Siempre Esperando

< sigh >

You were probably just as exhausted from 2016 as I was around 11:30pm on December 31st. Amid all the horrific headlines, ridiculous memes, and news of celebrity deaths, it was a pretty tough year for a lot of people. I count myself among those affected by the throes of the previous 12 months.

Among many things, I...

• Moved to Costa Rica (in case you missed that)
• Endured 3 months of PCCR training
• Met some of the most amazing people in this world
• Ate cow tongue
• Ate cow tail
• Went to my first international soccer game
• Fell in and out of love
• Became a cat person (RIP sweet Molly)
• Survived my first earthquake
• Endured Costa Rica's first hurricane in over 100 years
• Rang in the 2017 with some of my Tico 31 fam

Puerto Viejo w/Dan, Tory, & Joe - 3 of the best folks I know.

One of the many, many other things that took place over 2016 was an uptick in my Spanish-speaking abilities. Combined with 3 months of language lessons during training, immersion in my site has gone a very long way in helping me sharpen my español. There are so many things I've learned about this beautiful language that I never, ever knew before coming here, and that's what I want to write about here. 

Not pictured: +/- 2,500 people and every star
known to mankind showing up just in time
for midnight on New Year's Eve.

As I stood on the beach in Puerto Viejo to ring in the new year among so many other anxious souls, I found my thoughts drifting to one simple Spanish phrase: Siempre Esperando. I've only now begun to fully understand the impact of it. See, I thought for the longest time that the word siempre only ever translated to "always." As it turns out, it can also be used to mean "still" - as in an ongoing action. I also thought that the verb esperar - especially in its progressive form esperando - always translated to "to wait/waiting" or "to wait for/waiting for," but I've learned that it can also mean "to hope/hoping." 

So, feeling the sand between my toes and the cool water from the Caribbean flow over and around my feet, I stared up at the stars - nostalgic as ever - and considered the enormous difference between both compound phrases made by those two words.

Siempre esperando... 

That night, looking back on 2016, I could have easily classified myself as still waiting. With everything that transpired over the last 12 months, I could have thrown myself into that category and said that I was still waiting for some specific things / outcomes / results / answers from last year - in other words, still waiting for some shadow of what I thought might've been. Perhaps it was a project that didn't unfold the way I expected. Or maybe it was a friendship or a relationship that turned out a little differently from how I'd planned. There were more than a few things that simply didn't go the way I'd foreseen, so one could make the argument that on that beach that night I was still waiting for something - anything - to give meaning or purpose to any number of the wild events of 2016. 

Then again, I considered, maybe I can take that small but crucial step that we're so wont to do and yet often fail in our attempts to accomplish: to look ahead. And so the other side of the concept behind siempre esperando could be always hoping, That is to say that, in spite of all the perceived negativity from last year's 366 days of ebb and flow (yes, it was a leap year), maybe I can say that I'll always hope for what is to come.

What an incredible difference between the two potential translations. 

[Just to clarify, I believe it's 100% okay to wait for some things. I feel most folks would agree that it all depends on what or who you're still waiting for, but there's nothing wrong with holding out for something good. That said, in some cases it's wise to simply let go and move forward - always hoping for something better.]

Wherever you find yourself as you embark on this new year, know that you're right where you're supposed to be. Whether you find yourself looking over your shoulder still waiting for something, or you've got your eyes on the horizon always hoping for what is yet to come, breathe easy knowing that everything's going to work out just fine.

 ... but if it doesn't, you can always come sit with me on my porch here in San Isidro. You and I will sip good coffee together as we wait until it does.

Pura Vida, my friends.

Lessons in Humility: José the Incredible

This morning I caught a bus to the capital city of San José. Tomorrow night, the United States men's national team plays here against Costa Rica in an important World Cup Qualifying match. I've got some other business to attend to tomorrow morning, so I chose to come a little early. I'm so glad I did.

The only two buses that go directly to San José from my site leave at 3:30 in the ever-loving morning and 2:00 in the afternoon. The latter arrives around 8:30PM in one of San José's many 'red zones,' so it's never a great idea to take that one. I chose to delay a little bit and took the 7:30AM bus to Liberia, and then I grabbed the 10:00AM direct route to San Jose.

