Speak American

This morning I watched a video of an older lady in line at a mall in Louisville, Kentucky, completely berating a pair of Latina women for no reason. [The video claims that one of the women stepped in front of her to join her friend in line; hardly a felony] The older woman, in one of the worst showings of racism and bigotry that I've seen on social media, unleashed a barrage of slurs and horrendous claims, telling the women to "Go back from where the f*ck you come from," and "You're probably on welfare. We probably paid for all that stuff." When one of the Latina women tried to tell her - in English - "I say sorry," the older woman replied, "It's OK. Speak English. You're in America."

This raises something that I can't help but share today. As you know, I'm currently living in a foreign country. In this country, I am afforded certain privileges and rights, given my particular job with a U.S. government organization. When I see things like this video, I can't help but ponder what it must be like to be a minority living in the United States these days. My goodness, the contrast that must exist. Politics aside, there seems to be an ever-growing fear of the unknown when it comes to foreigners, and it's heartbreaking. 

I just checked the United State of America's Wikipedia page, and - wouldn't you know it - under the section entitled Official Language, it says None at a federal level. Interesting. So, regardless of the state in which you find yourself, there is no official language of the good ol' U.S. of A. And yet, what is the long-running joke? "You're in America! Speak American!" 

I'm aware that the older woman didn't say "Speak American" in the video, but she did make an error in her explanation. Telling the women they're "in America" is about as vague as it gets. The funny thing here is that unless these women are from Spain or Portugal, they are undoubtedly from America. Most of you will understand this already, but think of what it means when you say America: both continents of North and South America qualify. So a person from Ushuaia, Argentina, near the southern tip of the continent, has just as much right to claim themselves as an American as someone born in the urban jungle of New York, New York, or the plains of rural Nebraska.

Me and my (Central) American family

Back to the video. Something strikes a chord in me about the way this older woman felt so comfortable acting like that in front of complete strangers. She had no shame whatsoever casting loud and biting judgment on these otherwise innocent women. My heart goes out to the minority in the United States today. I'm not speaking about the current political leadership nor its landscape. I'm talking about the average small town where someone of a different race is trying to make ends meet but is fighting an ever-steepening uphill battle against seemingly impossible odds.

I was born into a middle-class, white, USAmerican family. In other words, I hit the damn jackpot. That said, living in a different country has exposed me to what it is to be that different person. To be looked at and, quite possibly, judged. But even so, because of my particular genetic makeup, I end up getting treated - on average - so much better than other minorities in other countries, including the good ol' U. S. of A.

So what's the solution? Well, I'd say that in order to find the solution, we need to better understand the problem. What is it that divides us? As I mentioned before, I believe it's a basic fear of the unknown. I imagine it unfolding like this:

The line at the supermarket is long. The Latina mother of three is trying to quiet her youngest child's cries while she waits her turn to purchase diapers, groceries, and other basics for her family. As she shuffles closer to the cash register, she glances over her shoulder and sees a tall, middle-aged man wearing a red hat looking - literally and figuratively - down on her. The toddler won't stop crying, and the man mutters something under his breath about a wall being built. The high school boys between the Latina mother and the man overhear the comment and start to giggle among themselves. The mother, bilingual and completely aware of what the man said, decides to play dumb and act as if she didn't understand what the comment was about. She offers an obviously fake smile and turns back to face the cash register. The older man feels accomplished, as if he's fulfilled his duty as an American, the young boys got a little laugh in, and the Latina woman and her family feel a little less welcome. And the cycle continues. Little do the man or the youngsters know, that mother of three works from home - legally - on her college degree while her husband works at the local factory - legally - assembling the very vehicles that the man and the high schoolers will get into once they've finished their business here.

Do you see the disconnect? Do you see the problem? It's a massive breakdown in communication. It's one of the saddest examples of misunderstanding I can imagine, and it really does break my heart. So many ridiculous assumptions made. So many needless, hurtful comments hurled at minorities for nothing more than being different, for looking different, for sounding different. 

