Back on the Faster Fast Track

I'm in my usual state of hurry up. Tammy and the girls arrive tonight, and although I didn't do my usual get ready, I'm still out of time.

I've kind of given up the school of Entertaining for the Insane. I did manage to clean the bathroom, and I will make fried chicken. I had to get some little gifts for the girls! And I did clean up the 20 pounds of pine needles out of the front yard. Clean linens. Well of course! And those few other things, just one or two. Oh well, I guess I'm still slightly insane.

I leave on Friday for Yellowstone, so I had to do all the paperwork that stacked up the last month. Why oh why do insurance and billing companies make you wait on hold until you've grown roots. Things would go so much quicker if they would just add more phone lines or hire more people, or if all else fails, send it to somewhere in Asia to be answered. I don't care, just answer the phone!

I tried sending some emails to my Spanish speaking friends in Costa Rica today. They may have received a strange and garbled message telling them that I had many good things to know if I was their friend when I hope I went to Costa Rica. I hope they can read between the lines.

Computer in the guest room, Chris disabled the wireless router, no computers at Yellowstone.

Darn! I was starting to kind of dig this blog stuff.

Geosynchronicity

Costa Rica seems like it's retreating in the distance already. Last Friday I was walking all over Heredia in the rain. Today, it was the Albertsons.

I've been trying to figure out what was so appealing about just plain everyday life there. The town was old and worn, and dog poop on the sidewalk took some getting used to. ( And I thought it was gross to see dogs here using the public grass, lawns and parks for toilets. ) Good thing there was rain every afternoon!

So many of the things I take for granted, like lots and lots of hot water, driving a car, understanding every bit of the chatter I hear every day, were absent from daily life. Lora and I decided that one of the reasons we had trouble making connections the first few days is that we've grown very dependant on cell phones.

"Where are you? You're late!"

"I'm waiting for you 100 yards away on the OTHER side of the park"

We've become so used to being in constant touch, our inner compasses have gone dormant.

For the last 30 days I walked more, ate simpler, smaller meals, and on a very regular schedule. I wore the same few clothes I had with me over and over, (but of course in stunningly artistic and clever combinations). I didn't drive. I sat still for four hours a day concentrating on learning a whole new way to communicate.

The yogis keep telling us to live in the moment. It wasn't until my moments slowed down that I could start to see how it is done.

You can't live in the moment if you're always doing two things at once, driving while talking on the phone, hearing, but never listening, gulping down your meal while cleaning the kitchen or negotiating the freeway.

Time moves at a more human pace when you're walking to the store. If there is only 3 minutes of hot water, you appreciate and NOTICE those 3 minutes. If you need to leave the house to work on the computer, your time in front of the screen is more focused. Of course paying by the half hour makes this even more imperative.

Almost nothing in our everyday world supports this way of life. We drive everywhere, we use and use and buy and buy stuff. Abiltiy to multi task has almost become a yardstick of character. Even the food we eat and the way we eat it has become just another chore to find some way around.

Last week the dinner table was crowded with people, all of us talking with loving and focused concentration on what each person was saying, trying to truly understand one another.

After dinner, Chris and John and I walked to a corner restaurant and had a beer, and then walked slowly home under the street lights of our neighborhood.

I want to keep this Costa Rican feeling alive and growing, and not have it just fade into a quaint memory. I promise I will reset my inner compass.

After all, I don't really need to bounce a signal thousands of miles to an orbiting satallite in order to keep an appointment with a friend.

I'm Reduced to the Radio

I really miss the sound of Spanish all around me. It's amazing how much you pick up just getting your ears into it.

One night at the dinner table, Maria, John, my housemate, and Josue, the 10 year old whose house we were sharing, and I were talking about our efforts to learn Spanish. Josue is taking English in school. For some reason, we picked the word "refrigerator" to compare in Enlgish and in Spanish.

We all could say it in Spanish with no problems. Ree FREE herr a dor. Then we started trying to teach Josue how to say it in English.

Ree FRIG er rate or.

He tried several times to get his mouth to say the word in English. Instead of the rolling, rounded of sounds of Spanish, he tried to make the syllables sharp and square as they sound in English. He just couldn't get it. Eventually, he managed to spit out something like

REE FIG E A OR. Very robotic. I never realized how gutteral English is until you heara new learner trying to speak it.

I really don't want to loose this ablitlity to understand a whole new set of words. I've been given the new decoder ring that will help me to understand a big part of the world that used to be totally inaccessible, if I could just figure out how to work the thing.

I need to find a speaking buddy. Somehow Spanish soap operas and the Spanish radio stations don't quite substitute for the patient, concerned, often hilarious dinner time conversations I was having last week. I feel like someone with their ear to a glass pressed up against the wall in order to hear the secret conversation going on in the next room.

On the up side, on these Spanish radio stations I'm finding some really great new music. Now if only I could be really sure the DJ was saying the name of the band, and not advertising something for a music store.

I've got a ways to go.

Espanol y mi

Yo quierro decir que tuve un buen tiempo cuando fui en Costa Rica. No esparo tener asi mucho divertida. Yo me gusta aprender espanol, y yo quierro regressar a Costa Rica pronto. Mi tiempo en Costa Rica fue un experienca mejor de mi vida.

I can't begin to explain how much fun it was to learn Spanish. When I went there, my main goal was to just try to recapture some of the Spanish I sort of learned in high school. One day last week, we were studying verbs in the past tense, and it all seemed kind of familiar. I realized it was the same stuff we did in 9th grade, but back then, it all seemed so difficult. Maybe it was because I was spending most of my time passing notes to David Tanner. This time, it seemed like a mystery I could really solve.

I had so much fun using my brain in a new way. I love the idea of having a whole new set of words, language, ways of expression, communication tools, just sitting there available for me to discover and use.

At first, it just seemed like it was a matter of memorizing facts or words. But after constant exposure, things begin to change.