As I stowed my bag beneath the hulking monstrosity of a bus out of Liberia and climbed the stairs, I checked my ticket to find out where I'd be sitting for this little jaunt. Seat number 51. Hmm. A window seat. Well, okay. I'm not the biggest fan of window seats, but at least it's the very last row, so I can lean my seat back more than normal. I squeezed into the last row and shifted over to the window seat, placing my backpack down between my legs in anticipation of a full house. I reached down to grab my headphones, and, the moment I looked up I was met with a sight that - to be perfectly and ashamedly honest - I wasn't happy about. There before me, storing his tattered coat and Dora the Explorer backpack in the overhead area, stood a gentleman easily into his sixties in a weathered and stained button-down, a ragged pair of slacks, and a filthy, decrepit pair of ancient penny loafers.

Settling into his coveted aisle seat, he turned to me and flashed a smile that I was not expecting. He had some of the whitest, straightest teeth I've seen on a Tico since I got here in February. He extended his hand, greeting me and saying, "Hola, my name is José. How are you today?" in some of the cleanest, purest English I've heard from a native. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts, what with all the differing facts floating around in front of me. Here was this man who appeared to have just gotten off the back of the truck after a full day of work in the field, and yet his teeth were as perfect as his command of the English language (or at least basic greetings). I was dumbfounded.

"Uh... excuse me," I uttered, "Hello, José! It's nice to meet you. My name is Dakota. I'm well, thank you. How are you?" I shook his calloused, leathery hand. His grip was firm, as one might expect from such a character. He maintained eye contact with me, with his eyes peering into mine beneath the edge of his wide-brim hat. After providing a firm handshake and a hearty report on his day to that point, he leaned his seat back, took a deep breath and set his hat down on his knee. As he ran his wrinkled fingers through his hair, a coy smile crept over his face.

He looked over in my direction and promptly asked if I was married. (NOTE: Costa Ricans are very open and forward. I have been asked this and other rather forward questions by complete strangers many, many times) I took off my headphones and smiled, shaking my head to signal in the negative. He looked genuinely sad at my response, so I explained that I'm currently serving in the Peace Corps and that it doesn't lend itself to being married or getting married during the process blah blah blah. He said he understood, and there was a brief pause. I could tell he was asking for a reason, so I channeled my inner Tingo (For those of you playing at home, that's a cross between Tico and Gringo, the names for a Costa Rican and a US citizen in-country, respectively) and asked him if he was married. Another long, deep sigh. He look at me, and I watched as his eyes welled up with tears and his mood changed rapidly. "I was. A long, long time ago. Still am, thank God."

Okay. There go my reading plans for this trip. Somehow I could tell this was gonna be one hell of a story, and I was legitimately interested. I took out my headphones, rolled them up, and stored them in my backpack so as to demonstrate to my new friend that he was working with my full attention. Then José went on to tell me one of the most riveting, heartbreaking, yet hopeful stories I've ever heard someone tell.

I'm going to do my best to share it with you.

Years ago, José worked for his father-in-law on a farm in Guanacaste, the northwestern province in Costa Rica. He lived with his wife, Lilian, in a house on the farm's property.  In exchange for a place to live and a small allowance for basic necessities, José worked from sunrise to sunset six days a week, performing all kinds of maintenance on his father-in-law's farm. However, after years of failed crops and smaller and smaller returns, the entire operation came to a sudden and tragic halt. Lilian's father decided to sell his property - all of it - meaning José was out of a job and, unfortunately, a home as well.

In the wake of this rough turn of events, José and Lilian decided that it was best for him to travel to the U.S. to try and find a job and, hopefully, earn enough to move Lilian up there with him and finally start a family. In the meantime, Lilian would stay behind and help around the house with whatever the next step was in the lives of her parents, waiting until José sent back for her. Eventually connecting with a construction company in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, José hit the ground running and found himself way ahead of schedule. Then came the unthinkable.

In a letter from his beloved Lilian, he read the horrible news of a car accident that she'd been involved in. Apparently on an unusually rainy summer day, Lilian's father lost control of their vehicle and crossed the median, plowing into an oncoming truck at a high enough speed to eject both her and her parents onto the highway. Her father was killed instantly, and she and her mother were taken to the emergency room. Her mother passed away that same night. Lilian would be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of her life.

