Posts
Just thought I'd write this now. My culture class is taking a trip to Limón, Costa Rica and we'll be gone until Sunday.
I miss you, Phil!
Have a wonderful day!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
SKYPE
Dear Friends and Family,
I just added a Skype gadget to my blog. I don't know if it will work, but if it does, you should be able to chat with me (send me instant messages), and or send me files. I'm not sure if you need to already have a Skype account or not.
Okay, thanks!
I just added a Skype gadget to my blog. I don't know if it will work, but if it does, you should be able to chat with me (send me instant messages), and or send me files. I'm not sure if you need to already have a Skype account or not.
Okay, thanks!
Comments
Dear Friends and Family,
Please, please, please feel free to write comments to my posts. I have adjusted my setting so that you may do so. Also, I don't know how many of you read this as often as I write it; therefore, I don't plan on sending out an email to everyone when I write something new. However, if and when you have questions, please do not hesitate to email me at my SAU address. I still check that.
Even if you don't have questions, write me an email and tell me about your day! I might not get to it for a while, but I would love the correspondence if you are able.
I miss you all!
Lots of love,
Elise A
Student of Language and Culture
San José, Costa Rica
Please, please, please feel free to write comments to my posts. I have adjusted my setting so that you may do so. Also, I don't know how many of you read this as often as I write it; therefore, I don't plan on sending out an email to everyone when I write something new. However, if and when you have questions, please do not hesitate to email me at my SAU address. I still check that.
Even if you don't have questions, write me an email and tell me about your day! I might not get to it for a while, but I would love the correspondence if you are able.
I miss you all!
Lots of love,
Elise A
Student of Language and Culture
San José, Costa Rica
Monday, January 26, 2009
More -itos
I didn-t quite explain, but -ito is the suffix/random syllable used on most words to make them either a) endearments, or b) smaller. For instance, "gato" is a cat, and "gatito" is a kitten. Or, my host brother Edgar is named after his father Edgar, so we have don Edgar, and Edguitar.
SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK:
So, sweetened condensed milk is used more or less like a sauce here. The Ticos put it on ice cream, in deserts, as a spread on sweet breads, with vegetables...everything.
DOGS:
I have only seen two cats in the last week I-ve been here. Two. Also, it-s considered cruel and unusual punishment to neuter or spade dogs. That-s why there are so many different kinds here.
THE ENVIRONMENT:
Everybody that I've met here in Costa Rica is very environmentally conscious. If I didn't know better, I'd call the entire country a bunch of tree-huggers. But it goes beyond that. Even though there is trash in the street, the majority of Ticos pick up after themselves and recycle plastic bottles, or newspapers, or take the bus instead of a car, or they walk to excercise, or jog, or they can tell you on the spot how many gallons of water are wasted if the tap is left open during a 10 minute shower (it's 30, by the way, for those of you who are curious).
WEATHER:
I was mistaken in my previous post. It is not winter here, it is their summer. Great. That means it gets colder from here on out.
FOOD:
Just a small list of some interesting things I got to eat on my weekend at the beach: green mangoes, ceviche, hot dogs Tico-style, and starfruit. The green mangoes are very, very bitter. "Acidic" was the word used when I asked. You're supposed to dip it in granules of salt and eat it. Also, ceviche is made of diced tomatoes and cilantro, a rough equivalent to the pico de gallo that Hacienda serves with its entreés. Tico-style hot dogs were the hardest for me to eat. I have this thing about hot dogs...I don't like them. Unless they've been roasted over an open fire. Then they are manageable. The Ticos use REAL frankfurters, where they have to split open the casing, and then they boil the frankfurter in water. It is served on a bun with shredded raw cabbage (raw as opposed to cooked), with ketchup, mustard and mayonaise on top. My host mom insisted on adding crushed potato chips to mine, saying it tasted better. And starfruit is not sweet. It's like eating lemon peel. I liked it though, but mine was too bitter, and I chucked it when no one was looking.
THE UGLY AMERICAN:
It's weird, but now I can see how I might have looked to the Ticos on my first day. I hope I wasn't as insensitive as I've seen, but at the same time, it's weird. I've seen tourists in Central San José try to buy ice cream. Many of the names of companies from the United States are still in English, and I've watched the tourists speak slowly and deliberately the one thing they want. When the girl at the cashier repeats the order to them, they try to correct her, as she isn't saying the English words correctly. If she asks them something else, I have not seen any attempt to use Spanish to communicate. In fact, I have more often seen that the tourists become frustrated that the Costa Rican girl cannot speak English, and they are verbal about it to each other. Grant me one more say, friends and family, but shouldn't the tourists try to speak Spanish in a Spanish-speaking country instead of insisting that everyone should know English?
AMERICANS:
I was asked this question recently, and have found that many Ticos are slightly annoyed as well: why do we from the United States insist on calling ourselves "Americans"? We call someone from Argentina an Argentine, as much as a person from Costa Rica is a Costa Rican. However, all of these countries are a part of "the Americas". Technically, any Canadian should be able to call himself an "American" too.
NAMES:
I mentioned in an earlier post that the Ticos are fond of naming their pets names that the Ticos can hardly pronounce. My extended family had three dogs: Lucas (nicknamed "Killer), who growls when petted or touched; Sweet, who bites people she doesn't know, and Terry, who is more sheep than dog and pants as though she were hyperventilating. The two dogs in the house I live in are Beky and Sandy. Beky looks older and has a little bow in her hair. Sandy is extremely energetic and all black.
SHOWERS:
Here, everyone but everyone takes showers in the morning. There are few exceptions.
APPLES:
Apples are expensive here, like avocados can be expensive in Indiana.
MILK:
It comes in cartons, like they had in Mexico. They are homogenized and pasteurized, but can be stored unopened in cupboards until needed. They taste the same. Also, many milk products come in squeeze-able packet-containers. They're hard to describe, but each has a spout from which to pour or squeeze the product. One milk-based product that I like is called natilla, and is more or less a light sour cream. It is squeezed into a cup and used as a dip for bread and/or vegetables.
V vs. B:
Here in Costa Rica, it seems that every word with a 'b' in it is pronounced with a 'v' sound, and every 'v' is pronounced as a hard 'b'.
Okay. That's good enough for now.
SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK:
So, sweetened condensed milk is used more or less like a sauce here. The Ticos put it on ice cream, in deserts, as a spread on sweet breads, with vegetables...everything.
DOGS:
I have only seen two cats in the last week I-ve been here. Two. Also, it-s considered cruel and unusual punishment to neuter or spade dogs. That-s why there are so many different kinds here.
THE ENVIRONMENT:
Everybody that I've met here in Costa Rica is very environmentally conscious. If I didn't know better, I'd call the entire country a bunch of tree-huggers. But it goes beyond that. Even though there is trash in the street, the majority of Ticos pick up after themselves and recycle plastic bottles, or newspapers, or take the bus instead of a car, or they walk to excercise, or jog, or they can tell you on the spot how many gallons of water are wasted if the tap is left open during a 10 minute shower (it's 30, by the way, for those of you who are curious).
WEATHER:
I was mistaken in my previous post. It is not winter here, it is their summer. Great. That means it gets colder from here on out.
FOOD:
Just a small list of some interesting things I got to eat on my weekend at the beach: green mangoes, ceviche, hot dogs Tico-style, and starfruit. The green mangoes are very, very bitter. "Acidic" was the word used when I asked. You're supposed to dip it in granules of salt and eat it. Also, ceviche is made of diced tomatoes and cilantro, a rough equivalent to the pico de gallo that Hacienda serves with its entreés. Tico-style hot dogs were the hardest for me to eat. I have this thing about hot dogs...I don't like them. Unless they've been roasted over an open fire. Then they are manageable. The Ticos use REAL frankfurters, where they have to split open the casing, and then they boil the frankfurter in water. It is served on a bun with shredded raw cabbage (raw as opposed to cooked), with ketchup, mustard and mayonaise on top. My host mom insisted on adding crushed potato chips to mine, saying it tasted better. And starfruit is not sweet. It's like eating lemon peel. I liked it though, but mine was too bitter, and I chucked it when no one was looking.
THE UGLY AMERICAN:
It's weird, but now I can see how I might have looked to the Ticos on my first day. I hope I wasn't as insensitive as I've seen, but at the same time, it's weird. I've seen tourists in Central San José try to buy ice cream. Many of the names of companies from the United States are still in English, and I've watched the tourists speak slowly and deliberately the one thing they want. When the girl at the cashier repeats the order to them, they try to correct her, as she isn't saying the English words correctly. If she asks them something else, I have not seen any attempt to use Spanish to communicate. In fact, I have more often seen that the tourists become frustrated that the Costa Rican girl cannot speak English, and they are verbal about it to each other. Grant me one more say, friends and family, but shouldn't the tourists try to speak Spanish in a Spanish-speaking country instead of insisting that everyone should know English?
AMERICANS:
I was asked this question recently, and have found that many Ticos are slightly annoyed as well: why do we from the United States insist on calling ourselves "Americans"? We call someone from Argentina an Argentine, as much as a person from Costa Rica is a Costa Rican. However, all of these countries are a part of "the Americas". Technically, any Canadian should be able to call himself an "American" too.