We heard Spanish all day long. We heard it on the street, in class, on the TV, when the kids were fussing in the living room. Even blasting from a loud speaker mounted on the roof of a pick up truck that trolled around town advertising this and that. Hola, hola, hola Heredia ! Venga! Veinte y dos de julio!

After all this constant and subconcious exposure , I started to really pick up the rythym. Spanish is a very melodic language that sounds like someone speaking while they gently roll a piece of candy between their lips. The words are round and soft. It's seductive. Pretty soon, you can kind of tell when you have said something in the wrong order.

And let me tell you, Spanish is very backwards from English.

My teacher kept saying "don't translate literally."

And for this very literal thinker, it's hard. If it translates as "I give you my arm " when they mean they like you a lot, I"ll be worried that someone is really about to give me a body part.

It was funny to see everyone start to garble their English about week three. Me no like that . No wait, that's not right. No me gusta.

This experience of learning was the most fun I've had in a long time. . So very amazing that at some point in human history, every one got together and agreed that when they made certain sounds with their mouths, everyone else would know what they meant. How did they ever dream it all up?

All I can say, in any language, is wow. Bring it on.

Back in the USSA

Friday the 21st was our last day in Heredia. I went to class in the morning while Chris took the coffee plantation tour. Everyone at IPED was in a last day of school mood, and we did more talking, laughing and hugging goodbye than learning Spanish.

Chris and I spent a rainy afternoon walking around town, under our umbrellas and getting our feet wet, returning loaned items and dropping off gifts. I couldn't believe I was actually leaving.

At our Costa Rican home, we told all the kids goodbye, exchanged email addresses, and did even more hugging. Maria and I promised each other we would see each other again, and we both had to break away and fuss around with suitcases, keys and kids in order not to start crying.

The night before, Maria had fixed a big dinner, and we had our last evening at home. We had her whole family, plus a niece, Chris, and John, our housemate. We sat around the dinner table and talked. In Spanish, of course.

After several rounds of picture taking, the bus arrived . Onec again, Luis drove us safely to our destination, which was the San Jose Marriott, thanks to one of the kids' dad.

The hotel was a world class beauty. The big tub of hot water, the huge fluffy towels and the king size bed with all the downy pilows, seemed like diving right into an overly rich dessert; fun while you're doing it, but too much too fast can leave you feeling a little queasy. The luxuries we take for granted and really, deep down, believe are necessities, can seem pretty indulgent after a month with no hot water.

In the morning, we had to tip the bellman extra to come for all the girls' luggage. They had stayed in one room, and the bellman even waded in to the hurricane of towels and tossed about bed sheets to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. They usually did. But after looking under the beds and behind the doors, they determined that everything was somewhere on the two piled high luggage carts.

The San Jose airport was busy, but orderly, the Dallas airport was big and shiny and new and that's where we said our brief goodbyes to our group.

Chris and I went on to LA where it was crowded and at full roar at midnight. After waiting forever for a shuttle to take us to the car, we drove south on the 405 and encountered a huge traffic jam.

After waiting for about 20 minutes, we jumped the curb and exited, winding around the city streets. It was 1:15 am.

We got home about 2:00. Kitty had waited up for us.

Sunday morning I woke up and realized I had been dreaming in Spanish. Chris said I had a smile on my face. Well.......yeah.

Hurrying thru paradise

once again i,m in a hurry and today i have been assigned a computer that has a completely spanish keyboard. i can{t find the shift for capitals. lo siento.

chris and i spent the morning at the la paz waterfalls and butterfly gardens. truly, truly beautiful. the butterflies were every color of the rainbow, neon green, iridescent blue, black with red spots, and some that had orange on the end of their wings. when they would flutter, it looked like the tips of their wings were going in circles. little helicopter butterflies.

in the hummingbird garden, you could sit down and hold out a little plastic flower that was a feeder, and the hummingbirds would come and feed from your flower, their wings moving so fast and close, it made a tiny breeze across the surface of your hand. they too were neon colors, bright blue and green shimmering in the misty sunlight. tiny little birds darted back and forth across the garden, singlely or in little clouds of wings and color.

down the trail and through a thick jungle canopy, the waterfalls were sending up a roaring spray of mist and water. i,m sure the world didn{t look much different in this spot 400 years ago.

Ferns grew from the rock walls on either side of the river, and for hundreds of yards downstream, they were waving back and forth as if they were in a blowing wind. it was totally still up on river bank. it was the power of the water pouring over the falls that disturbed the air.

What beauty there is in this world, and how wonderful to get a chance to see it so closely, with no barriers, no legalese signs of warning, no sanitized, risk free, totally fake disney like nature.


Chris is going to have a hard time getting me on that plane.

He Arrived!

Chris arrived safe and sound and only an hour delayed last night. I´m really happy to see him and we´re having a fun time seeing everything from a new pair of eyes.

We went to San Jose today with my class to a great musuem. Now we´re back in Heredia, had a pizza and an Imperial Beer, and or course, it´s really raining. I´ts the first time I´ve seen Chris carry an umbrella. Or for men, a paragua. Mine is called a sonrisa. But when in Rome and all that.

Sorry, no time right now for more. I´m being the Spanish interpreter tour guide. Hope we don´t wind up in the Antartic.

Lluvia, Lluvia Go Away

Avery quick note on a rainy night before I go with Guido to pick up Chris at the aeropuerto. I just got an email from Denna saying he has been delayed an hour. It{s going to be a late evening for all.

A lot of the studends here talk about the frustration of not being able to just pick up a new language and run with it. We expect to tackle the project and be fluent in five easy lessons, or less. But it takes time.

I really wanted to be so fluent when Chris arrived, that I could spin latin phrases with speed and grace. But I{m still at the think. say. think. say say say. think. huh? stage. The second week I was here, I went to the market all ready to take it on. I needed to buy a t shirt at this place where you could choose your own picture and they would put in on while you waited.