As José recounted this part of the story, tears rolled down his face freely, and I put my hand on this stranger's shoulder in some attempt to bridge the cultural gap. He apologized profusely, and I could only muster "Tranquilo, tranquilo. Está bien, hermano." He gathered himself and continued.

Upon receiving the dreadful news, he panicked. He was completely helpless to be there for his wife in the single greatest moment of need she could endure, and he felt horrible. He tried to make arrangements to return immediately, but he had trouble with his visa. The Costa Rican government, for reasons unknown to José, was claiming that he was unable to re-enter the country with his current papers.

He was on an island of despair and had no way to get off of it. He wrote to Lilian incessantly, as often as he could (this was, of course, before the days of emails and text messages), trying his best to encourage her and keep her spirits high as he sorted out the issues with his return to Costa Rica. Despite his efforts to reach out, he never heard back from her. Not one letter. Fearing the worst, he frantically tried to contact anyone and everyone who might know her status, but it was all for naught. No one knew anything. It was as though she had disappeared.

After seven months of waiting in despair, the Costa Rican government finally allowed José to re-enter. As he made his return trip plans, he let his employer know of his impending departure. To his dismay, his boss informed José that he would be forced to fill José's position if he chose to leave. Without a second thought, José chose to continue on back to Costa Rica. He purchased his flight, boarded the plane, and landed in Alajuela. Almost an entire year had passed since he left Costa Rica with hope and opportunity, only to return home in the wake of a tragedy with no clue where to find the love of his life.

Upon arriving back in Guanacaste, José followed up with many of the same individuals he'd reached out to from the U.S., but there was no news of Lilian's status nor her whereabouts. He described the feeling he had at the time as that of being in a field at midnight with no light and eyes shut. "I had no way to know where I was, what direction to go, or what to do. I was completely alone."

José then described his years of alcoholism and drug addiction, leading to a short stint in prison and a brief stay in a clinic. Once he was clean and able to begin coping with his heartbreaking loss, he decided the only thing that made sense was to continue with his previous plan. He arranged for a loan through a friend he made during his clinic stay, and purchased airfare back to Texas to search for another job in construction.

As had happened before, José found himself very fortunate to land a job with decent pay, and he was back on his feet in no time. After a few months of hard labor, he decided to invest his time in something else, and he began taking night classes at a local high school offering English as a Second Language to the numerous members of the working class Latino community. It turns out, English came easy to José (I jokingly mentioned I wish his language came as easily to me as mine did to him, to which he flashed his brilliant smile and laughed aloud), and he became fluent in a few short months. Time flew by, and José continued working until he was able to secure his papers and decided to stay in the U.S. indefinitely.

You couldn't imagine the smile on my face as I listened to his account of the successes José worked so hard to achieve in those tough times. The months turned into years, and he eventually bought a small house in the suburbs, and accepted a promotion to foreman. He began to lead a crew on smaller jobs in downtown Dallas, and things were going wonderfully. He was happy with his work and proud to be a homeowner in the United States. He chose, however, to remain single, holding out hope that one day he would someday be reunited with his love, Lilian.

I had a feeling, at this point in his story, that something was about to change again, and, unfortunately, I was right. At the end of 2015, José was on his way home from work and arrived to find his home up in flames. He still has no idea what the cause might have been, but it was almost completely lost. The fire department was unable to salvage much of anything. The following day, as José walked among the wet ashes of his hard-earned home, he heard a familiar voice from out by the road. It was his mailman, whom José had developed a friendship with. He was astonished to see the horrible scene, and he got out of his truck to comfort José. After a few moments of consoling José, the mailman announced that he would need to get back to work. José thanked him for his time and kind words, but, just as the mailman was about to pull away, he remembered that he had a letter for José. Surprised, since he never received much other than bills and typical junk mail, José said he sprinted to the mail truck to take the letter from the mailman's hand.

The next part is a little unbelievable, but I stared at José's face and listened all the same. The letter was from Lilian. She had, after some 25-30 years (the dates were a bit fuzzy for José), finally tracked him down through some friends who had also moved to the Dallas/Fort Worth area. They remembered having seen José's name in an ad in the paper, and put Lilian in touch with his boss. Small world.