I know that the majority of people who would read this may not be Spanish speakers, but do you know how beautiful the Spanish language really is? You don't have to be fluent to hear the beauty in the rhythm of it. To hear the accent as it dances from syllable to syllable. I've been completely enamored with it since I began re-learning it back in February of last year. And so it amazes me that some people would lose their mind when they're asked to press a button on their cell phone to select English, meanwhile sweating each second they have to endure hearing a Spanish sentence. 

I honestly hope and pray that we as USAmericans can find a way to be more welcoming and loving to our fellow man and woman, no matter how different he or she may look or sound. If I can help in that, I want to. I've had interesting conversations recently about what will come following the end of my service, and it's become clear that there's a corner of passion in me that wants to see this injustice come to a swift end. We'll see what happens.

I'm proud to be an American, and I know so many others who'd say the same thing - in a completely different language.

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.

La Gente

A lot has been said about the company you keep. If any of it is true, I'm in really, really good shape.  During my first four and a half months in-site, I've spent some deep, quality time with some of the people - la gente - in my community. I wanted to jot down some thoughts as a way of remembering them, but I'd also like to share with you all a glimpse of the amazing folks I'm surrounded by here in San Isidro de Aguas Claras. So, let's chat about a few of 'em.

Mainor - Mainor is the English teacher at the local escuela (elementary school) here in SIAC. He's easily the most talented non-Gringo English speaker in this entire area (or at least among the folks I've met in my time here), and that's what makes him so special. See, despite being head and shoulders above the rest of the students in my intermediate class (he'd be in an advanced class if I taught one), he still comes. For comparison's sake, I have a handful of students who are a bit more advanced than others, and they'll often blurt out answers or take it upon themselves to correct other students before I've had a chance to open my mouth. Mainor is not one of those students. He sits quietly in his seat, takes notes on the things that interest him, and raises his hand to ask questions about pronunciation, different forms of conjugation, and other more advanced topics. I respect that fact that he could probably be teaching the class, and yet he chooses to attend, all the while respecting his fellow students.

Luis - Luis is one of the two guards at the local escuela in my community. They're actually both named Luis, but I'm talking about the younger one who works during the daytime. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I see Luis at the entrance of the school, and he's always very warm and welcoming as he swings open the squeaky gate. Luis is currently taking courses at a university in Liberia, the next big town over. Along with his other coursework, he recently began taking English classes and usually has a big smile on his face when I show up, eager to practice whatever new vocabulary and phrases he learned the week before. Seeing Luis is always a joy.

Willian & Marcia - Talk about a surprise from left field. These two are a young couple who have just moved to the area with their three kids (two of whom are the most adorable twin baby girls you'll ever see) from Brazil to open up a camp in the next community over. Someone in SIAC passed my number along to Willian, and he promptly asked if he and his wife could be added to the English classes I'm already teaching. When I explained to him that wouldn't be possible, I mentioned he and his wife can be placed on the waiting list for the next turn or we could possibly arrange weekly private lessons. Sure enough, Willian and Marcia were ready to start immediately, so we've been meeting on Wednesday mornings for an hour or so each week. They are wonderful students, having soaked up a TON of info from the beginner classes in a very short amount of time. It's an added bonus that I'm able to interrupt the lessons and ask questions about Portuguese and how it relates to both Spanish and English. I'm very humbled by these two, because I realize that I - a speaker of 1.75 languages - have been given the opportunity to teach my language to a pair of already-bilingual people.

Oscar - If you've kept up with any of my life here in Costa Rica, you've undoubtedly seen me talking about my host dad, Oscar. I really don't even know where to start with this guy. He and I have had this interesting connection since my site visit (four-day visit to site toward the end of training) back in early May. Some of my favorite moments in my service have been sitting with him on the long, sturdy bench that spans our front porch during the daily afternoon rainstorms. We can sit there for a half hour, staring out into the downpour and lush, green landscape without saying a word. If, however, one of us does utter a grunt or a sigh, the other typically responds by saying, "Sí, tiene razon," which basically translates to Yeah, you're right. More recently, Oscar and I have begun to work on a new woodworking business he's been wanting to start, and it's been a huge pleasure to see the excitement in his eyes when we complete a task. Whether it's designing his first set of business cards, scrolling through the people who've liked his newly-launched Facebook page, or just figuring out how to access his new Gmail account from his smartphone, the way he reacts with hope and joy makes me want to see him succeed in everything he does.