I happened to get a young teenage girl )!?) that didn{t give a damn about me, my shirt, the 2500 colones )5.00) or anything else. We kind of went toe to toe trying to understand each other until another young woman came up and offered to take over. With her help, I bought a cute purple t shirt with the picture of my choice.

I came home that day very frustrated, but in the last 10 days, I{ve seen some forward progress. I{m starting to hear individual words when people out on the street speak, or I hear something on TV. It doesn{t sound like esdemasiadoparatucomprender. But it{s too much for you to learn.

I really really like this and I wish I could stay longer. Maybe I{ll hold Chris for ransom when I get him here.

When the Guide Says This is a Treecky Entrance, Watch Out

July 15, 2006


After one weekend trip with all the kids, Lora wanted to pick a one day adventure. We decided that river rafting would give these energetic wildcats a good workout and a chance to scream. yell, be loud and crazy as much as they wanted. I thought this was a good plan, up to this point.

When we were presented with the choice of the easy or the hard river route, Lora didn{t hesitate. Much to my quaking chagrin, she picked the hard one. Class 3 and 4! rapids.

Since I have never been on a rafting trip, I hate being scared, cry on rollercoasters, and am a general wimp when it comes to surging 220 fear through my 110 wiring, I wasn{t sure if I was going to disgrace myself in front of 6 teenagers and various and assorted hunky guides.

These kids already think I{m ancient. But never one to back down for a challenge, I signed up and went along. After all, it{s what they{re paying me for. Of course, that didn{t stop me for moaning a bit about it. What{s the point of being scared if you can{t complain a little bit.

We got up at 6 00 am for the pleasure of it all, got a taxi and met the bus at a nearby hotel. When we loaded up with another group of teenagers from Buffalo NY. and a couple my age with a 13 year old son, our long haired, glibly bilingual guide told us everything we would need to know about the coming day. Where we wre going, how long it would take, what we would eat, where the bathrooms were, etc. etc. He talked for about 20 minutes. He was pleasantly, and as it turned out, deceptively amusing.

We drove for about 90 minutes over the mountains, through the cloud forest, and down to the Pasquale River. )once more, spelling corrections later). We unloaded ourselves in a big outdoor pavillion where we were served breakfast. It kind of felt like my last meal.

Then back on the bus, down a bumpy gravel road, a 15 minute hike down the bumpy road and I mean straight down, until we came to the river bank.

At the river bank, there was an outfitting truck with all our paddles, life jackets, and bright yellow helmets so we wouldn{t bash our brains out when we crashed into the rocks.

We all put on our gear, the big life jacket making me walk like the Michelin man, and got a lesson in how to basically save your own life, and the lives of your fellow raftees.

In our raft, Lora and Nicki, a young woman traveling through Central America by herself, were in the front, being the bravest and most experienced. Next came the dad and his 13 year old son, and the wife and me bringing up the rear in front of the guide.

We did a little practice paddling, and then we shoved off with instructions to PADDLE TOGETHER, FOLLOW THE LEADERS, LISTEN TO YOUR GUIDE NO MATTER WHAT YOU THINK OF HIS DIRECTIONS. Our guide really did yell all this at us. He had to so we could hear him under our cute little yellow helmets and over the roaring of the first set up rapids.

We plunged right into the first warm up rapids that were only! class 3. That went pretty well. After the first few sets, I felt like I might be able to make it through the day without crying or
ask ing for a helicopter. As I began to relax, I started looking around at where I was with enjoyment, instead of feeling like it was my last day on earth. I{m exaggerating for effect, of course. But only a little.

Here I was river rafting through the Costa Rican rain forest. The trees disappeared on either side of the river bank so high up in the sky you had to lean back to see the tops. Birds of every description flew all around, diving back and forth across the river. We saw gray and white kingfishers, at least 18 inches long,with their forked tail feathers trailing behind like a little contrail, their bright red bellies flashing in the sunlight.

Butterflies of every color floated on the breeze. The beautiful mariposas fluttering like confetti above the water.

And then , FORWARD! FORWARD! FORWARD! STAY TOGETHER! STAY TOGEHTER!
STOOOooooop!! And we had sucessfully negotiated another rapid. And this was just the warm up. The class 4 rapids were all ahead.

I picked the chicken seat in the back of the boat, but I was behind the guy. And this guy wasn{t going to follow the lead of any girls. He wasn{t a very good paddler, didn{t really listen to the guide, directions, and was always out of time with the leaders. Maybe this was why he feel out of the boat in the middle of one of the class 4{s.

To be fair, so did 2 other people in the boat behind us. So while our guide was pulling in those 2 wide eyed teenage girls )not our girls)the rest of us were paddling like crazy, Mr. Macho, looking around at what was going on went right over the side when a giant wave spun us around. We rescued him using our recently learned life saving technique. STick out your paddle or haul them in by the shoulder straps. He was a little shook, and his wife was a little shook and all they wanted to do was Monday morning quarterback his big dunking while in the meantime we were about to hit another big swirling, foaming, roaring patch of water.

SHUT UP AND PADDLE I wanted to yell, and would have, too, if I could have just gotten enough air to yell.

AFter a couple of hours of one rapid after another, by which time I was no longer afraid, cautious, exhilarted, stunned and amazed, but not afraid, we hit a smooth part of the river where we could get out and just float downstream. Not every one did so, but I jumped out of the boat, stuck my feet out in front of me, as intstructed, and just floated in the current under a canopy of neon green, past waterfalls, with the sounds and calls of the jungle birds all around.

Lora joined me, and in a little while, we saw two dear little faces floating towards us under those yellow helmets, grinning from ear to ear. It was Las Sobrinas, the deadly McKee duo of Stephi and Brenna.

When you.re sittting in your living room, imagining that you would go to the Costa Rican rain forest and float in the river through the jungle, it seems too fantastical
to be true. And it seems like it would take
a lot of just plain doing, mentally and physically, to get yourserlf there.