Instead of calling, Lilian explained in the letter that she preferred to write down the story of what had happened in order to control her emotions. After the accident, she woke up a few days later in the hospital, realized what had happened, wrote the letter to José, fell into a deep state of depression, and was eventually admitted to a mental hospital on San José. Unknown to José, she spent years there going through all forms of counseling as well as physical therapy to acclimate to her new physical limitations.

Because of the informal nature of their marriage in rural Guanacaste, there was no official record stating that Lilian was, in fact, the wife of José. Therefore, when José returned after the accident, there was no way for him to know or for the Costa Rican government's record to show where Lilian had been moved to. She, in the meantime, worked hard to overcome the mental trauma that followed the accident, and eventually moved back to her small town in Guanacaste years later. Because of the nature of José's work back then, his address was something of a moving target, and Lilian was simply unable to locate him.

At the end of the letter, after telling her side of the story, she closed by saying that she still loved him and wanted to be with him, as long as he would still have her in her broken state. (I may or may not have been leaking from the eyeballs as I listened to that part) José, wiping tears from his own eyes, explained to me how, in the wake of losing everything in the fire, he lived on the streets for months as he continued to work, saving every penny he didn't spend on food and shelter for his return flight. Today, José was on his way to San José from the Liberia airport, and he was heading for Lilian's aunt's house outside of Heredia.

I've been in the presence of some incredible and awe-inspiring people in my life. I've learned from wise, deep people. I've felt the raw emotion from some of the most heartfelt souls I could ever have the pleasure of meeting. Taking nothing away from them, the man that sat next to me on the bus today, although ragged and tired, has the biggest, strongest heart of any human being I think I've ever met in my entire life.

I felt completely wrecked inside. Just a few short hours earlier, at first glance of José, I made an entirely incorrect judgment call. There I sat, throwing out my embarrassingly shallow opinion of this man, and I was a fool to do so. Even now, as I sit down and write this out, I'm a little overwhelmed with emotion. I feel like I don't deserve to have heard this man's story.

José gathered his backpack and coat from the overhead storage area, and we waited next to one another on the curb as the driver unloaded each bag from underneath. I collected my bag, waited for José to get his, then turned to face him. His face was so bright, despite years upon years of doubt and defeat. He stood upright with his shoulders back. I stuck my hand out to say goodbye, but José set his bag down and - a bit to my surprise - threw both arms around my midsection and pulled me in for the best bro-hug I've ever had in my life. I thanked him for sharing his story with me, and he, still wiping tears, said "You are welcome. I hope that you find love in your life as I have found it in mine." With that, José gathered his things and walked away. He didn't ask for money, didn't ask if I'd check on him, none of that. He was kind enough to share his story with a stranger - a Gringo, at that - and go on about his way in the hopes of reuniting with Lilian.

Based on what little information I have in regards to travel times and Costa Rican geography, I'm guessing by now José has found his beautiful Lilian. I cannot fathom the emotion that's being shared in these moments. Years upon years and miles beyond miles of separation, finally together again after so much pain and hurt.

Odds are good that I'll never see him again, but I will never, ever forget that man. And the moral of the story? Hell if I know. I started this day thinking I had a good idea of how it would go, but here I sit with a deepened understanding of determination, belief, faith, and love. José's words, uttered mere hours ago, are still resonating in my mind and in my heart. I hope I find love in my life as he has found in his. I hope we all can and do.

Here's to you and your beautiful bride, José, wherever you are. Thank you for sharing.

Love y'all.

Between Volcanoes

I live between two volcanoes. My site, San Isidro de Aguas Claras (SIAC), is wonderfully located between Volcán Miravalles - 10 kilometers to the southeast - and Volcán Rincón de la Vieja - 15 kilometers to the west.  We're located toward the northeastern end of a long, rugged line of volcanoes that grooves along the center portion of Costa Rica, and I have the pleasure of living right between two of those bad boys.

Sweet dreams, my sweet Miravalles

Miravalles, which roughly translates to Look at the Valleys, is an inactive volcano, and its last known activity of note took place 70 years ago in 1946. Despite such a sustained period of relative dormancy, the site is still known for its high level of heat flow; in fact, the largest geothermal field in the entire country is in the heart of its foothills. Talking with some locals, I've learned about the brilliance involved in the process of harnessing energy through the geothermal activity - the more energy sucked up from the earth surrounding the volcano, the less the chance of any future volcanic action. So, there was once potential for much more activity, but time and the influence of mankind have severely dampened the chances of any truly terrible event occurring.

