Palm trees, moss, and roots

I used to think I was a walking palm, a tree that grows in Costa Rica. Whenever something in the dense canopy blocks out its light or larger tree falls and knocks it down, the tree just moves over. As it moves, it stops using its old roots and tries to grow new ones in a new found ray of sunlight. They old roots are still attached to it but they whither and sometimes break as the tree moves farther away.

In the summer of 2012 I fell in love with a man about to go into the US Air Force. We've been doing long distance ever since. In the spring of 2013 I went to live in Costa Rica for four months. For the summer of 2013 I lived in L.A. for an internship. In fall 2013 I was back at Whitworth in Spokane. January-March 2014 I've been living in Olympia for another internship.

Since that fateful summer before my junior year, I have made 27 trips in this hemisphere, resided in 5 cities, 3 states, and two different countries. I have visited 4 additional cities in 3 countries including a legal visit to Cuba.

I am worn out because people need roots.

When I graduated high school roots were a burden. I wanted new adventures in distant places. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to meet new people. I wanted new stories. Ultimately, I wanted a place to grow into my own person. I had been knocked down to the forest floor, and over shadowed by bigger trees so I grew toward a new bean of sunlight.  So I uprooted and moved to Washington.

Two years later I decided it was time to up root again, then again, and again, and again. It has certainly left me feeling accomplished. Indeed I have had more experiences in the last year than most people have the joy of experiencing in their lifetime. However, my constant re-rooting has left me a weak and worn out tree.  In search of better sunlight I kept neglecting the essential nutrients I needed to make that sunlight beneficial. Far away from the support of my family, high school and college friends, and my favorite person in the world my boyfriend, all the sunlight in the world wouldn’t do this tree much good.

That just isn't a sustainable way to live.

I love all the friends I have made on these adventures. I have met some wonderful and challenging people along the way, even some kindred spirits. I have met people from so many cultures and backgrounds and life styles; and those people have helped shape me. I see the world through new eyes and I'm so grateful!

But now I'm tired of making new friends. I’m tired of packing up everything I own every 2-4 months. I want and I NEED to put down roots. After all, roots are what nourish us.

Living all over has been fun. Yet it has left me feeling like a little piece of Pacific Northwest moss desperately clinging to an old stone wall, one kick and I'll come loose. I’m renouncing the life strategy I once thought would make me a sturdy tree but left me in my current moss like condition.  People are meant to put down roots, to be stable. Sometimes life circumstances rip these roots right up and leave us hanging in the air screaming like a one of Professor Sprout's mandrakes. But like any real or magical plant, we need to be firmly planted for a number of healthy years. I am not a walking palm. If anything I’d say I want to be an aspen. Aspens are networking trees. If you stand in an aspen grove in the Rockies it is probable that every tree you see is connected to all the rest. Like them we weren’t meant to stand alone. 

So I'm leaving Washington. I’m going home. At home there is an unsightly, if not completely hideous, pot awaiting me.  It has pink walls, a purple bedspread, lime curtains, and a hand full of fairies. In this pot I grew through my awkward lanky years, through my teenage angst, through heartbreaks and triumphs. There is good soil in this unsightly pot. No, middle school was not kind to my bedroom, but it is mine and it is home. If I need change I'll cover up the pink walls, get some mature art, take a class, or invest more time in my hobbies. But one thing is for sure – of all the things I want out of life, I just want to put down some roots with my man.

Fishing and Karaoke

This last weekend our group went to the fishing village of Tarcoles on the Pacific coast. Our school has a unique relationship with Tarcoles because of our focus on sustainability and the unique fishing co-op that they fishermen of Tarcoles have created. A few years ago the fishermen here realized that their catches were diminishing in size and that their profits were consequently also suffering. As it turns out they were over-fishing and the population they relied on for their well being could no longer support them. In response a few bold fisherman formed a co-op to keep prices stable and also make sustainable fishing practices workable for the community by eliminating the need to sell your catch at lower prices than your neighbor. Additionally, they also created a no commercial fishing zone directly off shore to allow the population to recuperate and which has been very successful according to studies they recently conducted.