But when your{e actually there, it seems so right and easy, another wonderful place in this beautiful world.

The clouds I could see on the horizon, fullof sunlight and unfallen rain, were the clouds of the planet, not just of this country or that. The singing birds call out in every language.

God dwells above and below, where ever I am, at home or anywhere in the world I might be.

I returned from this fantastic adventure all in one piece, more alive than ever. And I never fell out of the boat, even when we nearly tipped over .

The boat got swirled up against a giant rock and all 7 of us had to cram up against the right side of the boat, roll forward in a 14 limbed human ball and then find our way out of this tangle back to our rowing postions. All without losing our paddles or putting out our team mates eyes with the thing.

When can we go again.?

Now I Have A Space Bar, But I Have No Time

Sunday night

It{s just one fun thing after another when you{re running with the jovenes. I would love to write all about the river rafting trip yesterday, which I must confess was a real high moment in my life, but I have no time today. Today we spent all day at the Parque de Diversiones. That{s Amusement Park in Spanish. )Please forgive any, of which I know there have been several, of my spelling errors. I{ll fix them all later.)

It was a dirversion, all right. It was the last day of a 2 week vacation for the school kids, so the park was very busy, according to our hostess. But compared to my last soiree through Disneyland, it seemed almost deserted. It was really fun to just be out amongst the local Tican families enjoying the day, listening to the Spanish all around. The roller coaster screams sounded pretty much like any amusement park screaming, anywhere.

I kind of moaned about going out again today. I just wanted to stay home, rest, write, study and savor the high I{m still feeling from yesterday. But I{m glad I went, despite the intial heat, the afternoon rain, the hour late kids to the rendevous while our host and hostess waited with their very tired 11 year old. If I had stayed home, I wouldn{t have seen the pretty park, that hasn{t been commericialized like the ones in the US that seem slick and fake.

I would have missed the program of traditional dances, the women wearing huge, multi colored skirts that they would twirl and swing around and around. Or the men wearing 5 foot tall paper machie masks on their heads as they ran through the audience.

It was a great day. I{ll write about the river trip tomorrow. After I get back from lunch at my new Costa Rican friend{s home. I{m supposed to meet her whole family. And since she looks just like Aunt Mae, this could prove inteteresting.

ICanDoClass4ButHaveNoSpaceBar

Droppedintotheinternetcafetodropalineaboutmyfirstwhitewater raftingtriptoday. Class4rapidsthrutheCostaRican Rainforest. But Myassignedcomputerhasnoworkingspacebar.


Gladmypaddleworkedbetter. Thisreadslikethewholedayfelt. Onebigruntogetherblur. Amazing. Andlotsofbirds. Tomorrowwithanotherkeyboard.

Hot Water, Yo Me Gusta

July 13, 2006



I really want a hot bath tonight. It rained all day and every low place in the street is full of water. It was wet walking to school, walking to lunch, walking home, walking back up here to the internet cafe, and all I want is a nice hot, hot bath. Just one catch, there is virtually no hot water in Costa Rica, just what I have heard refered to as "The Suicide Shower".

You get hot water from an electric box that heats the water as long as you keep the water pressure really low. The more you turn up the water, the colder it gets. Once you get the pressure built up, you have about 3 mintures of fairly hot water. But this meter box is in the shower with you! Hence the name. This seems to be safe enough, because I haven't seen very many singed people walking around.

But this evening, I miss my bathtub with gallons and gallons of hot water.

At home, however, no one would be sitting with me around the dinner table, after a meal someone else had cooked for me, tyring to discuss and understand everything I said in a different language. Maria, John, another housemate from Nebraska, and I had the best conversation tonight about all the things that happen when people travel.

Maria told us about a couple she knew and all their misadventures on their miel luna, honeymoon, and it was all very funny. And remember, this conversation took place all in Spanish. A very simple Spanish, but nonetheless, a month ago it would have been utterly impossible for me to do this.

I guess I can live without hot water. Just as long as any sparks I see in the shower are from my own giddy happiness to be having this experience here.

Is There One In Every Gosh Darn Country?

July 12, 2006


If you're traveling with 5 teenage girls, checking out the local mall is high on the list of touring destinations. So we went to the local mall.

How odd to leave the old part of Heredia, where the sidewalks are uneven and broken, the little mom and pop tiendas on every corner sell a handful of things, the sandwich shop has 4 things on the menu, and a short taxi ride later be at a bright, shiny, commercial mall.

To be clear, there are shops and restaurants in the area where we are staying that have a variety of things, an old school style department store downtown, but all of these places are in old, side by side buildings made of every possible building material, interspresed with empty lots, broken brick and abandoned piles of construction debris.

So to pull up to this structure that could be in any town in the U.S (Don''t say America here when you mean the United States. The only time I've seen my teacher insulted, and he';s a mellow young guy who does a great job of putting up with the antics of 3 teenagers in our class. One of whom shall remain nameless) was a little mind bending.

We went inside, the girls in a state of high excitement, and went first to the food court where we had that ubiquitous US export, fast food. The girls gorged on Burger King, Taco Bell, and KFC. I admit that I ate some Burger King french fries and they were good. But an hour later when someone said they had a stomache ache so I was glad of my restraint. I only had to teach myself that lesson about a dozen times, but eventually, it stuck.

We went into every store in the mall, the girls trying on clothes, laughing, picking things up, running out of the dressing rooms semi clad to get other stuff. It was the Americano White Tornado. Wé'd walk into a store as a group of 7, and the clerks would look at us in various states of amused wonder. Some of them, were not so amused and seemed either put out or nervous.