Jeffrey - I live about 50 yards east of Puente Huacas ("Huacas Bridge" - Huacas means local artifacts), which separates San Isidro from Aguas Claras. It's fascinating - there's a real difference between the people who officially live in San Isidro and those who live 'on the other side of the bridge.' Jeffrey is one of those individuals who lives in Aguas Claras, but it doesn't keep him from having healthy, productive friendships and connections in San Isidro. In fact, Jeffrey was one of the first people who volunteered to sit on the new recycling committee we've formed here in SIAC. Each meeting we have, Jeffrey comes with his iPad, ready to get stuff done. He's very focused, he engages in conversation very well, helps to guide discussions, and it's obvious he's passionate about the entire community - no matter what side of the bridge you're from.

Jimena - My project partner, Jóse Perez, told me during my first weekend in-site back in May that his oldest daughter was in dire need of some practice for her upcoming English spelling bee. I agreed to come to their house for a few hours that Sunday afternoon to help her prepare. I was blown away by her ability to spell, pronounce, and even just know all the English vocabulary that she does. She's all of 12 years old, but I can tell that she has an incredibly bright future ahead of her. As such, Jimena was placed in my intermediate English class, and she more than holds her own among the other talented English speakers in the community. To top it all off, she's one of seven applicants from the escuela who are seeking to attend a district-wide English camp called JumpStart that I and three other local volunteers are organizing for January. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she one day becomes the President of Costa Rica.

Carlos Julio - My man. Carlos Julio is a do-it-all at the local Ministerio de Agricultura y Ganadería office (National Agriculture Ministry), which shares the same office building as the ASADA (Community Water Company) in which my host sister Zaylin works. Any time I stroll over to see Zaylin, Carlos Julio is almost guaranteed to be at his computer typing away - or reading an article on US politics. He's a cool dude, and I always enjoy shooting the breeze with him, even though it's almost always just chit-chat about how hot/rainy it is that day. What I really admire about good ol' CJ is that I notice how he interacts with people. I'd be naive to think that kind demeanor with which he greets me was only reserved for the town Gringo; no, he's genuinely nice with every single person with whom he comes in contact. Carlos Julio is another example of what makes Ticos some of the greatest people on the face of the Earth.

Don Raul - Speaking of great people, I'd be completely remiss if I didn't mention don Raul. He and his family were some of the first folks I started working with in the community. Don Raul and his wife operate Soda Las Brisas (The Breezes Soda), which is super conveniently located at the bus stop in SIAC. When we first sat down to talk about their business, don Raul mentioned that he and his wife had a dream of finding their own space to start a bakery. A little shocked at how he'd want to give up on such a prime location, his answer was even more appalling. The best way to translate it is to say, "We don't want someone else's dreams. We want to make our own path, and that starts with our own bakery." He said it with such passion and fervor, I was immediately convinced that he was all in on this. We worked together to apply for some government funding, but, unfortunately, we were unable to submit all the paperwork before the deadline. Nevertheless, he and I are in constant contact, and I know we've not seen the last of his and his family's efforts to make their dream become a reality.

Hopefully you're able to see the caliber of people that live in and around my community. I count myself super fortunate to have been assigned to San Isidro de Aguas Claras, and it's been a unique pleasure to get to know these fine folks over the course of my first five months. It's wild to think we've developed such close bonds in such a short amount of time, but I know those bonds will only strengthen over the rest of my service as we continue to work together toward their various goals and dreams.

Here's to good people. Here's to community. Here's to La Gente!

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.

El Amor

So I have news.

I've met someone!

I know, I know. MANY of you jokingly mused that I was only joining Peace Corps to travel abroad and meet the love of my life, and, well... it's happened. The truth is, I actually met her a long time ago, but we've only recently been reunited. I saw her for the first time in nine years this past February, and let me tell you. She was elusive for the longest time, but now we have been reunited. It's been an incredible pleasure to get to know her all over again. I want to tell you a little bit about her, though.

~ Oh my, how she brings me great joy. Every day I get to see her, she appears more and more beautiful than the previous.