During our stay we took a tour of the co-op but that wasn’t really what I took away from the weekend. Part of the fishing co-ops income is that they also do educational tourism. For the weekend we all had to leave behind our “I’m trying desperately not to look or act like a tourist” attitude and just let it happen. We took a crocodile boat tour… which, if I’m honest, was totally awesome! And we stayed with host families that gave up their beds to us for the evening. It was a completely unique experience. We were under a tin roof with a four inch gap between it and the wall. And despite any of my preconceived notions about what would be inside, I found a very inviting living space. Electricity and running water, brightly painted smooth concrete walls, ceramic tile floors and counter tops  I very much enjoyed the hospitality we were shown and the warmth with which we were welcomed. The nine-year-old daughter of our host even painted all of our nails for us.

And then we went out to the Karaoke bar. Another cultural immersion experience! Our professor led us off with a wonderful rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart. Up next: Mandrew and Kristine with the all American classic Don’t Stop Believing. It was amazing to think that I can sing in front of a whole congregation of people and feel confident but I start singing Journey in a bar of 30 people and I shake uncontrollably. Fortunately, even our Spanish speaking audience was entertained by this globally popular song. A little later on in the night I sang a song in Spanish with our teaching assistant. It’s called Corre by Jesse & Joy and it was very well received by the locals who were tired of our English music. Austin also did a wonderful and talented remix of Stand By Me in English and Spanish. If you’re feeling so inclined check it out. 

Clase de Ingles

Every Wednesday night Whitworth invites ladies and their children from the town to attend English class for two hours at our campus. Almost all of the gringo undergrad students assisted in classes. Two elementary and middle school aged children broke off and did English class with our political science professor, Patrick, and the 4 ladies stayed in class with 7 of us gringos.

We started with a name game so everyone would know who was in the class. And then we started reviewing verbs. We went over what a verb is and the general rule that it always follows the subject. All of us gringos exchanged a look when we started conjugating verbs in the present tense. IT’S SO EASY IN ENGLISH!!!! I run, You run, He/she runs, We run, You all run, they run. IT’S THE SAME WORD EVERY TIME EXCEPT YOU ADD AN “S” IN THE HE/SHE FORM!!!! In Spanish every verb in every tense has 6 distinct conjugations for all three persons. In some tenses I and he/she are the same. Regardless at the beginning of class we were joking around and being slightly envious of English verb learners.

Then we dove into practice activities with the ladies. Olivia and I were with a young 22 year old woman. She spoke English as well as we speak Spanish, in fact probably better, and she’d only been studying for 2 years. I’d like to think we’ve already became friends. We talked about exercise and decided we’d love to do some Insanity workouts together. The older women didn’t have quite the knack for it that she did but all of their attitudes were inspiring.

English class wasn’t about English to me. It was about the fact that despite coming from completely different cultures and linguistic backgrounds, we could spend an evening making jokes while conjugating verbs. And we could laugh while pushing people around in a game while attempting to stay out of the center of the circle. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t really that enchanting of an experience. But it was the first time that I made friends with people using a different language and that my minority status wasn’t an inconvenience. I guess I’ve been so worried about the judgment that might befall this 6 foot tall, green eyed Gringa, that being welcomed with right cheek kisses seemed an extraordinary measure of the similarities we all share.

Pura Vida

Pura Vida. That’s what the Ticos, the Costa Ricans, say. It’s their everyday motto, pure life. It’s as common to hear it here as “Totally” is in the states. Andrew and I went on a run our first day here to breathe the mountain air and stretch our legs after a day of travel. Some of the mountain bikers we saw called after us “Pura Vida!” as we continued our jog and they commenced their downhill flight. Pura Vida. It’s an accurate description of our little campus tucked up in the mountains just a mile and a half away from the continental divide. The wind blows almost constantly and sweeps the misty clouds down the slopes in an avalanche of “pelo de gato – cat hair” which is what they call the afternoon drizzle here, yet whenever the sun is shining its warm. At night you can see every star, just like you can in the Rockies, except the warm breeze carries on it floral scents that make me want to collapse onto the grass and just soak up the magnificence of creation.

Our campus is particularly devoted to maintaining this paradise and doing absolutely everything we can to minimize our impact on it. All the hot water is heated by solar panels on the roof that take advantage of the abundance of sunshine. All natural waste from the dining hall is composted a hundred yards from campus and then the soil is reused in the greenhouse that grows herbs and a few vegetables. The water we use is treated in a complex septic system that releases potable water back into the stream, and soon there will be chickens on campus providing eggs for daily consumption.