Even though the building itself looked like any mall, the merchandise was different. There were the ususal teenage clothes everywhere, and they were displayed very nicely, but there was a fraction of the amount that you would see in a US mall, and most of the clothes were more like ones you would find in a discount store. I don't think things are as easily obtained here, and maybe that was the reason for some of the clerks' uneasiness. I don't presume to understand the back story of everything I'm seeing here. I've got all I can do just to keep up with these crazy kids.

It was an interesting evening. I know consumer goods float all boats, but I would hate to see the Walmart style borg of consumerism overtake yet another place on the planet. But again, I know nothing of the feelings of the local people. I just want to say, we don't need all the stuff we have, and I think once you start biting at that poison apple, you're never completely satisfied with what you have.

Just a little warning from someone who gets a kick out of finding multiple uses for the little facial scrubby pads I brought with me. Did you know you can wash your face, feet and bathroom sink with them? But in that order, or it's not such a good idea.

And by the way, when we came home, chattering and gigglying about the evening, I was able to tell our hostess and her sister, in SPANISH that we went into every store in the mall, and they laughed. The laugh needed no traslation. It's a great life.

The Beach, Part 2 Or I Saw the Monkey

After a great afternoon swimming on our own private beach, we hiked back thru the mud and the jungle to where we had left the cars. The last few yards before we reached the trail head were flat, and in the gathering dusk, I saw a man coming towards us, pushing a baby in a stroller, headed into the jungle. I have no idea how far he thought he could go before he would be packing the whole thing on his back.

We drove back to town, and at one point we stopped the car by the side of the road to watch the monkeys leaping in the tree tops Dozens of little monkeys climbing in the branches, swaying at the end of a limb until they would make the leap onto the next branch. Never, ever did I think I would see such a sight.

We had dinner, wet and sandy, at an outdoor restaurant, and then headed back to the hotel

As soon as we got back to our cabins, the word went out that we were getting cleaned up and going into the little beach town for shopping and some night life. Why did I ever think that after all day hiking swimming and eating until 8:00, anyone would be tired? I must be getting old.

Anyway, back we went at 10:00 to the tiny little beach town that was hopping with music on every corner. The wierd thing was that as you walked down the street, you could hear the music directly in front of you, but in the next block, all you could hear was the music in that block.. You'd think they'd all meld.

There was a bonfire on the beach and lots of people dancing in the warm night air under a full moon. Sigh. The life of a chaperone.

The Beach Part 1

I have just recently learned that this blog is going out to a wide audience. So......today´s disclaimer. I know I´m semi illiterate in Spanish, but I´m really quite versed in English grammar and puncuation. You wouldn´t know it by looking at these very, very rough entries. I. a.m. p.o.u.n.d.i.n.g e.a.c.h l.e.t.t.e.r. in.to. th.e. c.om.pu.t.er. Sometimes there is a big lag between what I type and when it appears on the screen. Rather like the telelphone delay when they interview the astronauts in space. Please keep all this in mind. Oh yeah, did I say that all the keyboard puncuation is fo´r ´´ñññ the Spanish alphabet and none of the commas, etc. are really commas? I did find the question mark under the dash key. No telling where the dash is.


So. I have no time or patience at this point to edit. My arm is too tired. Maybe later.

July 8, 2006


Here is today´s entry, Subtitled:

Even If You Don´t Speak the Language, You Still Have to Buy Snacks for the Kids.

In preparation for our trip to the beach, Lora and I decided it would be wise to get some snacks for 7 teenagers to have on a 4 to 5 hour car ride and for the weekend in case we arrived somewhere where it was hard to obtain the constant infusion of calories that teenagers require.

This was going to be a little tricky, in that we had no car, and the market was blocks away in opposite directions from our homes. We decided to meet after school, and since I lived closer, I would bring my suitcase on wheels for transport of the food. We quickly realized my suitcase would nt be big enough.

We caught a cab to Lora´`s house and retrieved her rolling duffle. We were delayed because we had to ask her house Mom for a jack so the cabbie could fix the rattling wheel of his cab, and then we were dropped off at the market. We bought what we could recognize, and loaded it all up in our suitcases. )Mine still smells like cookies), and went home in the cab.

When I got to my house, I divided the loot into a bag for each of the rooms and carried it all, in 2 trips, the 2 blocks to the school and back in the pouring rain walking behind Stephi and Brenna. They were dressed all cute to go out so they had my umbrella. Fortunately, this Duñea had a rain jacket.

The next day, we brought our overnight bags to school, and as soon as class let out, our group of 10 and 3 others loaded up in a slightly oversize mini van and started out for Puerto Viejo, a 5 hour drive away. The roads were fine for the first several hours, and all we had to contend with was the Friday night 5 oclock traffic of smoggy trucks going 30 miles an hour for miles is front of us. The scenery was beautiful, though, waterfalls, and clouds on each side of the road, strechthing out in a green, misty blanket to each horizon.

It was soon dark, and the last hour found us bouncing in our seats, swaying side to side as the van dodged pot holes and craters in the road.

We finally arrived at our hotel, a series of very cute cabanas, each with a bath. It was like summer camp, bunk beds, screened openings with no glass for windows, our cabins, lush greenery and all around us a tree frog seranade. And what is camp without a lot of giggling, door squeaking, whispering kids. Lora and I shared a room, so that was good.

The next morning David and Zaida took us to a beach where they told us we would hike up to a beautiful view and some deserted beaches, but that we should just go barefooted as it was a very muddy climb. I have to admit, this didn´t sound like fun.

We parked the van and took off. We forded a small stream that was flowing down out of the jungle, the water cold and iron red. We walked across an open beach and took a trail that started straight up through vines, banana trees, tropical flowers, and lots and lots of mud. It was squishy. Since I was the one that didn´`t want to leave all our passports locked in the van in the parking lot, I was carrying the pack. It seemed only fair as extreme caution, what others might see as paranoia, comes at a price. I figured it´s always easier to carry the pack now than deal with missing passports later. If if it ever happens. Im kind of superstitious. Once more, I digress.