NAMES:
I mentioned in an earlier post that the Ticos are fond of naming their pets names that the Ticos can hardly pronounce. My extended family had three dogs: Lucas (nicknamed "Killer), who growls when petted or touched; Sweet, who bites people she doesn't know, and Terry, who is more sheep than dog and pants as though she were hyperventilating. The two dogs in the house I live in are Beky and Sandy. Beky looks older and has a little bow in her hair. Sandy is extremely energetic and all black.
SHOWERS:
Here, everyone but everyone takes showers in the morning. There are few exceptions.
APPLES:
Apples are expensive here, like avocados can be expensive in Indiana.
MILK:
It comes in cartons, like they had in Mexico. They are homogenized and pasteurized, but can be stored unopened in cupboards until needed. They taste the same. Also, many milk products come in squeeze-able packet-containers. They're hard to describe, but each has a spout from which to pour or squeeze the product. One milk-based product that I like is called natilla, and is more or less a light sour cream. It is squeezed into a cup and used as a dip for bread and/or vegetables.
V vs. B:
Here in Costa Rica, it seems that every word with a 'b' in it is pronounced with a 'v' sound, and every 'v' is pronounced as a hard 'b'.
Okay. That's good enough for now.
Weekend Fun
We went to the beach this last weekend, with a tiny dog nicknamed "Killer", a dog named "Sweet" who bit people, and lots of relatives. What I don't understand is why the Ticos insist on naming their pets names that they can hardly pronounce...
As soon as I got back from school, I hurriedly took everything out of my backpack and replaced my books with pjs, my swimsuit and toiletries. Then my host family and I tried to fit ourselves in the Toyota station wagon. We didn't all fit. There were six of us, my host parents, their sons Edgar and Esteban, and their grandson José Daniel. José is 15, and a very bright kid. I didn't quite understand everything that happened; doña Isabel kept saying something about the nephew of her only brother, but she never seemed to finish her sentence before she was interrupted by something else. Needless to say, we pulled up in front of a house some 20 minutes later, and I got out of the car, and began trying to help bring things in. It didn-t look like the beach to me, but what do I know? Isabel saw what I was doing, and handed me back the pillow I was trying to give her, and told me to wait in the car. I did as I was told. At one point, everyone disappeared inside the house while I was waiting. Eventually my host parents came back, and got in the front seats of the car. We were dropping off the other three to ride with cousin Carlos.
I cannot accurately describe the next two hours it took to make it to the coast. With no one to talk to after the conversation ran out, I realized how tired I was. Isabel encouraged me to lie down in the back seat on everybody-s pillows and take a nap. I did.
The house was owned by Isabel-s only brother, Carlos, who works with an electricity company that bought lots of land on the coast. It was small, but spacious. It had three doors, and when we arrived, all were thrown open to receive the breeze. Did I mention it-s warmer by the coast? It-s warmer by the coast. So warm, in fact, that I wore my swim suit under shorts and a t-shirt for both Saturday and Sunday. It was paradise! "Uncle" Carlos took us to see the sunset on the beach on Saturday. At first I thought it was the light, but when I got closer I realized the beach had black sand. I-ve never seen black sand before. I wanted to take a handful, but decided that was a dumb idea. What would I do with black sand?
I got darker too. According to my Tico family, I now look Costa Rican. The expression they use here for going to the beach to tan is that I went to "agarrar mi color", or "take my color". I was privy to several "traditional" Costa Rican foods, music etc. For instance, I didn-t know this, but there are such things as green mangos. The Ticos eat green mangos with salt. It has a very bitter taste, but when I said the mango was "agria" or "sour" they corrected me and said it was "acido" or "acidic". They are two different flavors, apparently. I was also able to eat starfruit right from the tree. My family assured me that starfruit was "dulce" (sweet), but I didn-t think so. When no one was watching, I pitched it in the garden.
Here in Costa Rica, 18 is the legal age to both smoke and drink. I think that don Edgar and doña Isabel were the only two who weren-t drinking all the time. My extended family was surprised that I didn-t "tomar" (drink alcohol) even though I was 2 years "past age". I tried to explain that in the United States the legal age is 21, but they insisted that while I was here, I was legal and I should enjoy myself. I even got the famous "you don-t know what you-re missing" line. I said I-d find out when I came of age. Maybe. Maybe not.
Only one of the aunts could really be considered a "drunk", though. Everyone else drank to be sociable, it seems.
It was still fun, and I-m hoping that next time, I have the space of mind to remember my camera. My host parents practically promised that they-d take me with them again because the family is fun to be around.
*DISCLAIMER*
I am at an internet café right now, and the keyboard is in English and Korean by the looks of it. So, once again, I apologize for the puncutation errors.
As soon as I got back from school, I hurriedly took everything out of my backpack and replaced my books with pjs, my swimsuit and toiletries. Then my host family and I tried to fit ourselves in the Toyota station wagon. We didn't all fit. There were six of us, my host parents, their sons Edgar and Esteban, and their grandson José Daniel. José is 15, and a very bright kid. I didn't quite understand everything that happened; doña Isabel kept saying something about the nephew of her only brother, but she never seemed to finish her sentence before she was interrupted by something else. Needless to say, we pulled up in front of a house some 20 minutes later, and I got out of the car, and began trying to help bring things in. It didn-t look like the beach to me, but what do I know? Isabel saw what I was doing, and handed me back the pillow I was trying to give her, and told me to wait in the car. I did as I was told. At one point, everyone disappeared inside the house while I was waiting. Eventually my host parents came back, and got in the front seats of the car. We were dropping off the other three to ride with cousin Carlos.
I cannot accurately describe the next two hours it took to make it to the coast. With no one to talk to after the conversation ran out, I realized how tired I was. Isabel encouraged me to lie down in the back seat on everybody-s pillows and take a nap. I did.
The house was owned by Isabel-s only brother, Carlos, who works with an electricity company that bought lots of land on the coast. It was small, but spacious. It had three doors, and when we arrived, all were thrown open to receive the breeze. Did I mention it-s warmer by the coast? It-s warmer by the coast. So warm, in fact, that I wore my swim suit under shorts and a t-shirt for both Saturday and Sunday. It was paradise! "Uncle" Carlos took us to see the sunset on the beach on Saturday. At first I thought it was the light, but when I got closer I realized the beach had black sand. I-ve never seen black sand before. I wanted to take a handful, but decided that was a dumb idea. What would I do with black sand?
I got darker too. According to my Tico family, I now look Costa Rican. The expression they use here for going to the beach to tan is that I went to "agarrar mi color", or "take my color". I was privy to several "traditional" Costa Rican foods, music etc. For instance, I didn-t know this, but there are such things as green mangos. The Ticos eat green mangos with salt. It has a very bitter taste, but when I said the mango was "agria" or "sour" they corrected me and said it was "acido" or "acidic". They are two different flavors, apparently. I was also able to eat starfruit right from the tree. My family assured me that starfruit was "dulce" (sweet), but I didn-t think so. When no one was watching, I pitched it in the garden.
Here in Costa Rica, 18 is the legal age to both smoke and drink. I think that don Edgar and doña Isabel were the only two who weren-t drinking all the time. My extended family was surprised that I didn-t "tomar" (drink alcohol) even though I was 2 years "past age". I tried to explain that in the United States the legal age is 21, but they insisted that while I was here, I was legal and I should enjoy myself. I even got the famous "you don-t know what you-re missing" line. I said I-d find out when I came of age. Maybe. Maybe not.
Only one of the aunts could really be considered a "drunk", though. Everyone else drank to be sociable, it seems.
It was still fun, and I-m hoping that next time, I have the space of mind to remember my camera. My host parents practically promised that they-d take me with them again because the family is fun to be around.
*DISCLAIMER*
I am at an internet café right now, and the keyboard is in English and Korean by the looks of it. So, once again, I apologize for the puncutation errors.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
-itos
The following posts will be very short, more of a collection of random things that I don't feel like writing a page about:
GABRIEL'S OBOE:
It's an orchestral/choral piece of music with oboe as the solo instrument. Here in Costa Rica, I hear it on the television along with the announcement of someone's death.
LANDMARKS:
They're everywhere. On top of that, so few of the streets have actual names that direction to any location includes more things to look for than street signs. For instance: I know I am about 5 minutes from the house when the bus turns the corner and there's a big Shell station. I have no clue what street that is. When I get off the bus on that road, I continue until I see the purple wall, then turn right, and pass two panaderías or bread bakeries, before coming to my street.
CULTURE SHOCK:
Oddly enough, I think I've already endured it. According to Don Antonio (one of my "culture" profs), culture shock has 5 stages that can be encountered during or even before entering the new culture. They are: the Honeymoon stage, where the new is exciting; the valley "Culture Shock", where new is apprehensive; the Surface Adjustment stage, where the person begins to figure things out; the Unresolved Question stage, where personal cultural values are questioned; and the Feel at Home stage, where one accepts the new culture. Of course, these are followed eventually by the Departure Concerns stage before the person leaves. To anyone who has read my blog through, I had already been through the first four even before I stepped on the plane. I think the Feel at Home stage kicked in once we landed in San José.
GESTURES:
We had a discussion about this after class one day. The Ticos have an arm gesture for telling people to come near which can be confusing for many North Americans. They use their arm to push and pull. Think of doggy-paddling in a pool. That motion. When done by North Americans, it looks as though the speaker (gesture-er?) is telling others to go away, but the Ticos understand it as a come here motion.
