jose suburbs – two bus lines end in our remote location. On break, these two buses park outside our local mechanic and Soda (for snacks). Here you’ll always find a fraternity of Ticos passing the time talking, eating, drinking, and making fun of the local villagers who spend hours standing patiently for the driver to restart the bus.

And the fun doesn't stop there: they sometimes take this mini-breaks while EN ROUTE. I was on a bus last week that pulled over to a market to get loaves of bread while his bus was full of passengers.

You can’t blame the Tico (Costa Rican) bus driver trying to relish in a break at the end (or in the middle) of the bus line. It makes complete sense for them to wait until the last second – and in some cases, a few minutes late – to turn on the bus again. You would, too, if you drove around on narrow, bumpy roads crowded with traffic, right?

All of those hours slaving away to:

1. Count change (yes, they manually count and make change) for EVERY passenger
2. Turn that two-foot-diameter steering wheel
3. Shift the stick on a manual bus (up and down mountains)

can be exhausting.

So, if you’re standing at the bus stop in the pouring rain, sinking in mud, running late for catching that only connecting bus to Puerto Viejo for the weekend, staring hatefully at that driver taking an extra few minutes to clean the dirt from his nails, you may want to take a deep breath, realize you’re in Tico-land, and give ‘im a break. Literally.

"Poisonous gas" says "tourist spot" to me

2009-05-20T19:30:00.006-06:00

Volcan Turrialba, about two hours from our base here in San Jose, was a cool place to go. Not only is it known for its incredible cheeses - with tiendas de queso that give free samples - but it also has an exciting active volcano. Active? Really?

The the "only 20 minutes" sign and the dude with the gas mask were an interesting discovery when we got to the peak. Then peering into crater we saw all the gases leaving the earth. It was pretty cool, but I don't think my pneumonia-damaged lungs appreciated my hike to this poisonous place. Oh well.

For a little more history on this place, I can tell you it's only been active since 2001, but the last eruption was 1856. It's one of Costa Rica's biggest volcanoes.

mae

2009-05-17T22:09:00.002-06:00

mae/maɪ/[mahy]

-noun

a term in Costa Rica referring to a buddy, pal, friend. (Similar usage as "man" in America.) ¿Qué pasa, mae?