Our climb put us out onto an open mountain-hill top with a view of paradise. A rather cliqched word to describe the view. The beach below was empty, the sand white and so very clean. The shoreline, lush and green behind a scrim of sea mist, curved away to the horizon, walking distance to Panama. The blue sky bounced the light back into a thousand shining points over the surface of the water. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

We continued our hike through the jungle, emerging over and over to another spotless, unspoiled beach. The water was rough from a storm the night before, but nothing too rough for this group of happy, bold, young, not so young and very, very muddy adventurers. Que bonita.

My First Yoga

July 6, 2006


I want to begin this entry with the usual disclaimer. I´m typing on a very worn Spànish keyboard. Please forgive.



While I was in Tulsa this Spring, I had some real doubts about taking on Costa Rica so soo after The Moving Project. It seemed just a little demasiado. )Has any one bought a Spanish dictionary yet?)

Then one Oklahoma morning, I opened my meditation book and that day´s page spoke of meditating in Costa Rica while watching the monkeys run across the tops of the tress in waves.

Well, ok. If you put it that way.

So I guess the subconcious bar for yoga in Costa Rica was set pretty high.

I spent the first week just trying to find a class. My two buddies at the sandwich shop on the corner by the school tried to help. They corrected my pronunciation, made some phone calls and then tried to give me directions. All of this was done in rapid fire Spanish on my second day here. By the way, it.s pronounced
JHO HA.

I didn´t even have a mat because althought I usually take one with me everywhere, I was trying to travel very light so I left it at home. Pablo wrote down the best word he could think of for yoga mat, concheta de exejersicio. So I wondered all over the market asking for this in my fractured accent.

My host mom found me a class 2 blocks from the house and even walked me down there, just like a little kid on the first day of school.

This was not the yoga I was used to. First of all, everything was in Spanish. Imagine! That wasn´t such a big deal since I knew the poses, but I wasn´t prepared for the extremely slow pace. The teacher, who was very nice, reminded me of my 7th grade gym teacher. The background music was American 80´s top ten in instumental form. Sun Salutation set to an muzak Bridge OVer Troubled Waters was kind of odd. And of course, we had the ever present traffic symphony drowning out everything else.

But the upside. I met a very nice woman who spoke English and she helped me . Weirdly enough, she looked and sounded just like Chris´Aunt Mae. She even offered to buy me a yoga mat and bring it to the next class.

At the end of the class, everyone clapped for the brave American yogini and made me feel very welcome, with kisses on the cheek and lots of touching and talking. And I have a new, bright green, Costa Rican yoga mat that come complete with several new friends.

Culture Shock= Yours, Mine and Ours

4 de Julio, 2006
July 4, 2006


I now know there is more than one kind of culture shock. There is the kind you expect, like when you travel to a foreign country where you don´t speak the language. You rather expect to be if not shocked, at least vigorously surprised. But when you come face to face with aspects of your own culture that leave you in a state of open mouthed surprise, that is not so expected.

When we arrived at school this morning, the directress, who is Costa Rican, reminded us that it was the 4th of July and she was having a little party after class. Somehow this date had totally escaped most of us. It was a very kind gesture and we cooked some hot dogs on the electric skillet in the garden behind the school and poured some Central American potato chips made from yucca in a bowl. But the best part of the party was the six bags of ice for the Cokes. I´m surprised to find that I had an unrecognized love affair with ice. I was so happy to see the hielo, that I took one of the left over bags home rather than see it dribble away, melting in the sink. All in all, no one really seemed to feel any patriotic fevor, but I didn´t take a poll. American politics in Central America are kind of a touchy subject.

A few days ago, the directors, who are an American husband and a Costa Rican wife, took us all to a dance place up in the mountains. The band was a local salsa band. The Tican musicans were dressed like any college student you would see in the US´ñ jeans, ball caps, T shirts, but they really cooked in Spanish salsa. Eveyone was trying to find out if they had a CD, but we were told that they were just a little local group, and by the way, we each owed the band 3,000 colones. Since this was the equivalent of a 6.00 cover charge, it seemed reasonable, if somewhat surprising that the bill for it came at the end of the evening while the band was packing up their instruments. But I´m getting side tracked.

The point of this is that all our teenagers arrrived dressed up to go out. They all looked beautiful, young, energetic and charismatic, even the young ones. We arrived at the bar and in minutes of the band starting up, they were all on the dance floor. And boy could they dance.

They shimmied, they got down, they shook their booties. They got up on the stage and dared to do it even faster.

. A couple of the 18 year olds ordered flaming drinks at the bar and set their eyelashes on fire.

What´s a chaperone to do? I never felt so in need of my friends, so out of touch, so well, old. I wanted to shake my bootie, what there is of it. But it just wasn´t happening for me.


These kids are powerhouses of youth, of beauty, of sex appeal. Why did it all seem so worrisome?

So I tossed and turned all that night worrying about what kind of trouble might be coming our way. After all, when it was me up there on that stage, some years ago, trouble followed, just as night follows day.

I had no idea how quickly I would forget how teenagers scare you half to death by just being so young. Such a vigorous surprise.

This weeks Top Ten

July 3, 2006


I have been here un semana hoy, or one week today, and this is my top ten list of what I have learned. It will be obivious that mastery of the Spanish keyboard is not one of them.

#1. Nothing is Ever As Hard As It Seems

The whole time I was anticipating this trip, all I could think about was how difficult and scary-meido it would be. One week later, I have to ask myself, again, why I worry about these things. No doubt about it, this is a very different place and culture. The sidewalks are old and broken. Dogs roam, and poop, freely. The front doors of the houses are right off the sidewalk. Everything is really old and run down. And the traffic is one step short of mechanical insanity. And of course, everything is in another language. But none of this has been that difficult. People have much in common everywhere and are willing to help a stranger. If you open your eyes and pay attention, you can figure out most of what to do. the view of the surrounding mountains, emerald green and crowned with clouds, far outweighs the litter in the gutter. But still.........