WAL*MART:
Seriously, Wal*Mart rules the earth. Here, they are called the local MásXMenos, and they are owned by the Wal*Mart corporation. In fact, they are formally know as Wal*Mart Sudamérica, or South American Wal*Mart. And anyone who knows some Spanish will see the pun of the store's name, but for those of you who don't... The name is pronounced mahs pohr meh-noes, and literally means "More for Less", another slogan of Wal*Mart's.
TOILET PAPER:
In many homes, toilet paper goes in the trash, not in the toilet because it clogs.
Well, that's as random as I'll get tonight. I didn't sleep last night at all because I was reviewing those dumb direct objects, indirect objects, and pronouns in my head ALL NIGHT LONG!!! I kept trying to sleep, but my brain would find another way to keep me up. I'm so tired!
Oh wait, I almost forgot. The Quote of the Day goes out to fellow LASP-er Regis Coburn:
"Whenever I plug my laptop in, sparks come out of the socket. Is that bad?"
Good times.
Good night everyone!
GABRIEL'S OBOE:
It's an orchestral/choral piece of music with oboe as the solo instrument. Here in Costa Rica, I hear it on the television along with the announcement of someone's death.
LANDMARKS:
They're everywhere. On top of that, so few of the streets have actual names that direction to any location includes more things to look for than street signs. For instance: I know I am about 5 minutes from the house when the bus turns the corner and there's a big Shell station. I have no clue what street that is. When I get off the bus on that road, I continue until I see the purple wall, then turn right, and pass two panaderías or bread bakeries, before coming to my street.
CULTURE SHOCK:
Oddly enough, I think I've already endured it. According to Don Antonio (one of my "culture" profs), culture shock has 5 stages that can be encountered during or even before entering the new culture. They are: the Honeymoon stage, where the new is exciting; the valley "Culture Shock", where new is apprehensive; the Surface Adjustment stage, where the person begins to figure things out; the Unresolved Question stage, where personal cultural values are questioned; and the Feel at Home stage, where one accepts the new culture. Of course, these are followed eventually by the Departure Concerns stage before the person leaves. To anyone who has read my blog through, I had already been through the first four even before I stepped on the plane. I think the Feel at Home stage kicked in once we landed in San José.
GESTURES:
We had a discussion about this after class one day. The Ticos have an arm gesture for telling people to come near which can be confusing for many North Americans. They use their arm to push and pull. Think of doggy-paddling in a pool. That motion. When done by North Americans, it looks as though the speaker (gesture-er?) is telling others to go away, but the Ticos understand it as a come here motion.
WAL*MART:
Seriously, Wal*Mart rules the earth. Here, they are called the local MásXMenos, and they are owned by the Wal*Mart corporation. In fact, they are formally know as Wal*Mart Sudamérica, or South American Wal*Mart. And anyone who knows some Spanish will see the pun of the store's name, but for those of you who don't... The name is pronounced mahs pohr meh-noes, and literally means "More for Less", another slogan of Wal*Mart's.
TOILET PAPER:
In many homes, toilet paper goes in the trash, not in the toilet because it clogs.
Well, that's as random as I'll get tonight. I didn't sleep last night at all because I was reviewing those dumb direct objects, indirect objects, and pronouns in my head ALL NIGHT LONG!!! I kept trying to sleep, but my brain would find another way to keep me up. I'm so tired!
Oh wait, I almost forgot. The Quote of the Day goes out to fellow LASP-er Regis Coburn:
"Whenever I plug my laptop in, sparks come out of the socket. Is that bad?"
Good times.
Good night everyone!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Male Presence
It appears as though I am living in a different era. The men here are not so chauvanistic as, perhaps, they were in earlier years. Nevertheless...
A man is strong. He is viewed as the head of his household, and families want sons to carry on their name. When the instructors sent us all over the city, they sent us in groups of three with at least one male. This is because it is assumed in Costa Rican culture that if one man tries to harm another man's "woman", the second will defend the woman's honor. It's not so much chauvanistic as it is chivalrous. Also, in groups of two, people assume couples, so herein lies the saying, "Three's company". In groups of three, it wasn't as though the women were traveling by themselves, and it wasn't as though a group was a couple. Also, the male (as I said before) provided a "security" for the females, to keep us free from persistent vendors, or dirty old men.
My mom always taught me that young women are always accompanied/chaperoned. At the time, I thought it was an antique idea, wrought by shriveled old people who just wanted to give advice to other people free of charge (sorry Mom). I understand better now. It is a statement of belonging, yes, but of unity. It is a security. And here, as a young woman, I need it. This is why I'm glad that Peter is my "travel buddy". It's because he's a male. At least when it's nighttime and we're returning from classes, I know my chances of getting mugged or worse are very slim.
I'll probably update this later as I find more things to write about.
A man is strong. He is viewed as the head of his household, and families want sons to carry on their name. When the instructors sent us all over the city, they sent us in groups of three with at least one male. This is because it is assumed in Costa Rican culture that if one man tries to harm another man's "woman", the second will defend the woman's honor. It's not so much chauvanistic as it is chivalrous. Also, in groups of two, people assume couples, so herein lies the saying, "Three's company". In groups of three, it wasn't as though the women were traveling by themselves, and it wasn't as though a group was a couple. Also, the male (as I said before) provided a "security" for the females, to keep us free from persistent vendors, or dirty old men.
My mom always taught me that young women are always accompanied/chaperoned. At the time, I thought it was an antique idea, wrought by shriveled old people who just wanted to give advice to other people free of charge (sorry Mom). I understand better now. It is a statement of belonging, yes, but of unity. It is a security. And here, as a young woman, I need it. This is why I'm glad that Peter is my "travel buddy". It's because he's a male. At least when it's nighttime and we're returning from classes, I know my chances of getting mugged or worse are very slim.
I'll probably update this later as I find more things to write about.
Classes
Okay, so I know I said I would talk about male presence here, but it was brought to my attention that I have neglected to describe what I've been doing here for the last week. Gee. Well, so, classes:
I have only two classes. They are both about 4 hours long. We get breaks in between.
My main class is my Spanish class that I have every day of the week (except for weekends). On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the class begins at 1 p.m. and may last until 4:30 or 5 p.m. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have my other class in the morning, so I need transit time between them. On those days, my Spanish class starts at 1:30 p.m.
My "other" class is called Semenario Basico or abbreviated S.B. It is more or less a culture class with a Christian emphasis. It meets twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8 a.m. and usually ends around midday.
A typical Monday/Wednesday/Friday, I will wake up at whatever time I want, provided that my homework is finished, and I still plan on eating before I leave. I will take a bus to Central San José, and then jog a few blocks to take another bus to Curridabat. Total transit time from home to class: 45-50 minutes.
Tuesdays/Thursdays, I wake up at about 5:30 a.m. so I can take my shower and get ready. I eat breakfast before I leave to catch a bus at 7:15 a.m. to El Carmen. Transit time from home to class: 30-40 minutes. From S.B., I can either take a taxi to Curridabat or I can walk. Last time I walked, and it took me about 50 minutes. The problem with walking is that I may not get to eat lunch if class gets out right at noon. Many students take a taxi to Curridabat. After class I take the bus from Curridabat to Central San José, jog a few blocks, and take another bus from Central San José to Guadalupe El Alto, where I live. Total transit time from class to home: 50 minutes (depending on traffic).
In my Spanish class today, we reviewed the direct object and indirect object and pronouns. I always had a hunch that I hadn't completely grasped the concept in previous Spanish classes, but to have it proved to me beyond a doubt by my pitiful attempts to do my homework, well, I certainly won't be able to sleep tonight... I have some extra work to do.
Yesterday, in my S.B. class, the speaker lectured on the ways that Jesus interacted with people of a different nationality. She (the speaker) outlined the times in which Jesus lived, and his ultimate response to the problems of his day. It was very fascinating, and I took many notes.
Okay, this is long enough.
I have only two classes. They are both about 4 hours long. We get breaks in between.
My main class is my Spanish class that I have every day of the week (except for weekends). On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the class begins at 1 p.m. and may last until 4:30 or 5 p.m. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have my other class in the morning, so I need transit time between them. On those days, my Spanish class starts at 1:30 p.m.
My "other" class is called Semenario Basico or abbreviated S.B. It is more or less a culture class with a Christian emphasis. It meets twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8 a.m. and usually ends around midday.
A typical Monday/Wednesday/Friday, I will wake up at whatever time I want, provided that my homework is finished, and I still plan on eating before I leave. I will take a bus to Central San José, and then jog a few blocks to take another bus to Curridabat. Total transit time from home to class: 45-50 minutes.
Tuesdays/Thursdays, I wake up at about 5:30 a.m. so I can take my shower and get ready. I eat breakfast before I leave to catch a bus at 7:15 a.m. to El Carmen. Transit time from home to class: 30-40 minutes. From S.B., I can either take a taxi to Curridabat or I can walk. Last time I walked, and it took me about 50 minutes. The problem with walking is that I may not get to eat lunch if class gets out right at noon. Many students take a taxi to Curridabat. After class I take the bus from Curridabat to Central San José, jog a few blocks, and take another bus from Central San José to Guadalupe El Alto, where I live. Total transit time from class to home: 50 minutes (depending on traffic).
