Language and a Smile

Among the lesser-known perks of the Peace Corps Costa Rica experience, the ocean of books that comprises its office's library must be mentioned. All sorts of works are included; Harry Potter rubs shoulders with Aristotle, and dusty hardback classical texts writ by names I'll never remember snuggle among various editions of Chicken Soup for the You-Name-It Soul. If only for my lack of exposure to consistent English, having an opportunity to chew on some familiar words from time to time is a bigger blessing than I'd expected.

One of my recent written meals consisted of a short piece by Anthony Doerr entitled Four Seasons in Rome, a story of his family - his wife and their two newborn twins, Henry and Owen - and their life and times during a year of study in Italy's capital city. His writing style, while new to me, was and is a welcome breath of fresh air. Almost everything is in present tense, and his mastery of brevity is something to enjoy, to be sure. Among the heavy scenes and dazzling descriptors of the City of Seven Hills, Doerr takes a moment to describe his progress related to his own language ability:

"Toward the end of May, I walk into the little grocery store, Beti, after living in Rome for nine months and say good afternoon to the same exact woman from whom I once demanded grapefruit sauce and ask her in Italian for a loaf of bread, two hamburger rolls, an apple muffin, three-tenths of a kilogram of pizza bianca, and a can of tuna fish, and I don't screw up a single syllable.

What happens? I get my groceries. No streamers drop from the ceiling, no strobe lights start flashing. The grocer doesn't reach across the counter and take my face in her hands and kiss me on the forehead. 

You communicated. So what. Go pay at the register.

No, instead she asks me something in quick-fire Italian about Henry and Owen, something about their hair, but she speaks so quickly that I miss 80 percent of it and sheepishly, stepping down from my throne of fluency, have to ask, "I'm sorry, more slowly, please?"

Funnily enough, I can relate with this in so many ways. My own slippery grasp of the local language ebbs and flows by the minute. At times I feel my first language isn't even English, but that I picked it up during a recent visit to the United States. Other times, I feel as though I've just landed on a distant moon on the other side of Saturn with nothing but a watch and a smile to help find my way.

But then there's the people, and that's really the point of this short, Semana Santa post. Whether it's my innate comfort level with strangers over known entities or simply an acceptance of the fact that I will almost constantly need help, I find myself at a new height of willingness to speak with strangers here. It only requires a few seconds of bravery to strike up a conversation with a random, but, here in Costa Rica, I've come to find the general population beyond inclined to share in discourse.

Just this morning, I spoke at length while waiting at the bus stop with a cheery man in his mid-thirties about the change in the vitality of our city due to the advent of Semana Santa. With a smile as warm of the sun over his shoulder, he spoke with excitement and pride about the extent to which the locals enjoy the many processions and activities that accompany this most important holiday.

I'm grateful for this opportunity to communicate, in more ways than with just words, with a new culture. Who needs streamers and strobe lights? A sincere smile from a once-stranger is enough for me.

Don't Stop Believin'

It's funny how easy it is to speak English when you're belting it out during a nice round of Karaoke. Such is the case here in Costa Rica. Okay so maybe it didn't happen at an official karaoke bar setting, but the public bus on a weekend morning is close enough, right? Sure it is.

I was on my way to the Caribbean coast, to the town of Gandoca, when I got my first real experience with Tico Karaoke. It was new, yet oh so familiar. It was foreign, yet so very known. As I sipped my coffee and bounced along the rough rural road heading south toward San Jose on Saturday morning, I was completely caught off guard by this particular fellow a few rows behind me who saw fit to celebrate the end of the work week with a Costarricense rendition of Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.

Perhaps it was the elderly woman snoozing next to me. Or it might've been the fact that that morning I happened to have been sold a hotter-than-usual cup of coffee. Whatever the reason may have been, it took every fiber of my being to not join in with him. [Lesson learned; Next time, if I want to join in the fun, I'll have to just choose water over coffee.] This joyous Tico was just loving life and didn't care who knew it, including the long-haired gringo blanco who couldn't stop smiling at the moment.

It made me think about something I've been turning over in my mind over the last few amazing weeks: I'm living in Costa Rica.

Allow me, if you will, to repeat. I'm living in COSTA RICA. It's a place that's been securely fastened in the deepest part of my thumping heart since I first touched down in Liberia back in 2007, and I can't even begin to tell you how many times my own patchwork plans to return to this amazing place have fallen apart. (Side note: Probably the most notorious would have to be when I had a 10-day research trip to Guanacaste planned for a potential camp location, but I resigned from that particular non-profit the day before I was scheduled to fly out.)