#2. Growth Makes For Sore Muscles

I consider myself a fairly well spoken person and pride myself on understanding not only what people say, but what they mean. So it,s been humbling to try to talk to people and have them look at me with a pitying gaze. I know I{m saying the right words, but they still have a hard time understanding me. It would be as if I had said to you, Hay knee ahhh coque uh far ingging. If, by chance, you had understood my words, you would have heard me say that I needed a clock for ringing. Otherwise known as an alarm clock. Muy estupido. The five year old in whose house I am living, sounds like a Pulitzer Prize winning genius when she speaks. I was surprised to hear her mother have to explain something to her. I thought the kid knew everything.

Negotiating the simplest things, adjusting to very foreign sites and sounds, is an exercise in strengthening your nerves and resolve. Throw in some teenage kids to look out for while doing this, and you have a challenge. And...........

# 3. Teenagers Require Engergy

Despite having raised, in toto or in part, 3 wonderful people, I have to laugh at how quickly I had forgotten how much energy it takes to spend time with teenagers. They want to think of themselves as adults, but they aren{t quite. They still need the occasional input, observation and direction, especially in a foreign country. And McKee teenagers, well! Force multiplier. Of course, none of this do they like. And try learning something new and challenging when you are in a classroom with 3 smart, wiggly, attractive, distracted, gum popping, fingertapping, chair tipping, argumentative, adorable, exasperating teenagers. It,s exhuasting. Especially when the traffic apocolypse is taking place outside the open window on the street below. It,s exhausting. Good thing that..................

#4. Sleep Cures Everything, Everywhere

After 10 hours of sleep on the first morning, I woke up ready and able to take on becoming a world citizen. When the kids get enough sleep, everything is bueno. When we don,t it,s not so bueno. And when the kids stay up half the night talking like Foghorn Leghorn outside our hosteses bedroom, there is stress involved. There is a reason one of the first words I have learned is the word for embarrasing. So don,t mess with my sleep. Therefore.........

#5. Smog Control Is Not Just A Theory, It{s a Good Idea. So Vehicle Brake
Inspection.

I, m all for minimal local, state, and federal regulation, but after the experience of all the deisel belching busses, taxis, cars and for all I know, my own lungs. I{m really ok with some law and regulation. Especially outside my bedroom window. And I don{t think there is a war cry anywhere that could be anymore hair raising than the sound of a 2 ton bus screeching to a stop on unlined brake drums. And will someone thank the inventor of the pooper scooper for me. Some rules are good and some things, like clean air, are worth spending some money. Having said that..........


#6. We Don,t Need All of The Stuff We Have

The house where I,m staying is very simple. The kitchen is old, with a worn linoleum floor and open shelving made of plywood for the few dishes. The stove is a tiny, 20 year old, avocado green electric.
My room is a combination of wallpaper, pegboard partitions, various colors of paint. The shower curtain is clear plastic with the Costa Rican Barney on it. Only it{s puppies. It,s all a long way from grantie counters, stainless steel appliances, and 600 thread count.

But Maria cooks our delicious meals with loving, unhurried hands, in front of the open window , the lace valance blowing with the breeze. The wood floors gleam, and the children{s art work hangs on every wall. The rain sounds wonderful on the tin roof, and lulls the passing time into a slower, calmer pace. Because.........

#7. Time Is Relative

At home, I was feeling as if time was speeding by so fast. Everyday seemed so short. One thousand things may happen in a day, and in an environment where you are totally comfortable and familiar, you might not notice 10 per cent of what you do. It doesn{ñt take much thought to turn on the shower. You read a sign that says go left and you just go left . Your mind barely registers this action But when everthing is foreign and unknown, you have to stop, read, think, Va Izquierda, before you can go left, your{e very aware of what you have done. This makes for a longer, sometimes trying, sometimes frustrating, long, exhilarating day. And this makes you remember how much...............

8. Kindnesss Matters

The first night I arrived, jet lagged, culture shocked, I didn{t understand 3 words for every 20 my host mom spoke to me, but her patience , kindnesss and concern, showed in her gestures, and on her face. She put me instantly at ease. I didn{t know a single thing of her life story. Wathching the teenagers be kind to everyone in the group, despite very different backgrounds and personal views, is evidence of the power of kindness. The people willling to help this semi helpless American, the 2 brothers who run the tiny cafe across from the school whe loaned me a book )that took some doing to figure out what was going on, the dictionary definitely came out on tthat one) didn{t need to take any time to talk with me, but the gratitude I feel to each of these people is limitless.

Language isn{t the root of kindness. No matter how many compliments, thank yous, flowery speeches you might say, nothing replaces the genuine gesture of lovingkindness. The yogis sure got this one right.

So that ,s it for now. I know Itñs only 8 things, but hey, it{s enough for this week.

Oh yeah. #9 Losing your journal is muy, muy mal

I´m Not Really Stupid

Thanks to a really helpful little white pill, I slept well the first night in Costa Rica, despite the honking horns and wailing sirens, and the shaking foundation and vibrating tin roof of my host family´s home. I think I´ve landed on a street that is the equvalent of I 40. Chris and I have been regretting buying a place in California that has too much traffic noise for our tastes, but after this, it will seem like a soundless void.

Last night, I managed to understand that breakfast )desayuno) was at 8 00 am, and I^*m up and dressed and ready to help by 7 30. Of course there was no sign of las sobrinas when breakfast was on the table, and I had to go knock on their door. Twice. Nothing like being thrust back into moming with no warning. But since our sweet, sweet hostess was waitig with such an expectant look about how we were going to like her cooking, I just couldn´´t help but respond in mom fashion. Can´t stand to hurt anyone´s feelings, especially when they can say anything about how rude I am right in front of me and all I could do was say Bueno and smile about it.