In my Spanish class today, we reviewed the direct object and indirect object and pronouns. I always had a hunch that I hadn't completely grasped the concept in previous Spanish classes, but to have it proved to me beyond a doubt by my pitiful attempts to do my homework, well, I certainly won't be able to sleep tonight... I have some extra work to do.
Yesterday, in my S.B. class, the speaker lectured on the ways that Jesus interacted with people of a different nationality. She (the speaker) outlined the times in which Jesus lived, and his ultimate response to the problems of his day. It was very fascinating, and I took many notes.
Okay, this is long enough.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
"Piropos"
The word, in the Tico vernacular, means some equivalent of cat-calls or wolf-whistling. It's pronounced "pee-roh-pohs".
When we first arrived to Costa Rica and sat through our first lecture of the semester, the profesoras warned the girls (and guys too, because sometimes, it happens) about piropos. The profesoras said that girls who were visibly lighter-skinned and fair-haired were more likely to be cat-called. The slang term for someone lighter is macha for a girl, and macho for a male. The teachers told us that a lot of students think that (for men) being called macho is a compliment, but here, roughly translated, it means, "Hey, White-y." It is also a rough equivalent to the many blonde jokes in the United States, where someone would say, "Jane, you're so blond," here they would say, "María, eres tan macha." The day that we went all over the city, we were supposed to check off if we received any piropos. My group didn't, and I think it was because the other girl and I had dark hair and eyes, and looked less American than did our group-mate Dustin, who's 5'8", blond-haired and blue-eyed. He definitely stood out. But, as he was with us, it probably looked as though the other girl and I were showing him his way around the city.
Also, we were advised--I take that back--forbidden from reacting in any way to the piropos. If we react, the men (usually it's men) would take that as a challenge and pursue us. Physically, I mean. We were warned that it would turn ugly, which is why they tried to put us into groups with one male each. A male in the group ensures some sort of protection, even if he is outnumbered by the females. I will remember to write on the male presence tomorrow.
Good night everyone!
When we first arrived to Costa Rica and sat through our first lecture of the semester, the profesoras warned the girls (and guys too, because sometimes, it happens) about piropos. The profesoras said that girls who were visibly lighter-skinned and fair-haired were more likely to be cat-called. The slang term for someone lighter is macha for a girl, and macho for a male. The teachers told us that a lot of students think that (for men) being called macho is a compliment, but here, roughly translated, it means, "Hey, White-y." It is also a rough equivalent to the many blonde jokes in the United States, where someone would say, "Jane, you're so blond," here they would say, "María, eres tan macha." The day that we went all over the city, we were supposed to check off if we received any piropos. My group didn't, and I think it was because the other girl and I had dark hair and eyes, and looked less American than did our group-mate Dustin, who's 5'8", blond-haired and blue-eyed. He definitely stood out. But, as he was with us, it probably looked as though the other girl and I were showing him his way around the city.
Also, we were advised--I take that back--forbidden from reacting in any way to the piropos. If we react, the men (usually it's men) would take that as a challenge and pursue us. Physically, I mean. We were warned that it would turn ugly, which is why they tried to put us into groups with one male each. A male in the group ensures some sort of protection, even if he is outnumbered by the females. I will remember to write on the male presence tomorrow.
Good night everyone!
Manners
Here, it is considered good manners to wait for invitations. That applies to most everything of daily life.
When first I arrived, it would have been very disrespectful of me if I had helped myself to whatever I wanted to eat or drink right after the family had shown me where it was. This is because, here, I am a guest. A guest does not serve himself until he is part of the family. A guest is served. As I become more accostomed to my host family, and they to me, I begin to aquire "family rights" as it were. I offer to help with dinner, or with washing the dishes now. Usually the señora accepts my help. Sometimes, she insists she's fine, and tells me to sit down and watch the television while she does the dishes, or whatever. My general rule-of-thumb is that if it's a meal for more than 3 people, I always offer to help with anything and everything. Otherwise, the doña thanks me, but does the work herself.
Another thing I've noticed that I've found interesting is this: gratitude.
In Spanish, when someone wants to say "thank you", they say "gracias" or "muchas gracias" (much thanks). Generally, the rough translation of "you're welcome" is "de nada" or "it was nothing". Here in Costa Rica, the more common form I hear for "you're welcome" is the phrase, "con gusto", or "with gusto/pleasure". It means something similar, but not the same. To me, "de nada" more or less takes the gratitude and shrugs it off: it was nothing. By contrast, the phrase "con gusto" more or less expresses the speaker's attitude toward serving. The Ticos are very much a serving people.
Something to think about, I guess!
When first I arrived, it would have been very disrespectful of me if I had helped myself to whatever I wanted to eat or drink right after the family had shown me where it was. This is because, here, I am a guest. A guest does not serve himself until he is part of the family. A guest is served. As I become more accostomed to my host family, and they to me, I begin to aquire "family rights" as it were. I offer to help with dinner, or with washing the dishes now. Usually the señora accepts my help. Sometimes, she insists she's fine, and tells me to sit down and watch the television while she does the dishes, or whatever. My general rule-of-thumb is that if it's a meal for more than 3 people, I always offer to help with anything and everything. Otherwise, the doña thanks me, but does the work herself.
Another thing I've noticed that I've found interesting is this: gratitude.
In Spanish, when someone wants to say "thank you", they say "gracias" or "muchas gracias" (much thanks). Generally, the rough translation of "you're welcome" is "de nada" or "it was nothing". Here in Costa Rica, the more common form I hear for "you're welcome" is the phrase, "con gusto", or "with gusto/pleasure". It means something similar, but not the same. To me, "de nada" more or less takes the gratitude and shrugs it off: it was nothing. By contrast, the phrase "con gusto" more or less expresses the speaker's attitude toward serving. The Ticos are very much a serving people.
Something to think about, I guess!
Water
Don't believe a word of it!!! The water is NOT warm. At all.
Drinkable, yes (all over the city of San José, I might add), but warm enough in which to take a comfortable shower? Nope. The good news is, that whereas I once enjoyed a long 30 min shower a day, I now enjoy only 10 minutes. Like fast-food, the shower has become an "in-and-out". Of course, I specifically try to go quickly (besides the fact of cold water) because this is not my home, and I don't want to ruin people's shower schedules.
But here, it's the in-and-out business.
The shower fixture in the home I'm living is such that, if one turns the knob barely to the left, the water will come out of the shower, and I may get as much as 3 seconds' worth tepid water before it turns ice cold again. This discovery was through trial and error; I tried once turning the knob all the way to the left, but to no avail. The water didn't get hotter or colder (it couldn't get colder), but stayed the same. I really appreciate the showers at home.
To add "insult to injury" as the expression goes, the Ticos insist that cold water showers are healthier because they don't dry out your skin, and they open your pores, and they let your color shine. Yeah. They would say that... Of course, by ensuring that I spend no more than 10 minutes in the shower, I can sleep in longer. That's good.
And yes, as I said earlier, the water is drinkable. The doña makes me tea every morning. I try to get it myself, but most of the time, she won't let me. I'll explain manners in another post.
Just to clarify, I still clean myself thoroughly, just in one third the amount of time it took me before.
Drinkable, yes (all over the city of San José, I might add), but warm enough in which to take a comfortable shower? Nope. The good news is, that whereas I once enjoyed a long 30 min shower a day, I now enjoy only 10 minutes. Like fast-food, the shower has become an "in-and-out". Of course, I specifically try to go quickly (besides the fact of cold water) because this is not my home, and I don't want to ruin people's shower schedules.
But here, it's the in-and-out business.
The shower fixture in the home I'm living is such that, if one turns the knob barely to the left, the water will come out of the shower, and I may get as much as 3 seconds' worth tepid water before it turns ice cold again. This discovery was through trial and error; I tried once turning the knob all the way to the left, but to no avail. The water didn't get hotter or colder (it couldn't get colder), but stayed the same. I really appreciate the showers at home.
To add "insult to injury" as the expression goes, the Ticos insist that cold water showers are healthier because they don't dry out your skin, and they open your pores, and they let your color shine. Yeah. They would say that... Of course, by ensuring that I spend no more than 10 minutes in the shower, I can sleep in longer. That's good.
And yes, as I said earlier, the water is drinkable. The doña makes me tea every morning. I try to get it myself, but most of the time, she won't let me. I'll explain manners in another post.
Just to clarify, I still clean myself thoroughly, just in one third the amount of time it took me before.
Monday, January 19, 2009
First Day of Classes!!
So, given my extraordinary sense of direction *sarcasm*, I felt it necessary to find a travel buddy. The closest student to me is named Peter. He attends Greenville College in Illinois.
Peter very kindly consented to catch a bus with me, so we agreed to meet at the bus stop at a certain time. When I got there, he wasn't. He showed up a few minutes later having checked another bus stop because he wasn't sure which I meant. So we took a bus to Central San José, and we were going to take another to Curridabat, where our class was meeting, but we were running late, so we took a taxi. Bus fare is at most, c250, and our taxi cost us c1188. We arrived tardy, but class hadn't started yet.