Let's just hope this Old Lady's Corner stays niiiice and calm.

On the other side of my community lies Rincón de la Vieja, which literally means The Old Woman's Corner. One of six active volcanoes in Costa Rica, this old lady's last measurable activity took place in September of 2011, but I have heard first-person account of someone who hiked up to the rim this past May and witnessed a lot of movement in the crater. Suffice it to say, it is entirely possible this sleeping giant may one day become much more active than it is today.

As such, my home for the next 21+ months is located precisely between two massive boiling mounds of molten lava and white-hot ash and smoke. Yet, here I am, living in peace, enjoying every day that passes a little more than the last as I learn more and more about this whole Pura Vida thing.

The cute lil' star marks my home, San Isidro de Aguas Claras

Every single day I wake up and look to the east and to the west, and I see these two reminders of the brevity of life itself. One of the lamer jokes I tell people when describing my site is that I start my morning by praying to the gods of the volcanoes, entreating them to let us all live another day. Truth be told, I love living here in SIAC. Seeing those massive volcanoes every day brings a smile to my face, and it makes me consider not just where I live, but the days in which I'm living as well.

Allow me to explain.

 But really, who doesn't love a stroll down memory lane?

Although I'm not the biggest fan of Facebook, there are aspects of it that fascinate me. One of those would be the On This Day part that reminds you what you were doing 1, 2, or 10 years ago, depending on what you posted about or were tagged in on that day in the past. I'm a super nostalgic person, so it's pure joy to look back and see where I was, what I was doing, etc. As I glance back and survey the memories, I also pause and consider the tumult from which I came.

When I decided to apply for the Peace Corps, I was in the middle of shutting down a non-profit that I'd created from scratch, and it was a difficult time for me. I was also still smarting from the decision to leave my previous job which I loved with all my heart. Times were tough in a financial sense as well, as I was faced with a monthly student loan payment of over $400 on top of car payments, health insurance, and all the other things adulting involves. It was a tough time to be me, and I don't hesitate in sharing that. There were lots of difficult things that had happened, and I was in the process of getting them all under control. I ended up getting two different jobs to make ends meet and try to save whatever I could for the upcoming two years of living abroad.

That's a whole lot of techno-mumbo-jumbo.
Suffice it to say it's turning potential bad into good.

You might say that the days, weeks, and months leading up to my service were similar to Volcán Miravalles. I see the process of bringing to a close all the difficult things during that particular season in my life as the same concept behind harnessing the geothermic energy of Miravalles for positive, productive purposes. Instead of letting the slow boil of potentially-negative circumstances get to a dangerous point, steps were taken to ensure the stress was mitigated in a productive, helpful way. After all of that, all the hurt, all the struggle, here I am living in paradise.

Conversely, I look at Rincón de la Vieja and consider all the days and ways that I have yet to live. While no one is promised tomorrow, I confess that I often ponder what my future may hold for me, including the remainder of my time as a Peace Corps volunteer and beyond. Will I return to Pensacola, only to fall right back into the daily struggle of scraping out a living while I strive to enjoy each day? Will I look for and accept a position somewhere else in the States, in some new and exciting place? Perhaps I'll settle down right here in Costa Rica, eventually coming to terms with the inevitability of gallo pinto and the necessity of umbrellas.

So you might also say that the days, weeks, and months that lay ahead of me are similar to Volcán Rincón de la Vieja. While I view them with the purest form of hope, I really know nothing about them. They could hold nothing but good, safe, enjoyable moments; however, they could also be rife with danger, struggle, and negativity. It's impossible to know in this moment. Only time will tell.

And so it is, I live between two volcanoes. One has been contained, controlled, and converted into something very, very good. The other is still a bit of a mystery, with many unsure as to what the coming days might hold. Either way, both signify some potential for craziness, but here I am, between the two, living a peaceful existence and trying to help my fellow man one day at a time.

It looks like it's going to rain. I think I'll go have some more gallo pinto.