~ I love to be with her, to explore with her, to just spend time with her, and to get to know her more. When I look at her, I see nothing but pure beauty. I am utterly taken by the way she moves, the way she looks in the light, and the way she appears in the moonlight.

~ Her very spirit illuminates mine. As I spend more and more time in her presence, I garner a new appreciation for her love of people and her fellow man. It is purely infectious; I am different after encountering her and her affection for mankind.

~ As I ponder what has transpired to precipitate these circumstances, I opine that I have done nothing to merit this serendipity. She is everything I could have ever hoped for - the definition of a dream.

~ This chance reunion has not been without its own struggles. I have endeavored to acclimate to her temperance, and there have been more than a few challenges during this process. I have grown within myself, however, and I count it a blessing to have walked the path with her to this point.

~ As time marches on, and I reap the daily benefit of knowing her, I set my gaze on the horizon and think about the future with her. Will this last? Will I find the joy that I seek in her? Or will I spend only a short time in her presence, only to move along and find another love?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

I'm quite certain that some of you have, by now, correctly guessed that I'm not talking about a woman. The truth is, I'm falling in love with a place. I'm falling in love with a culture. I'm falling in love with a way of life. 

I'm falling in love with a country, and her name is Costa Rica. 

Changing the World, kind of.

A while back, one of my good friends said something that has been firmly cemented in my mind for years since. Kevin O'Keefe, a fun-loving, free-spirited dude, in all his wisdom once told me, "You don't have to change the world to change someone's world."

I know it probably sounds like a fairly elementary concept, but think about it for a bit. The world is a massive place with nearly seven and a half billion people, and it's understandable for one to scoff at the notion that anything can truly be done to change it. NOTE: Being an INFJ, I still believe it's possible, just a little improbable. 

But this isn't about changing the world; it's about changing someone's world, and that, my friends, is something entirely different. I've heard it said that one of the most valuable abilities is availability, and I couldn't agree more. That's why my heart swells when I think about this journey I'm on at the moment. Peace Corps looked at me and decided I was good enough to be shipped off and live between two volcanoes in Costa Rica among these wonderful people. To integrate among these awesome folks. To be available.

As I've put down roots here in San Isidro, I've identified a number of unique individuals I believe will be involved in the process of improving this community. One of those is my host dad, Oscar. The bond that he and I have forged over no more than 45 days is extraordinary. Although we both struggle at times to understand each other's native tongue, we more than make up for that with our body language, often laughing to the point of tears at the simplest of gesticulations. He has become one of my favorite people here in my new host community, and this post is really about him.

You know how we do.

One of the first things Oscar told me during my site visit back in early May was that he desperately wanted to learn English. I gave him the typical nod, having grown accustomed to the notion that pretty much everybody here wants to learn it. What I didn't know at the time was the level to which he was willing to go to learn. His attitude toward studying is remarkable. On top of working 40-50 hours a week in manual labor/construction/home repair, he eats up every single bit of English he can. This past Wednesday night, we had our big placement testing for all the people who'd signed up for community English classes. In order to thin the herd a bit, I offered those tests to my host family members early, and Oscar took his written and oral tests the night before. Trying to make it a light-hearted moment, I mentioned his "Con queso o carne" comment from a few weeks ago, but ohhhhhhh man he was having none of that. You should've seen his face. He was dead serious about that test. He was also super eager to get his score back; the moment he did, he sat down at the desk in our living room to revise his errors. Over the next few hours, he popped his head into my room to ask me question after question about his mistakes, citing that he wanted to "learn very well from them." This has continued for a few days since.

Candid shot! Oscar studying his test results. 

His desire to learn humbles me more than I can adequately describe. Question after question, word after word, he has consistently come back to check on how he can improve his English skills. For a man who is super proud of his work - he built the house in which we live - he sure does exhibit an amazing amount of humility in his efforts to learn this new tongue. I don't know what his plans are for his soon-to-be-mastered second language, but I'm honored to be a part of that process.

For me, San Isidro represents a place overflowing with potential. I could, by the end of my time here, help build a gymnasium, remodel the local soccer field, organize a long list of committees to help increase community action, start a recycling program, plant a community garden, teach every person English, lead a neighborhood conservation charge, work with every business owner in the entire community, and so many other worthwhile projects. In the end, though, no matter how these two years of service go, I know I'm not going to change the world.