We were separated into Spanish level groups. I was in the last group of "almost native" speakers. I like the two girls in my group! One of them is the same girl who tackled me in MIA when I was lost, and the other is a girl from Canada. They are both very funny, and our entire class was spent talking about ourselves and things that are important to us so that our professor could decide what Spanish lessons would be most beneficial.
After class (it ended at about 4:30 p.m.) I had to go to the post office to mail something to the U.S. Peter came with me, and we got lost in the city trying to find the post office. Thankfully though, the Central is small enough that a few blocks in this direction or that, and you regain your bearings. We found the post office and I tried to send my envelope as fast as they would take it. It's very important. Watch it get lost.
After that, Peter and I wanted to take a bus from Central San José back to Guadalupe, El Alto, where we both live. We thought that any bus that said "Guadalupe" would suffice. Nope. We ended up going through "El Barrio Pilar" somewhere north of where we wanted to be. At one point, the seat next to me opened up, and Peter came to sit by me. The first thing he said was, "So...I don't know where we are..."
"Neither do I," I answered. "What do we do now?"
We asked another bus mate, and she told us we were north of El Alto. She even got off the bus and walked with us toward the street near where I live (by the way, the street I live on--it doesn't have a name. But the main street near it does). After a while, Peter recognized the surroundings, so we thanked the lady and continued until I recognized the surroundings. I made it home, and my host mother was so happy that I made it safely, she made me some tea. Then she laughed with me about our pitiful attempt to ride just any bus that said Guadalupe.
Note to self: Details are very important...
I still have some reading to do before my class tomorrow at 8 a.m. so I think I'm going to bed now to read.
Good night!!
Peter very kindly consented to catch a bus with me, so we agreed to meet at the bus stop at a certain time. When I got there, he wasn't. He showed up a few minutes later having checked another bus stop because he wasn't sure which I meant. So we took a bus to Central San José, and we were going to take another to Curridabat, where our class was meeting, but we were running late, so we took a taxi. Bus fare is at most, c250, and our taxi cost us c1188. We arrived tardy, but class hadn't started yet.
We were separated into Spanish level groups. I was in the last group of "almost native" speakers. I like the two girls in my group! One of them is the same girl who tackled me in MIA when I was lost, and the other is a girl from Canada. They are both very funny, and our entire class was spent talking about ourselves and things that are important to us so that our professor could decide what Spanish lessons would be most beneficial.
After class (it ended at about 4:30 p.m.) I had to go to the post office to mail something to the U.S. Peter came with me, and we got lost in the city trying to find the post office. Thankfully though, the Central is small enough that a few blocks in this direction or that, and you regain your bearings. We found the post office and I tried to send my envelope as fast as they would take it. It's very important. Watch it get lost.
After that, Peter and I wanted to take a bus from Central San José back to Guadalupe, El Alto, where we both live. We thought that any bus that said "Guadalupe" would suffice. Nope. We ended up going through "El Barrio Pilar" somewhere north of where we wanted to be. At one point, the seat next to me opened up, and Peter came to sit by me. The first thing he said was, "So...I don't know where we are..."
"Neither do I," I answered. "What do we do now?"
We asked another bus mate, and she told us we were north of El Alto. She even got off the bus and walked with us toward the street near where I live (by the way, the street I live on--it doesn't have a name. But the main street near it does). After a while, Peter recognized the surroundings, so we thanked the lady and continued until I recognized the surroundings. I made it home, and my host mother was so happy that I made it safely, she made me some tea. Then she laughed with me about our pitiful attempt to ride just any bus that said Guadalupe.
Note to self: Details are very important...
I still have some reading to do before my class tomorrow at 8 a.m. so I think I'm going to bed now to read.
Good night!!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Clean
I remember when we moved to Mexico, I thought everything was dirty. Now, I have a different perspective.
My Tico family believes that the floor is the most common cause of colds. My host brother Esteban has a bit of a cold now, and I overheard doña Isabel scolding him for leaving his clothes on the floor. The floors in this house are mostly a sweep-able material, be they wood or tile. The tiny patch of carpet is swept with the floor. But, as the floor is the most germ-infested area of the house (according to Ticos), we always wear shoes. Always. I'm so glad I thought to bring my fluffy slippers.
The thing is, that even though there are cracks in the walls, stains on the upholstry (sp?), and the white towels aren't still completely white, this family would never give me something they themselves would refuse. The cracks in the walls are necessary in the summer to let the heat escape and the breeze come in. The stains--well, they couldn't use straight bleach to a blue couch! Besides, you can hardly see it if you aren't looking for anything. The off-white towels are the good towels; they're the ones that everyone in the family hopes to get because they dry well, and are well used. The Ticos have everything they need for survival, and yet they don't feel the need to sanitize everything in sight. Of course, they use what they have to keep their spaces habitable. With the thousands of germ-killing products in the U.S., we manage to keep our spaces surgical.
Besides, I have a theory about sanitization: the less germs we're exposed to, the more often we get sick. Think I'm wrong? Consider vaccinations. Why would any sane human being inject himself with a weakened virus? Seriously?? And yet, science tells us that by coming in contact with this weakened virus, our own antibodies will learn to conquer the new sickness and keep us well.
Thus, what is clean to my Tico family, I will also consider clean.
My Tico family believes that the floor is the most common cause of colds. My host brother Esteban has a bit of a cold now, and I overheard doña Isabel scolding him for leaving his clothes on the floor. The floors in this house are mostly a sweep-able material, be they wood or tile. The tiny patch of carpet is swept with the floor. But, as the floor is the most germ-infested area of the house (according to Ticos), we always wear shoes. Always. I'm so glad I thought to bring my fluffy slippers.
The thing is, that even though there are cracks in the walls, stains on the upholstry (sp?), and the white towels aren't still completely white, this family would never give me something they themselves would refuse. The cracks in the walls are necessary in the summer to let the heat escape and the breeze come in. The stains--well, they couldn't use straight bleach to a blue couch! Besides, you can hardly see it if you aren't looking for anything. The off-white towels are the good towels; they're the ones that everyone in the family hopes to get because they dry well, and are well used. The Ticos have everything they need for survival, and yet they don't feel the need to sanitize everything in sight. Of course, they use what they have to keep their spaces habitable. With the thousands of germ-killing products in the U.S., we manage to keep our spaces surgical.
Besides, I have a theory about sanitization: the less germs we're exposed to, the more often we get sick. Think I'm wrong? Consider vaccinations. Why would any sane human being inject himself with a weakened virus? Seriously?? And yet, science tells us that by coming in contact with this weakened virus, our own antibodies will learn to conquer the new sickness and keep us well.
Thus, what is clean to my Tico family, I will also consider clean.
Money
The exchange rate here is about 550 colones to one U.S. dollar. The thing is, the amounts mean different things.
Here, 550 colones is about how much it would cost to take a cheap bus from Guadalupe, El Alto (where the house is) to Central San José. I bought shampoo and conditioner yesterday for c1522 each (approximately), totalling about c3088 (I can't remember the exact number; this is a rounded estimate). In the U.S., anything worth $1000 or more is really expensive to me, but down here, that's just how it goes. Yesterday, I saw an advertisement for Taco Bell (yes, ironically, they have Taco Bell down here) that was for their newest burrito, only c500! That's supposed to be cheap.
I'll try to list the denominations of money for the curious:
In coins, c5 is the lowest, c10, c20, c25, c50, c100, c200, c500.
With bills, c1000 is the lowest, c2000, c5000, c10000, and on up.
$20 equals about c11000. I carry about that much with me most of the time because it's enough for 4 separate bus trips and anything urgent. If I get pickpocketed, it isn't very much either.
Tomorrow I have my first class! Spanish class!!
UPDATE (19 Jan 09):
Actually, it seems that a c500 piece will take me on a bus to and from Central San José; When I went to classes today, I paid the first bus with a c500 piece, got change and was going to use that for the next bus to Curridabat, but we took a taxi instead.
Here, 550 colones is about how much it would cost to take a cheap bus from Guadalupe, El Alto (where the house is) to Central San José. I bought shampoo and conditioner yesterday for c1522 each (approximately), totalling about c3088 (I can't remember the exact number; this is a rounded estimate). In the U.S., anything worth $1000 or more is really expensive to me, but down here, that's just how it goes. Yesterday, I saw an advertisement for Taco Bell (yes, ironically, they have Taco Bell down here) that was for their newest burrito, only c500! That's supposed to be cheap.
I'll try to list the denominations of money for the curious:
In coins, c5 is the lowest, c10, c20, c25, c50, c100, c200, c500.
With bills, c1000 is the lowest, c2000, c5000, c10000, and on up.
$20 equals about c11000. I carry about that much with me most of the time because it's enough for 4 separate bus trips and anything urgent. If I get pickpocketed, it isn't very much either.
Tomorrow I have my first class! Spanish class!!
UPDATE (19 Jan 09):
Actually, it seems that a c500 piece will take me on a bus to and from Central San José; When I went to classes today, I paid the first bus with a c500 piece, got change and was going to use that for the next bus to Curridabat, but we took a taxi instead.
Endearments
I have gone the last half-week with many variations on my name.
It isn't hard for the Ticos to pronounce my name, it's just that, in Costa Rica, nicknames are given to people you like, and my family likes me, so I've been going around with half a name...