Settling In

My home, San Isidro de Aguas Claras

I've been here in SIAC for eight days now, and what an amazing time it's been! Here's a comprehensive breakdown of what's been going on:

English Classes

On my first full day here, Friday, I had a decision to make. I woke up and had a nice chat over breakfast with the host parents about networking in the community, and they shared that they wanted to set up a meeting with some of the bigwigs in the area sometime soon. Great start, huh? Well. Although I'm learning with great tenacity the value of patience and waiting, I still wanted to do something. So I grabbed my laptop and headed for the Internet Cafe with one thing in mind: English classes.

See, I'd wrestled with the notion of whether or not I wanted to offer them in-site. I'm a Community Economic Development volunteer, after all, right? I'm not here to teach English! Right. I remember sitting in my room during my site visit less than a month ago pondering my first few projects, and I was struck by the notion - convicted, really - that my ability to speak English is a gift in this place. Really, who am I to keep that to myself? I printed off 15 copies of a little announcement about free English classes and posted those suckers all over town.

Naivety personified.

I was so happy when I got my first message requesting information. Little did I know what I was about to get into. As of today, Saturday, May 28th, one week later, I have a list of 74 people who've asked to be added to the English class. I am, in this moment, experiencing what it means to have bitten off more than I can chew. Really, though, I think it's going to be fine. I expect around 65-75% of that total to actually show up, but we'll see. I'm going to give them a pre-test of sorts to gauge their individual levels, and then I'll divide them up based on their results. I'm more than likely going to end up with three classes, but obviously it all depends on who shows up. Either way, I'm pretty darn excited to get that ball rolling. I think this'll be a wonderful way to meet a lot of different people from the community.

Introductions

One of my favorite parts about the concept of integration into my community is the one-on-one interactions I get to have with literally whomever I please. Every day I try to walk to and from the center of town. I live about a 15 minute walk away from the middle of it all, so my daily walk affords me plenty of opportunities to meet all kinds of people as often as I want. Take Otto, for example. On Monday, I was walking back to the house after a cafecíto (coffee time) and I passed by a man working feverishly on shaping a pair of massive logs into columns for his front porch. Normally I'd leave him to his business, but I'm here to meet people, dang it.  I stopped, admired his handiwork a moment, and struck up a conversation with him. I came to find that he who owns a farm with cattle, chickens, and goats, sells rough-cut lumber, works in construction, and owns his own fast food chicken store ('Otto Pollo', if you're ever in town) across the street from his house. Over the five or six minutes that we chatted, a smile crept across my face as I realized, "This is how it happens. This is exactly how I'm going to get to know these people. In this moment, I am exactly where I'm supposed to be doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing." Although it takes this battle-tested introvert a little extra self-persuasion at times, I'm learning quickly the value of openness.

Otto's ranch, w/Volcán Miravalles in the background.

Projects

The day I met Otto, I was on my way back from my first ever cafecíto with a wonderful woman named Floribeth. Floribeth is the owner/operator of Soda Flory, a quaint little restaurant not too far from my house. She's worked in food service for a long, long time, and it shows in her professionalism. For more than 21 years, she's been in SIAC, cooking up some of the most delicious casados (typical Costa Rican dish with a main meat, rice, beans, and veggies) you'll ever have. During our discussion, she mentioned that one of her more popular things to make is batidos (smoothies), and she even gave me one with mora (blackberry), my favorite flavor. <fist pump> I asked her what her dreams are for Soda Flory, and she was beyond excited to share. It starts simply enough with a table-top menu, but my heavens does it expand. Before the end of our time, she was telling me about having customers from other countries coming to eat right here in SIAC. I'm elated to have the chance to work with Floribeth!

Dreaming together @ Soda Flory! 

Speaking of working with Sodas, I had a pretty neat moment happen on Tuesday. I was passing out these little papers I made with a brief biography/description of what I'm doing here, and I dropped one off in the Soda next to the bus stop here in SIAC. I continued down the street, stopping at each of the businesses, having a brief conversation to explain the paper, and went along my happy, sweaty way. It wasn't 30 minutes after having dropped off the information in the Soda by the bus stop that I received a call from an unknown number. Would you believe it? They invited me to share a cafecíto with them. We ended up having a two hour conversation about their family, their challenges, and their desires moving forward. Their situation is different from that of Floribeth's, but I'm just as excited to face those challenges with them and see what comes to pass.