But I sure can try to change someone's world.

La Esquina

Saturday afternoon, on the return bus ride following my weekend visit to San Jose, I looked up from my book and noticed a little girl sitting in front of me - maybe all of two years old - staring out the window. The look of awe in her eyes caught my attention, and I noticed her mouthing something over and over. I took out my earplugs to listen. She was whispering "hola. hola. hola." over and over again as people, cars, houses, trees, mountains, and life Itself passed by her two precious, little eyes.  The smile on her face rose and fell with each greeting, as if learning the beauty of new things all over again from moment to moment.

It set me to thinking about how I've come to be where I am. I recall the day I pulled up the Peace Corps website, Tuesday, February 24, 2015. One of my dear friends was telling me about her own application process and, for the first time, I considered the notion of being in the PC. I confess that, at the time, I imagined them as nothing more than the people who shove flowers up rifle barrels; however, I have come to find they are so much more than that. They truly are a force for good in this world. 

Not Pictured: Peace Corps

But this post stretches back much further than last year. No, to understand this process, I have to take you back to June of 2007, a full nine years ago. I was dating a young lady whose church small group wanted to take a mission trip to Costa Rica. I was surprised to get a call asking if I'd consider joining them. They justified it by saying they needed help with a soccer camp and another Spanish-speaking member. I jumped at the chance, even though my Spanish was very limited in those days. So we spent a good chunk of July in Las Juntas de Abangares in Guanacaste, a cute little former mining colony. During our time in Juntas, I met Gabriel ("Gabo" for short), an 11-year-old local boy with whom I had an instant connection, playing, laughing, joking, and being best buds. I didn't know it at the time, but Gabriel would play a pivotal role in my life. 

That's Gabo on my back!

See, I fell in love with Costa Rica - with Las Juntas, to be more specific - during that trip. So much so that I made a mental note to return. And I did! Thanks to some great support from my awesome friends and family, I was able to head back in December of that same year on my own. I spent some fantastic time with Roberto and his family camping out on the Pacific coast, climbing up Monteverde, and taking in the views at Vulcan Arenal. It was a magical time, and I'm forever grateful to the Barrantes family for their hospitality and everything they did to make this gringo feel at home. As I was dragging my bags up the ramp at the Liberia airport, something happened that would stick with me for years to come. I was in the middle of saying my goodbyes, and in the back of my mind I was wholly unsure as to whether or not I'd ever see these great people again. The goodbye that stuck with me the most was from Gabo. He reached his lanky arms up around my neck, pulled me back down to his level, looked me in the eyes and said, "Regrese a mí, por favor." (Come back to me, please.) Speaking softly, I looked right back in his eyes and promised that one day I would. SIDE NOTE: Would you believe that I get to see Gabo for the first time in almost nine years this weekend? Win!

And so I returned from Costa Rica for the second time in late 2007, and I jumped back into the US lifestyle. College, career, job, relationships, etc. all took precedence over my daydreams of one day returning to this incredible place. There were brief moments when I'd plot a trip, going so far as to have a flight picked out and a couple hundred bucks set aside to book it, but it never materialized. Something always got in the way - classwork, a girlfriend, work, the basic elements of life. So I slowly let the notion of a return trip fade over the next few years. Eventually I graduated college and got a full-time job that allowed me to travel all over the country and a little bit overseas, and places like the Bahamas, Puerto Rico and Uganda supplanted my first foreign love.

While Costa Rica never fully left my heart, there certainly were moments when it was firmly seated in the back row of my mind, but I very clearly remember when that Tico whisper started up again. It was a particularly rainy afternoon in North Topsail Beach, North Carolina, and I was about to wrap up another summer camp and head back to Jacksonville, Florida, for some downtime. There wasn't a specific event that took place; rather, my camp setup mind was working overtime, pondering what potential locations we could add to the list. For whatever reason, as I stared out the office window and listened to the driving rain, Costa Rica resurfaced. After a few days exchanging emails with some Ticos, I was informed of a prospective location no more than a half hour from Las Juntas. 