Here, I'll explain:
My name in English is Elise. When I say it to the Ticos, they follow the rules of Spanish and put the accent of my name on the second-to-last syllable, making it E-lise instead of E-lise. No big deal. However, in Spanish, my name is Elisa, which forces the accent to match, but the family I live with have a daughter who is also named Elisa. Thus, the nicknames. I've been called every variation of 'the girl Elise' to 'Lisa'. The daughter is nicknamed 'Eli', and my name constantly changes. Mostly, I've been addressed without a title, just to avoid the confusion.
Also, down here, the Ticos tease everybody. I mentioned before that they want to give me a nickname--I'll go further and propose that my Tican family wants to give me a name that fits me with them. That's the type of people they are, Ticos. One of my brothers is always teasing me about my boyfriend, another is teasing me about being clumsy... they all just enjoy life, and they see the funny. By teasing me, they help me see the funny, too. Through teasing and being nicknamed, I am endeared.
It isn't hard for the Ticos to pronounce my name, it's just that, in Costa Rica, nicknames are given to people you like, and my family likes me, so I've been going around with half a name...
Here, I'll explain:
My name in English is Elise. When I say it to the Ticos, they follow the rules of Spanish and put the accent of my name on the second-to-last syllable, making it E-lise instead of E-lise. No big deal. However, in Spanish, my name is Elisa, which forces the accent to match, but the family I live with have a daughter who is also named Elisa. Thus, the nicknames. I've been called every variation of 'the girl Elise' to 'Lisa'. The daughter is nicknamed 'Eli', and my name constantly changes. Mostly, I've been addressed without a title, just to avoid the confusion.
Also, down here, the Ticos tease everybody. I mentioned before that they want to give me a nickname--I'll go further and propose that my Tican family wants to give me a name that fits me with them. That's the type of people they are, Ticos. One of my brothers is always teasing me about my boyfriend, another is teasing me about being clumsy... they all just enjoy life, and they see the funny. By teasing me, they help me see the funny, too. Through teasing and being nicknamed, I am endeared.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Weather
Contrary to popular belief, it's cold down here.
My group arrived during the dry season, or the Costa Rican winter. It's more or less spring now, and the rains have started. I would say that today's weather is about as mild as an Indiana fall, or something to that effect.
My host mother teases me about being a ranita, or a 'little frog' because my hands are always cold. It's okay, I like frogs! The Ticos always wear a few shirts during this season. I've been wearing my coat, but not during the day so as not to stand out terribly. All of the American students I am with (those who have never been out of the country) find the weather extremely pleasant, and cannot understand why I'm always shivering.
Even though it's the 'dry season' now, like I said, the rains have been coming. Yesterday, there was a constant mist that started at about 1 p.m. (Costa Rican time) and ended at about 6 p.m. It's weather like this that makes my hair a frizz ball. I'm going to go to the farmacía to find some good anti-frizz conditioner.
Well, it's midday here now, so we are going to almorzar, or eat lunch.
¡Hasta luego!
UPDATE 20 Jan 09:
I found something interesting today--the mist (it isn't quite rain) is called "pelo de gato" or "cat's fur" rain. Why? Because the rain is soft, fine (small drops), and short, like cat's hair.
My group arrived during the dry season, or the Costa Rican winter. It's more or less spring now, and the rains have started. I would say that today's weather is about as mild as an Indiana fall, or something to that effect.
My host mother teases me about being a ranita, or a 'little frog' because my hands are always cold. It's okay, I like frogs! The Ticos always wear a few shirts during this season. I've been wearing my coat, but not during the day so as not to stand out terribly. All of the American students I am with (those who have never been out of the country) find the weather extremely pleasant, and cannot understand why I'm always shivering.
Even though it's the 'dry season' now, like I said, the rains have been coming. Yesterday, there was a constant mist that started at about 1 p.m. (Costa Rican time) and ended at about 6 p.m. It's weather like this that makes my hair a frizz ball. I'm going to go to the farmacía to find some good anti-frizz conditioner.
Well, it's midday here now, so we are going to almorzar, or eat lunch.
¡Hasta luego!
UPDATE 20 Jan 09:
I found something interesting today--the mist (it isn't quite rain) is called "pelo de gato" or "cat's fur" rain. Why? Because the rain is soft, fine (small drops), and short, like cat's hair.
Traffic
Here, most of the buses and cars have about one speed all the time, the rough equivalent of 50 mph. The Ticos rarely use the turn signals to change lanes, but only to make a perpendicular turn. Everybody swerves. Ironically, however, pedestrians are probably safer here on the streets and on the sidewalks than they would be in the United States. I, personally, think it's because of one of the vast, fundamental differences between Costa Rica and the US: personal rights.
In the US, I have a right to walk on the sidewalk and thus assume I am safe from all harm. In the US, I have a right to cross the street when the light tells me to, and if a car hits me for any reason at all when it is my turn, that car is at fault. In the US, if any car hits me (as a pedestrian) at any time regardless, I am free from blame, according to the law.
In Costa Rica, I have no rights, just survival instincts. If the semáforo turns red, but no cars are coming, cross the street (this excludes large streets and refers only to the smaller streets downtown). If the semáforo turns green, but cars are still coming, don't cross. If no cars are coming on a street and you need to get to the other side, cross quickly. When the cars are stopped at an intersection, regardless of where you are on the street, cross the street. The cars generally swerve to avoid hitting people, or they will stop, and instead of yelling at you to get out of the street, will wish you a happy day, and blessings on your family. It was really disconcerting the first day, when I was with my host mom and she was showing me the bus stop. I totally thought we were about to die.
All the cars down here are stick-shift. My host family teased me because I can only drive an automatic, and my eldest host brother promised to teach me how to drive his car. I hope he forgets he mentioned it.
More later!!
In the US, I have a right to walk on the sidewalk and thus assume I am safe from all harm. In the US, I have a right to cross the street when the light tells me to, and if a car hits me for any reason at all when it is my turn, that car is at fault. In the US, if any car hits me (as a pedestrian) at any time regardless, I am free from blame, according to the law.
In Costa Rica, I have no rights, just survival instincts. If the semáforo turns red, but no cars are coming, cross the street (this excludes large streets and refers only to the smaller streets downtown). If the semáforo turns green, but cars are still coming, don't cross. If no cars are coming on a street and you need to get to the other side, cross quickly. When the cars are stopped at an intersection, regardless of where you are on the street, cross the street. The cars generally swerve to avoid hitting people, or they will stop, and instead of yelling at you to get out of the street, will wish you a happy day, and blessings on your family. It was really disconcerting the first day, when I was with my host mom and she was showing me the bus stop. I totally thought we were about to die.
All the cars down here are stick-shift. My host family teased me because I can only drive an automatic, and my eldest host brother promised to teach me how to drive his car. I hope he forgets he mentioned it.
More later!!
Friday, January 16, 2009
New Family: in greater detail
My host family is so wonderful! My host mom is named Isabel, and she's an artist. The house is full of un-hung paintings and prepared canvases, and art supplies. It looks as though she does everything she can: she works with oils, I've seen a few watercolor, sculptures and even mosaics. Right now, she is making a purse out of burlap sacks for her granddaughter Raquel.
My host father is very quiet, but very welcoming too. I want to get to know him better, but I always feel shy around him.
The couple has two granddaughters staying with them right now. Camila is about 8, and I think Raquel is about 14. They are very nice to me, and talk to me. The couple's eldest sons come to the house every day to spend time with the family. I've been able to speak to both of them fairly well--once again, I am astounded at how well I can speak, understand, and be understood...
Isabel always asks me if I'm hungry, and gives me food to eat all the time. She jokes that she's going to make me fat with all the rice and beans, and the bread.
There are several staples in the Costa Rican diet: one is a form of rice and beans that is called gallopinto (gah-yo peehn-tow). It generally has onions and garlic that are sauteéd in a pan before adding black beans. The Ticos (Costa Ricans) use a special sauce called by its brand name, Lizano for nearly every type of seasoning. I keep sneezing whenever I smell it. It isn't spicy, it just makes me sneeze.
Another staple is eggs or meat. We eat a little meat with every meal, and have delicious bread all the time. For breakfast, I have eaten gallopinto, some tea, and bread. For lunch (lately, anyway. It will probably change when I start classes), I have sandwiches, and a little bit of fruit. The family I am with does not generally eat dinner, as they have a bigger midday meal. I'm trying to wean myself to fit into their lifestyle.
I love the city! There's so much to do!
I'll write more later!
¡Hasta luego, y que tengan buena noche!
My host father is very quiet, but very welcoming too. I want to get to know him better, but I always feel shy around him.
The couple has two granddaughters staying with them right now. Camila is about 8, and I think Raquel is about 14. They are very nice to me, and talk to me. The couple's eldest sons come to the house every day to spend time with the family. I've been able to speak to both of them fairly well--once again, I am astounded at how well I can speak, understand, and be understood...
Isabel always asks me if I'm hungry, and gives me food to eat all the time. She jokes that she's going to make me fat with all the rice and beans, and the bread.
There are several staples in the Costa Rican diet: one is a form of rice and beans that is called gallopinto (gah-yo peehn-tow). It generally has onions and garlic that are sauteéd in a pan before adding black beans. The Ticos (Costa Ricans) use a special sauce called by its brand name, Lizano for nearly every type of seasoning. I keep sneezing whenever I smell it. It isn't spicy, it just makes me sneeze.