It's one of those things where I have to pinch myself every now and again just to remind myself that I'm actually here. It's never been a problem for me, that whole situational awareness thing. Ordinarily I'm really good at knowing where I am, what I'm doing, and what's happening around me; however, I can't even begin to list the times I've just been walking about the square in San Isidro, sitting on a beach on the Caribbean, or strolling the busy streets of San Jose, and I have to stop and introspectively pronounce, "Yeah, Dak. It's real."

The view at sunset from just outside my house, to the north.

Another good shot, just after sunset, facing south from my community.
The lights are the capital city of San Jose

What a beautiful life I've been allowed to live. 

Jumping In

I would be remiss if I didn't start this post by sharing with you a picture of the cutest little Tica girl I have ever met/will ever meet, as far as I'm concerned. Her name's Asly, she's all of five years old, and she is just the best. She's one of the many children who stay at my house throughout the day as her mama is at work. She is remarkably intelligent for a five-year-old, and you should see her dance!

Hand on her hip, as sassy as she is adorable.

So before arriving in country, my expectations of the learning process throughout my time at training were barely formed into more than a vague classroom setting with a myriad of topics. I recall the moment during our orientation when we received a thick binder full of information regarding our entire training process. As I flipped through the pages I dealt with the initial syllabus shock (been a little while since I've gone through that) and eventually breathed again as I processed the course of the next twelve weeks.

One of the more impressive sections was the schedule. I'm a planner to a fault, but these put to shame any of my former project plans quick, fast, and in a hurry. The attention to detail is remarkable; they have items planned for May 17th down to the half-hour. Being such a planner in the past, I understand that there's always flexibility for unforeseen events, but I'm still enormously impressed by the organization of this... organization.

The training itself has been extremely helpful. For example, just today we had a session in which we learned about Junior Achievement, an organization designed to assist in teaching students across the world about financial literacy, entrepreneurship, and work readiness. The primary operation is partnering with local business and organizations to provide experiential learning opportunities for students from kindergarten all the way up through high school. After a brief lesson on the basics of JA's operations - especially here in Costa Rica - we split up into groups and used existing curriculum to create a teaching session based on popular methods. Afterward, the PC training staff gave us some valuable feedback. It was a great chance to get our hands on the materials used by JA volunteers (which the majority if not all of our group will be at one point or another during our service) and experience what it's like to lead a class. Mind you, teaching a particular lesson to a group of peers is one thing; successfully navigating a lesson with local schoolkids will undoubtedly be a completely different set of hurdles, but I certainly feel more empowered with this distinct experience under my belt.

That brings up a very interesting point about how PC encourages our learning throughout the Pre-Service Training process.  As my group walked out into the sunshine to sit and discuss our lesson plan, I thought to myself, "Man, it doesn't seem like Peace Corps really believes in the concept of a shallow end." Truth be told, I'm thankful for it. One of the things I remember considering when applying a year ago was the different ways in which I'd be stretched as a person. For example: is Dakota the kind of person who would volunteer to teach a 20 minute lesson after having 10 minutes to prepare? No way. Nonetheless, that's what I was asked to do today, and according to some others in our class, it went pretty dang well.

And I gather that's the point. The training methods that Peace Corps utilizes are like a pair of semi-familiar hands that essentially push you into the deep end. There is no shallow end here. It's truly a sink-or-swim form of learning, but can you think of a better way to show someone how to live in a new country with a foreign language? It works.

In other news, I had my first live show last night. That is to say a microphone and electric guitar were placed in front of me, and I was encouraged to play Hotel California at the birthday party for a women I'd just met about 45 minutes earlier. It ended being a blast. The birthday girl even filmed it (and I'm talking about a camera alllllll up in my face for parts of it), so if you see a YouTube video from a Costa Rican backyard with me crooning to the Eagles' classic, well now you know.

Friday I was working on some of my own homework when I heard a bit of a commotion in the next room. One of my house nephews - Hansel, the one in my new profile pic of FB - was having a little trouble focusing on his assignments (maybe we're more related than I originally realized). A few minutes later while Hansel was taking a lap to work off his frustration with having to do homework on a Friday, I walked into the kitchen to get a drink. Not much could've prepared me for what awaited. The picture below is of what is called "San Pedro" (I think I'm remembering that right), and he only shows up when kids refuse to finish their homework. Heck of a parenting tool, huh? I feel like we could've used a little San Pedro when I was growing up. He sure did scare the piss out of adult-Dakota.

Also, today I found out the site to which I'll be heading on Saturday for my current-PCV visit. As it is, I'm headed to the southernmost point on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica in the Limon region, to a indigenous little town/village called Gandoca. To me, it's interesting because the last time I was in country, my hosts took me a place called Junquillal Bay, which was on the northernmost point of the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. Seems I'm covering all my bases here, slowly but surely.