Other than these two projects and the English classes, I've begun working with the local ASADA (Water Utility Company) on helping plan their gigantic Water Fair coming up next month. It's an all-day event, and I got to help their administrator, Zaylin, who also happens to be my host sister, design some flyers to hang up in and around the community to get the locals interested in attending. It was fun to see the passion in her eyes as we talked about seemingly minuscule details on this flyer, and I could tell immediately that her passion is real for this work. It's contagious, too, because I find myself beginning to get pumped about this Water Fair as well!

On top of that, I've had the pleasure of helping my counterpart's oldest daughter, Jimena, practice for her upcoming Spelling Bee. She's brilliant, and I'm not so sure she actually needs the help, but I had a blast walking through the various words. And you know what's more? I even learned a little Spanish in the process. Pond = Charca. And now you know. Jimena's Spelling Bee isn't until Tuesday, and I've got an appointment in San Jose on Monday, but I'm going to do my absolute best to get back in time - even if that means grabbing the 5:30AM bus out of town to do it. Either way, I know she'll do a great job!

She probably knows more English than I do.

Climate

I'll keep this brief, because the climate here is pretty much perfect. Other than the occasionally super-sunny day, this place is perfect for me. Even then, I have my sunblock and umbrella. There's almost a constant wind out of the east that brings cool, semi-dry air from over the mountain/volcano. Oh, and then there's the rain. Sometimes I feel like I'm back in Pensacola in late July. I feel like I could set my watch to the rain here. And I'm not just talking about light sprinkles. I'm talking about monsoons, 15 minutes at a time. The great news is that, after each mini-tropical storm, the temperature drops at least a few degrees, if not more, making it much cooler.

Probably my only complaint here would be the bugs. Once the sun goes down, if you stand still for more than 30 seconds, you will be consumed, bite by bite, by a million tiny mouths. Thank God for OFF spray and fans, otherwise I'd never sleep.

On the bright side, there's a beautiful river in my backyard that feeds into one of the two hydroelectric plants near the community. I've taken my fair share of walks out to sit down on the bank and ponder, and it's quickly becoming one of my favorite places in this community. It's incredible tranquil, and I enjoy the peace and quiet it offers.

Here I find my peace.

Food

Oh, the food. Every morning I'm greeted with a hearty "Buenos Días! Como amanació?" (Good morning! How'd you sleep?), a massive plate of gallo pinto (traditional Costa Rican fare of rice and beans w/herbs), and a piping hot cup of coffee. Lunch and dinner vary, but it's usually an enormous portion of gallo pinto again, along with some form of beef or chicken. Just the other night I was invited to dinner with my counterpart and his family, and I'll be darned if they didn't have costillas de cerdo (pork ribs)! My host family also lives on what must be the most fruit-diverse acre of land I've ever seen. You name it, they've got it. Every meal, I'm treated to a different variety of fruit juice. I've had mango, fresh-squeezed orange juice, apple juice, and many others. There's also a huge aguacate (avocado) tree in the backyard, and I was taught the process of collection. I was super impressed by my host dad's abilities to scale the ladder and climb among the branches, poking at the ripe ones and dropping them down to the ground below. My host sister's husband, Elmer, was stationed underneath the broad tree with a sack stretched across two metal bars, ready to catch the falling avocados. And that's how you collect 'em.

Gotta work for those avocados, man.

7 years?

Twice in as many days, someone mentioned to me that they felt like I was going to be here in SIAC for seven years, five years more than my service with the Peace Corps. First, I was hanging out with José, my counterpart, and he half-jokingly told me he expected me to stay in the community after my two years was up. When I laughingly asked him how long, he told me he legitimately felt like I'd stick around longer, for five more years. Then, just this morning, I was having breakfast with Doña Jeanneth, my host mom, and she started telling me about a dream she had about me and my role in the community. In the dream, she saw me passing a soccer ball among a few of the youth in the community. I asked her what the ball represented, in her opinion. "Esperanza y Luz" (Hope and Light) was her response. Then she said she believes I'm going to stay in the community, long after my service with the Peace Corps is over. When I asked her how long, she said, "Seven years."

                                                                                           Hmm.

In any case, here's to getting underway!