Another staple is eggs or meat. We eat a little meat with every meal, and have delicious bread all the time. For breakfast, I have eaten gallopinto, some tea, and bread. For lunch (lately, anyway. It will probably change when I start classes), I have sandwiches, and a little bit of fruit. The family I am with does not generally eat dinner, as they have a bigger midday meal. I'm trying to wean myself to fit into their lifestyle.
I love the city! There's so much to do!
I'll write more later!
¡Hasta luego, y que tengan buena noche!
The Trip: in more detail
Hello again!! I told you I would write soon!!
All right, so starting from the beginning of my story: I left from South Bend Regional Airport on 13 Jan really early. It was snowing out, and there were huge drifts and piles of snow all over the place. I made it through the scary security, and sat down to wait. I kept to myself and watched the other passengers. It was probably self-conciousness, but I felt as if the older business people were watching me too. I know I look rather young for my age, but it made me uncomfortable. A huge thanks goes out to my dad at this time for helping me keep my sanity in those last few moments before the trip. Dad, I love you.
I got on the smallest plane I've ever been on in my life, and sat back in my seat to take a picture of the snow outside the window. During the flight to my connection in Atlanta, I was able to get well acquainted with my seat-mate, a businessman to some sort of a conference in Atlanta. We spoke of everything from politics, to schools, to religion and theology. He was very fascinating to talk to because he had many observation and questions. I tried my hardest not to talk all the time, but I'm afraid I probably said the most... When we arrived in Atlanta, GA, I felt it was prudent to first find my gate and then see about using the restroom, etc., but the Atlanta International Airport is the biggest place I've ever seen in my life. Ever. Thankfully, there were so many signs that I had little trouble finding the next gate (though a very long walk), and sat down to read while waiting for my flight. I kept checking the time periodically so I wouldn't miss my flight, but all at once, I looked up and realized that my flight should have left 5 minutes earlier. What's more, I was one of only two people waiting at the gate. I jumped up and asked the lady behind me what flight she was waiting for. Hers was another flight, and I showed her my ticket and asked if I was in the right gate. She told me that maybe my flight had been canceled. I started to panic. The lady suggested I tackle one of the many attendants, but when I looked up to do as she had suggested, there was not a one in sight. Sigh. So, needless to say, I found someone at a desk, handed her my ticket and asked where I was supposed to go. What did she say? ¨Oh, your flight should have left by now,¨ she said, ¨but wait, I can look it up for you.¨ Thankfully, my flight was only delayed, but I had to run to make it to the next gate. The attendant wrote down the number of the gate on my ticket, I thanked her and left really quickly. AIA has ¨ground transport¨ which consists of several trains that run the length of the concourses, making stops at each. It's faster than walking, and so I was advised to take the train. I got on one, but didn't realize it went through each stop, and jumped off before the doors closed. Another attendant saw me and assured me I would make it to Concourse A (I was in Concourse E, naturally). So, I took the next train. The ride made me feel slightly sick watching the walls pass in a blur, so I closed my eyes and held my bag tightly. I made it to the gate with 10 minutes to spare. I was pretty proud of myself.
I finally boarded the jet bound for my destination of Miami, FL, and found that I was the only passenger in my row of three seats. Not that I particularly wanted to sit in the window seat, or in the middle seat, but I made do with the aisle. I read my book, and suffered from motion sickness as a result. When I finally made it to Miami, I wanted to jump for joy, but my stomach wouldn't have allowed that. I had to go and find my luggage, and then I panicked again because I didn't know if my luggage had followed me on the same plane or been delivered ahead of me. Also, the MIA is about as large as the AIA, so I had to first find the luggage area before I would know anyway. Unfortunately, the MIA was having construction done on the lower level (the luggage claim area) and I could not find the name of my plane or my departure city on any of the LCD signs. Once again, I started to panic. I tackled a friendly-looking police officer because I looked appropriately confused and he took me to an electronic board that listed the plane and the luggage area where the passengers could find their belongings. Another gentleman from my plane was also looking for his, so I kept up with him when he went to find the luggage. We found our stuff, and then I went back upstairs to now search for the group of other LASP students, identifiable to me only by the bright orange luggage tags we were asked to wear on our things. We were supposed to meet at the American Airlines counter, but I walked up and down (what I thought) was the length of the counters, pausing to ask many bored-looking attendants in English (I'm not sure why I never thought to use Spanish, it didn't occur to me), until finally, after 20 minutes, I was told by another attendant that I had not walked far enough in one direction. As the original path I had been walking was a good, long distance, I wasn't surprised that there was a longer distance I hadn't yet covered. So I walked that way, and looked at everybody's luggage tags (people probably thought I was looking to steal something unattended), and finally got to the AA counter. I walked around it twice before a girl my age came up to me and said, ¨Hi, are you going to Costa Rica with LASP?¨ Finally!! I was saved!!! I said yes, and sat down with a group of students about my age who said they were 'on the look-out' for younger individuals with confused expressions.
This post is long enough. I will write another detailing my 'new' family!
All right, so starting from the beginning of my story: I left from South Bend Regional Airport on 13 Jan really early. It was snowing out, and there were huge drifts and piles of snow all over the place. I made it through the scary security, and sat down to wait. I kept to myself and watched the other passengers. It was probably self-conciousness, but I felt as if the older business people were watching me too. I know I look rather young for my age, but it made me uncomfortable. A huge thanks goes out to my dad at this time for helping me keep my sanity in those last few moments before the trip. Dad, I love you.
I got on the smallest plane I've ever been on in my life, and sat back in my seat to take a picture of the snow outside the window. During the flight to my connection in Atlanta, I was able to get well acquainted with my seat-mate, a businessman to some sort of a conference in Atlanta. We spoke of everything from politics, to schools, to religion and theology. He was very fascinating to talk to because he had many observation and questions. I tried my hardest not to talk all the time, but I'm afraid I probably said the most... When we arrived in Atlanta, GA, I felt it was prudent to first find my gate and then see about using the restroom, etc., but the Atlanta International Airport is the biggest place I've ever seen in my life. Ever. Thankfully, there were so many signs that I had little trouble finding the next gate (though a very long walk), and sat down to read while waiting for my flight. I kept checking the time periodically so I wouldn't miss my flight, but all at once, I looked up and realized that my flight should have left 5 minutes earlier. What's more, I was one of only two people waiting at the gate. I jumped up and asked the lady behind me what flight she was waiting for. Hers was another flight, and I showed her my ticket and asked if I was in the right gate. She told me that maybe my flight had been canceled. I started to panic. The lady suggested I tackle one of the many attendants, but when I looked up to do as she had suggested, there was not a one in sight. Sigh. So, needless to say, I found someone at a desk, handed her my ticket and asked where I was supposed to go. What did she say? ¨Oh, your flight should have left by now,¨ she said, ¨but wait, I can look it up for you.¨ Thankfully, my flight was only delayed, but I had to run to make it to the next gate. The attendant wrote down the number of the gate on my ticket, I thanked her and left really quickly. AIA has ¨ground transport¨ which consists of several trains that run the length of the concourses, making stops at each. It's faster than walking, and so I was advised to take the train. I got on one, but didn't realize it went through each stop, and jumped off before the doors closed. Another attendant saw me and assured me I would make it to Concourse A (I was in Concourse E, naturally). So, I took the next train. The ride made me feel slightly sick watching the walls pass in a blur, so I closed my eyes and held my bag tightly. I made it to the gate with 10 minutes to spare. I was pretty proud of myself.
I finally boarded the jet bound for my destination of Miami, FL, and found that I was the only passenger in my row of three seats. Not that I particularly wanted to sit in the window seat, or in the middle seat, but I made do with the aisle. I read my book, and suffered from motion sickness as a result. When I finally made it to Miami, I wanted to jump for joy, but my stomach wouldn't have allowed that. I had to go and find my luggage, and then I panicked again because I didn't know if my luggage had followed me on the same plane or been delivered ahead of me. Also, the MIA is about as large as the AIA, so I had to first find the luggage area before I would know anyway. Unfortunately, the MIA was having construction done on the lower level (the luggage claim area) and I could not find the name of my plane or my departure city on any of the LCD signs. Once again, I started to panic. I tackled a friendly-looking police officer because I looked appropriately confused and he took me to an electronic board that listed the plane and the luggage area where the passengers could find their belongings. Another gentleman from my plane was also looking for his, so I kept up with him when he went to find the luggage. We found our stuff, and then I went back upstairs to now search for the group of other LASP students, identifiable to me only by the bright orange luggage tags we were asked to wear on our things. We were supposed to meet at the American Airlines counter, but I walked up and down (what I thought) was the length of the counters, pausing to ask many bored-looking attendants in English (I'm not sure why I never thought to use Spanish, it didn't occur to me), until finally, after 20 minutes, I was told by another attendant that I had not walked far enough in one direction. As the original path I had been walking was a good, long distance, I wasn't surprised that there was a longer distance I hadn't yet covered. So I walked that way, and looked at everybody's luggage tags (people probably thought I was looking to steal something unattended), and finally got to the AA counter. I walked around it twice before a girl my age came up to me and said, ¨Hi, are you going to Costa Rica with LASP?¨ Finally!! I was saved!!! I said yes, and sat down with a group of students about my age who said they were 'on the look-out' for younger individuals with confused expressions.