This weekend's site visit is going to be a whole new adventure. I'll get to spend time with a current PCV who's in a completely new part of the country, I'll have a chance to ask him about his own integration and what works vs. what doesn't work, I'll have many opportunities to meet the locals - more than likely indigenous people groups - and learn more about their ways of life, and I'll learn a whole lot about what it is to ride on a public bus in Costa Rica (it's somewhere around 6 hours to Gandoca).

One of the ways I've viewed a lot of what I've experienced during this process has been through the lens of getting over the next big hurdle. Be it designing a presentation about something I myself just learned, being introduced to scores of Ticos whose language I'm still very much so learning, being prompted to belt out a 70s classic rock song at a Tica's birthday party, or taking a bus to the edge of Costa Rica to meet a complete stranger and do life with him for four days, I'm learning more and more to just go for it. To just take a breath and get on with it. To accept that I will be uncomfortable at times, and that's okay. To be at peace with a common and frequent lack thereof.

To just jump in... to the DEEP END!

Primeros y Ultimos

As of today, I’ve been in country for a total of nine days. It’s been everything I’ve thought it’d be and so much more. On the way home from San Jose yesterday, I had about an hour and a half to myself (apparently talking to strangers in public transportation is almost as uncommon here as it is in the U.S.), and I found myself reflecting on the last month or so and all the change it has brought.

At the beginning of February, I was entrenched in a massive journey during which I visited over two dozen friends and family in seven states. It was a truly memorable experience, and I’m grateful for all the people who helped put that whole thing together. What sticks out to me most of all is the massive amount “lasts” that took place up until my departure: Last visit to Michigan, last NHL game, last home-cooked meal, last jam session (thanks for recording that, Bearden), last time seeing this person or that, and many more.

Then, all of a sudden, I was awoken from my reminiscing by a gust of Costa Rican wind, and I found myself beginning to account for all the firsts that have transpired since arriving last week. Although I’ve visited this country a couple times in the past, there have been a number of variants on my “firsts” here in this wonderful place. For example, first time in a particular part of the country (San Jose, Cartago, Heredia, and others), first time eating ribs in a foreign country (oh man.), first time meeting and living with my current family (I’m still learning more and more how awesome they are), and so much more.

The point is I’ve had one heck of a time transitioning from Lasts to Firsts, and I know there are so many more Firsts to come. With all the things I’m learning from the Peace Corps Costa Rica team and all the beauty in this place, I have a solid feeling that this is going to be the experience of a lifetime. It’s going to be a beautiful ride.

More specifically, yesterday was a day of exploring the capital city of San Jose. I’ll admit, when I first received the map along with instructions for our day in San Jose, I was a tad bit intimidated. If you know me, you know my love for maps; however, the city seemed like a giant, and I was a strange combination of nervous and excited to get this one under my belt, so to speak. My group was a great help; they were so great about going with the flow of it all, making sure to hit on all major points at each stop. Once my feet started moving along the streets of San Jose, I realized quickly that it isn’t as huge and intimidating that I had considered it to be. It was a beautiful day complete with a nice breeze and a bright, shining sun.

Teatro Nacional, near the center of San Jose

On top of having a chance to learn a new city, I also got to visit with an old friend from years back. Roberto Barrantes, a pastor in a local church, was previously assigned to a location in Las Juntas, somewhere around four or five hours from San Jose. After sending him a quick email upon arriving, I learned that he had been transferred to a new location: one of the oldest (if not the oldest) Methodist churches in all of Costa Rica. Studying my map, I got a quick idea of where exactly his new assignment is and scouted whether or not our potential route might lead us anywhere nearby. Sure enough, my team was able to take a quick break, which gave me a few minutes to visit my friend. It was a short visit, but it was so good just to see him and give him a quick embrace after nine years of distance. Now that I know he and his family are in San Jose, it will (hopefully) be much easier to visit him in the future. What a great thing it is to see an old friend.

Getting back to my neighborhood was an adventure as well. Our plans in San Jose culminated with a visit to the Peace Corps office in the Northwest portion of San Jose and a short time of debriefing. After the debriefing session, we were free to return to our training communities by way of the public bus system. While my normal inclination would be to wait for other PC trainees to join me and head back together to make sure I knew what I was doing/where I was going, I chose to test myself by heading home on my own.

Long story short, I made it back with the help of a lovely lady who works for a local non-profit, a pair of helpful police officers, and super shady gentleman who was very, VERY interested in my backpack. I have to say with complete transparency, it felt good to accomplish something like that. Successfully navigating a new city in which I don’t necessarily speak the language is a great feeling.

Yesterday was another good day, and I yet again find myself very grateful.