This is my buddy Feijao which means bean in Portuguese

 The view from the path behind campus

 The pond behind our dorms

Our second day, my 21^st birthday, we were plunged into the capital city of San Jose. We rode the bus as a group of 10 gringos for an hour and a half into the city. Needless to say as soon as I was on my feet walking through the streets of San Jose, I felt like a giant. We stopped in the Plaza next to the el Teatro Nacional and commenced our plunge. We were split into groups and sent out to find a long list of things in the city. We had no map so our only option was to talk to locals and get directions. I must confess I expected that I would have great difficulty communicating and especially understanding native speakers rattling off directions at a normal pace, and was quite impressed with the ease in which I understood the directions given to us by all the extremely friendly people we talked to.

El Teatro Nacional

 El Museo Nacional. It used to be barracks for the military until Costa Rica officially disbanded their military in 1949. It now houses the national museum.

When we returned the cook had made a flan for my birthday, which I served to my classmates and professors after a heartwarming rendition of happy birthday sung in Spanish. That’s when we commenced our second plunge into Costa Rican Culture. My classmates and I headed to the bus stop to catch the bus into San Rafael, where I will be living beginning Saturday, and celebrate. But the bus never came so we walked 50 ft up the road to an A-frame building containing a small bar proudly displaying an Imperial sign (the official beer of Costa Rica). Inside, the only person present, the bar tender, greeted us warmly. After some initial greetings I asked her what she’d recommend for a birthday drink and she said she knew just what she wanted to give me as a birthday gift. She returned with a small shot glass of clear liquid. “What is this?” I asked. “Moonshine!” she exclaimed proudly and laughed at my surprise. We remained the only patrons of the bar for the entirety of our visit. The bar tender told us that the business usually gets started around 10 everyday of the week and that we were a little early having arrived at 7:15. Classic Gringos. Regardless, it was an experience to sit with friends in a cramped little room, lit only with black twinkle lights, and decorated with wood paneling and a few taxidermied animals and ordering my first drink in Spanish. 

Pura Vida!

Gringisima (SO Gringa)

Soy una gringa en camino.

I’ve dreamed for years of going abroad as more than just a tourist. I’m now about to embark on the first of what I hope will be many such adventures. My specific longing to see Costa Rica began when I was 6 years old. My first grade teacher had a son-in-law from Costa Rica. She would tell us marvelous stories and had a plethora of photographs to show her wide eyed pupils of this magical, tropical land so different from the Colorado Rockies and plains on which I grew up. I’ve wanted to visit ever since.

Now here I am on the eve of leaving my beloved Whitworth, in the much despised perpetual snow of Spokane and I’m getting a little bit anxious and nostalgic. This adventure I’ve dreamed of for ¾ of my 21 years has now become a daunting and rapidly approaching event. I’ve been abroad twice, but never been outside of my comfort zone. Mexico and the Caribbean hardly count when you stay in English speaking resorts or cruise ships. I’ve never had to flounder in a completely new culture. So, of course, the anticipation is killing me. So many emotions bottled in one person!

But I’m keeping my head up. I know that many adventures await me in Costa Rica. I’ll go there as a complete gringa, speaking only the Spanish I’ve learned in school, and knowing only the things I’ve read in books. The colloquialisms, the idiomatic phrases, the food, the bus system, the climate, the social life; I’ll have to relearn it all. I’m a gringa, but I know that I’ll soon change. I intend to own my gringa-ness. I’ll go in with humility. I have much to learn from a family who doesn’t speak my language, knows of my culture only from Hollywood, and for some reason has still signed up to deal with a 21-year-old kid in culture shock, and the severe language barrier that will ensue. I’ll repay this kindness with my willingness to learn, to try, to improve, and to understand. I’ll try to become more than I am.

So I am a girl en route. Soy una gringa en camino.

I know that I have much to learn, not only about Costa Rica, or Spanish, or politics, but most importantly about myself. I’m a girl on a journey. I’ll start out tomorrow with my last goodbyes, a wide-eyed gringa embarking on an adventure of self-discovery. I’ll be making a memorable stop in the cloud Rainforests of Costa Rica, while I’m en camino.