Eventually everything fell into place for my much-anticipated return to the land of Gallo Pinto. I spent the next few months researching travel tips and building up a network of support with whom I would eventually touch base when I finally arrived for my initial site visit in Guanacaste. Plane tickets were purchased, rental cars were reserved, and I even booked my stay at a nearby cabin, all planned for the end of March 2014.

But there was one problem - I never got on the plane.

Heck, I never made it to the airport. The day before my scheduled return to Costa Rica, I had a very honest conversation with my boss at the time, and I made an enormously difficult decision to do the unthinkable: I resigned from the organization. It was an incredibly emotional decision in the first place, not to mention the fact that I was tossing away the opportunity to revisit those people and places I'd missed for so long. It took a long time to get over those circumstances, but, as is always the case, life moves on.

It wasn't long before I was distracted by something else, this time manifesting itself in the form of creating a brand new organization from scratch. Enter CO | MISSIONS. Funny, even typing that word brings up so many mixed feelings. CO | MISSIONS was a faith-based non-profit missions organization I was asked to start with the backing of a work contact from years before leaving my former job. Although it lasted less than two years from inception to dissolution, there were many dreams. Among those was a direct-trade partnership with a Costa Rican coffee farm, as well as further discussions with the same potential site near Las Juntas. 

Remember this little fellah? Weird, isn't it?

Then the storm came, figuratively speaking. From both internal and external sources, it quickly became nearly impossible to maintain the organization's operations. After a few months of hanging on by what seemed like a thread, I had a very emotionally-charged conversation with the board of directors, confessing to them my feelings of outright exhaustion and an inability to continue on the current path. And so, with a deep breath, I waved goodbye to yet another potential return to Costa Rica, as the board and I agreed that dissolution was the best available option.

Hopefully by now you can see how bizarre the dance is that I've shared with this country for such a long time. Imagine, then, my joy when I received an email in early March informing me that I was, in fact, under consideration for service here in Costa Rica. Visualize the waiting period from early March to the middle of April when my interview was eventually scheduled. Then, take into account all the Spanish and the subsequently required CLEP test, the nearly-insurmountable pile of medical exams and immunizations, and all the little minutiae that had to be done before coming. It was quite the arduous process, finally getting to a point of departure. 

Then came February 23rd. The wheels touched down in San Jose, and I was home. 

There are many ways to look at the last nine years of my life and how certain things have transpired for me to inevitably return to this place. That's the real focus of my attention as I write this piece. Perhaps at this point in your own journey, you're wondering, "What the hell am I doing with my life?" Or maybe you feel, as I so often did, that you have a goal, but it feels so incredibly unattainable and you can't find it in yourself to continue in that direction.

Please, please, please hear me when I say KEEP MOVING. The light is just around the corner, just around la esquina, and oh is it ever worth it. If only I could recount how many times I had resigned to the fact that I just wasn't meant to come back here. I could have stayed in Pensacola, continued on with CO | MISSIONS, or perhaps pursued a career in education. I could have stayed close to home, able to see my family as often as I'd like. I could have stayed in the land of air conditioning, and perhaps met and settled down with a young woman who'd eventually be my wife and a mother to my children. I could've kept all my stuff - my truck, my guitar, etc. - and lived a content life with my things. But I didn't. I wanted to see what was around the corner. 

Here I am, living in Costa Rica, content to look out the window from time to time and quietly whisper 'hola' to all the wonderful people and things that make up my new home.

La Cháchara Estelar

Each night,

    before succumbing to the day,

    I stroll to the grass outside my window

    for nothing more than a moment.

Seeking the fringe of light, 

    the edge where dark meets its counterpart,

    I stand beneath the night sky and all its wonder.

I consult the stars,

    and perhaps their Maker,

    on matters that transcend mere words.

It does not last long -

    this celestial dialogue -

    just enough time to listen

    and feel I’ve been heard.

We cover things past,

   things present,

   and things that may occur.

While still, I am aware

    as the planet whirls

    and the stars pass by

    as slowly as they always have.

Peace abides in these moments,

    for nothing but Good approaches

    in these brief, profound respites.

When nothing more than stillness remains,

    no more items to discuss,

    I sense the calm and accept the silence.

I breathe in the air around me

    and count my blessings, 

    knowing the best is yet to come. 

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!