This post is long enough. I will write another detailing my 'new' family!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
¡Bienvenidos a Costa Rica!
I just wrote down a lot of stuff, but the computer deleted it.
My family is so nice! The doña always cooks, and keeps persuading me to eat. I spend much time in the kitchen talking with her because she shows me what she cooks. Yesterday, I helped make some gallopinto, which is rice and black beans mixed together. Doña Isabel sauteés onions, peppers and garlic for the gallopinto. It seems to be a common staple of the country.
Today, our group was split into smaller groups of three people and we were given a map and a list of things to do, and told to meet with them all over the capital at certain times. My group has yet to figure out how to take a bus to the LASP headquarters. We.re about to leave, but since the computer deleted my stuff, I.m trying to make up for it.
I have my own room with my host family, and they have their two granddaughters living with them right now.
They tell me that my accent is definitely not American, but a mixture, it seems between Dominican and Mexican: I drop my .s. at the end of words, but I have a Mexican lilt! Weird.
I know much more Spanish than I thought, and am able to express my ideas fairly well. It.s hard to write this in English because I have been trying to think in Spanish for the last 48 hours!!!
I will write more later!!
¡Que tengan un buen día!
My family is so nice! The doña always cooks, and keeps persuading me to eat. I spend much time in the kitchen talking with her because she shows me what she cooks. Yesterday, I helped make some gallopinto, which is rice and black beans mixed together. Doña Isabel sauteés onions, peppers and garlic for the gallopinto. It seems to be a common staple of the country.
Today, our group was split into smaller groups of three people and we were given a map and a list of things to do, and told to meet with them all over the capital at certain times. My group has yet to figure out how to take a bus to the LASP headquarters. We.re about to leave, but since the computer deleted my stuff, I.m trying to make up for it.
I have my own room with my host family, and they have their two granddaughters living with them right now.
They tell me that my accent is definitely not American, but a mixture, it seems between Dominican and Mexican: I drop my .s. at the end of words, but I have a Mexican lilt! Weird.
I know much more Spanish than I thought, and am able to express my ideas fairly well. It.s hard to write this in English because I have been trying to think in Spanish for the last 48 hours!!!
I will write more later!!
¡Que tengan un buen día!
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Last American Post (for a while)
Dear Readers,
Thank you for reading! I don't know if I have many readers or few, but if you're reading this, I'm thinking of you.
I'm certainly going to take a nap again as soon as I finish, but I wanted to write a little more. To my friends, I will miss you. To my family, I'll miss you more. I feel an odd calm right now, almost as if I'm protected by some invisible shield.
I just wanted to mention that, abroad, my posts will probably be much shorter. I don't know when or if I will find computers that work quickly, and as I write very much in one sitting, I don't want to be forced to rewrite in the event of a timeout... I will take many pictures, though, and hopefully will be able to link them to my posts.
Hmm, I've just written a bunch of nothing. I hate it when I do that. Oh well.
Have a safe week, and enjoy the time you have!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Going solo
Here I am again, writing to you when I really should be packing...
I want to buy a small copy of the American Constitution so I have my Rights on hand, although why I would need them desperately, I'm not sure...I feel it is best to be prepared. I actually made two separate lists for packing: one lists everything I want to take with me, and the other lists where I'm going to pack it. Maybe I'm micro-managing. Probably. Sigh.
I've had the same recurring image in my dreams for the last three days. It happens differently every time, but the gist is the same: I'm almost ready to go, but I walk into my room at home, and it's all filled with boxes and crates. There's a pile to left that goes in my suitcase, and the pile to the right that goes in my carry-on, but nothing fits. I'm such a light packer, that it frustrates me--I'm only trying to take the essentials, but I seem to need everything in the piles, and I can't narrow it down at all...Then the dream will change into something else before going back to the theme. From my humbly unprofessional deduction of dreams, I would hazard a guess that I'm really stressed about this. Really.
Of course, I technically know me better than others, but if that's true, then as an individual who hides unhappy emotions, it follows that I hide my stress not only from others, but from me. Was that a run-on sentence, or what? So sorry. I took higher English classes than the language I appear to be using...
Well, I guess I'm writing now out of pure nerves: I'm absolutely terrified of crossing the country on my own. I don't think my family (and others) actually understand or appreciate this. It doesn't placate me to say that I'll be fine; it doesn't reassure me to tell me how others have made it through the checkpoints. It is others who have made it, not I. I just have to do it. Perhaps it's better to let me blow things out of proportion. There are two very good reasons to do this:
One, I will be very observant of my surroundings and pay very close attention to details. This will help if, God forbid, I am abducted, etc. It will also help because I will give authorities no reason to put me into custody (not that I think they would anyway, I'm just making sure).
Two, if and when my fears prove superfluous I will be very pleasantly surprised. That's a good thing.
Just a thought: I think I want to revise a post I published earlier this month, the one where I think I'm nervous because I am leaving my net of security behind me. I agree to a point (can a person disagree with himself?): I follow rules very meticulously. However, I don't know the best list of things to do, or things not to do. In short, I have no boundaries for this trip in which I can comfortably operate. That's why my security is staying in my hometown: I don't know how to operate outside of it. It is not in my repertoire to travel great distances by myself, therefore, I have no set rules to keep me safe (excluding, of course, common sense), or to tell me how to act or what to say, or even when to say it. I'm going solo.
I leave Tuesday from the airport at 5:50 a.m.
Have a wonderful day, and keep safe!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Closing in
It's coming ever closer. I keep feeling nervous, but so excited!! I hope these ridiculous conflicts of emotions will finally calm down once I board the plane. But, with my luck, they probably won't.
Speaking of, I'm faced with yet another interesting conundrum (if you don't know that word, Dear Reader, you might as well look it up now because I will probably use it frequently in the coming days/weeks/etc...): I get motion sickness. I am well aware that the pharmaceutical market has invented all these "cures" for motion sickness, but I also react poorly to the side-effects caused by pills and such. So, pills and tablets are out. But here's the thing: I also have a fear of heights. And, I have occasional claustrophobia--How on Earth will I handle the plane ride?? Consider: I cannot sit next to the window because I will fear the height, I cannot sit on the aisle seat because I won't be able to look out a window to connect my sense of gravity and speed (which, oddly enough, helps me NOT be sick), and I cannot sit between the two seats because I will feel claustrophobic. I would sleep, but I'd be terrified that someone would steal my purse...
Sigh.
It figures.
Guess I'll sleep. Maybe those barf bags can be used to calm someone who hyperventilates. I could always tie my shoes to my wrist like they did in the Great Depression. Hmm... maybe that's overreacting a bit.
I'll probably be fine. Yeah, that's it. I'll be fine.
Wow, now I'm writing to reassure myself.
Have you noticed, Dear Reader, that as I continue posting this week, my posts have gotten steadily more flustered? It kind of makes me laugh: I used to not write at all, and now I can't go more than a couple days without imparting my thoughts on the subject...
I think I'll spend some last minute time with my mom. I know how sorry she is that she hasn't been able to spend lots of time with me, and I'm really going to miss her. I wish everyone could see me off--all my friends from the university, my family, my parents...but the plane leaves at 5:50 a.m. and I'm not /that/ desperate, at least, not now. Besides, everyone has things to do, like school and work.
Don't worry, I'm still happy!
Have a wonderful evening, and keep safe!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The coming hill
So...once again, I find myself slightly apprehensive... Of course, I know that I will probably be extra cautious at the airport because of my paranoia, and thus spare myself of any and all probable situations in which I could be harmed; I will most likely be especially observant of the schedules for the flights, as I am also terrified of missing my plane...
Sigh.
Dear Reader, could you find it in you to leave everything you have behind you except for your camera? ...And clothes, of course. This would be drastically easier if there were only someone to share it with--someone who was going the same place at the same time on the same plane. Then I would be able to hide my fear if only for this companion. Why is it that I can be brave for someone else, but not for myself?
I've noticed that this apprehension has leaked into other behaviors of mine; for example, I want desperately to be with people, and at the same time, I crave my solitude. The contradiction of it is...frustrating, to say the least. I don't know what I want anymore.
Please, do not misunderstand: I am beside myself with glee at the mere thought of spending time in another country to learn the language--it's what I've always dreamed of! It's just that, now the event is closer, I find it increasingly difficult to proceed with such nonchalance than I had earlier. Before, it was as though I were looking across an ocean to the opposite shore; now, it is as though the ocean has shrunk. I still have to cross the ocean, which is the challenge, but the opposite shore is close enough to scare me. What will I find?
I suppose that the decreased size of my ocean should be comforting: I don't have to go as great a distance. However, I understand why many of my peers told me how brave they think me. It is hard to leave a secure web with little less than a few scraps of net to fall back on. I think it must be harder to leave everything behind and start over again--thankfully, I'm not doing that.
Hmm... maybe this is my biggest issue, that I'm leaving my security behind me. I don't think I'm afraid of the new country itself, or even its people. I fear a lack of security.
Lots to think about, though.
Have a wonderful day, and keep safe!
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