Anyway, we had a good meal, if somewhat awkward, and once again, good manners smoothed the path. Amazing how quickly the cook will warm up to you if you clear your own table and rinse your dishes.

School starts at 12 00 on Tues. and Thurs. so I had a few hours to figure out what to do with myself. All of the teenagers on this trip are athletes, so they had already found a gym and wanted to enroll. I walked with Stepi and Brenna the few blocks to el gimansio , where we met Lora and her charges. Everyone went in and crowded around the registration window and proceeded to buy monthly passes. Of course, no one understood how much this cost, what you got for the money or how to pay in colones. Seven teenagers talking at once is hard to understand even when you´re not trying to translate dollars into colones.

I got a couple of minutes to say hi to Lora for the first time, and I decided to just wait until later to try to decide if I wanted to join the gym. Plus, I still hadn´t had a chance to change any money.

So I slipped away and left everyone there, happily stair stepping and found my way back to my house. I spent another hour unpacking and futzing with my enviornment, setting things up, and then set out to walk the 3 blocks to the school, alone.

Being such a good little muchacha, I was there 20 minutes early and spent another awkward moment with the receptionist, who was extremely nice, but she was lacking the most essential element of personality at that moment. English. I got the feeling that she´s seen dozens of bewildered first worlders trying to make sense of an environment where they aren´t quite so confident for a change.

I was paying for missing that plane in LA. Everyone else had a 2 day jump on me and that´s a lot.


Everyone else finally arrived, and after a short social hour in the patio garden in the back of the school, went to class, leaving me and a young woman from Holland waiting to be tested for fluency. This young woman´s name was Maria, just to make things more culturally crossed.

They placed me in a class with Brenna, Kara and Sam. Of course it was in the class room at the front of the school, where it was so noisy from the traffic noise I could barely hear. Someone is trying to tell me something´, what I don´t know. I probably just can´t hear it.

I haven´t been to school in years, and it takes some time to readjust the pay attention button in your brain. Especially when you´re trying to filter out un mil worth of decibels assualting your synapses.

But I got the job done for 4 hours.

This day was one of the longest I´ve lived in a while. At home, )califronia) I´ve worried how fast time was passing. Little did I know that I could change that just by coming 2000 miles closer to the equator.

Today I helped with breakfast in a foreign language, tired to figure out how to get hot water out of the shower, took an evaluation test, spent 4 hours in class, found a bank and changed money, walked home alone, found an email place, set the dinner table, did my homework, read a book for an hour and unpacked my suitcase. And sounded like an idiot the whole time. Tengo un piquito echar de menos.

Tomorrow

Sleep Cures Everything, Everywhere

Costa Rica, Oh So Tico

Hola Mis Hijos, Mis Amigos and Amigas

I've completed almost one week of classes and immersion therapy in Costa Rica and it's been fun, challenging, scary and overwhelming. Guess what? Everything here is in Spanish!! Why was there even one little shred of deep down surprise about this fact? YOu mean there isn't a tiny bit of English everywhere you go? These guys aren't kidding around about the fact that their langauage is all Spanish all the time? I didn't realize I had this unconcious expectation until it surfaced. Some ofthe first few mornings I half expected to walk to school and see that they had turned all the signs around to the English side. Ha.

I got here on Monday night late, and I anticipated every possible scenario. No one would be at the airport, there would be a driver, Lora would be there , someone would be there with a sign, Brian's buddy, who runs the school and who I haven't seen in 20 years and wouldn't recognize would meet me. I even wondered what I would do if I had to take a taxi the 7 miles to Heredia, not having any idea where anything was. Did I mention there are no addresses in Costa Rica. Directions are given in 100"s of meteres from local landmarks. I thought I might have to sit on the school doorstep or sit in the aeorpurto all night.

I tried to think it all thru, and the only thing I could come up with was that if there was a guy holding a sign with my name on it, he would have to be legit. Unless I had a name like Jane Doe or incredibly bad karma and the dangerous stranger just randomly picked the name Karen McKee.

As usual, all my over-thinking was wasted energy, because when I got off the plane, in a perfectly normal looking airport, complete with Burger King and Duty Free Luxury Goods, there was a fellow in the throng with a sign that said "Karen Mckeiye"" How many of us could there be? He was also talking to Lora on his cell phone, which he handed to me. She assured me that Guiccho would take me to my host' family'"s home where Brenna and Stephi were waiting up. I did have the sense to ask Lora about how long it would take to get there, in case I needed to get suspcious or anything after 15.35 minutes.

Did I mention Guichho speaks 98% Spanish?

He mangaged to convey, and I managed to understand, that he wasn't taking me, it was his brother with the car. He had to wait for another student. So he led me down the sidewalk, carrying my suitcase, to his brother's van and loaded my luggage. My chaperones were 2 sleeply little boys about 6 and 8.

We drove to the host family house where my hostess was waiting up in her pjs and slippers, and she welcomed me as kindly as you might wish. She made me a cup of tea and made universal mother clucking noises about my journey, the hour, etc. Did I mention she spoke/speaks only Spanish?

She helped me take my suitcase to my room, and I was relieved to find I had my own room downstaris with a private bath, and even more relieved to see how clean everything was. I went upstairs, said a quick hello to las sobrinas who were sharing a room.

After talking with Stephi and Brenna for a few breathless minutes, I started back downstairs and passed the husband of the house sitting in front of his computer in a little office fashioned out of straw mats partioning off a little alcove. The only light on was his desk light, and he looked like a million other guys around the world messing around with email, etc. at the end of the day.

Even tho' i knew it wasn't excactly protocol, the only way to let anyone know where on the globe I happened to be, was to ask him if I could send me esposo a quick email to say I had arrived safely. He made reluctant getting up motions and I found my glasses, sat down and tried to send the message muy rapido. Guess what lanugage all the keyboard, instructions, pop ups, et al. speak? Even the @ sign is totally unfindable.

So of course, I have to tap very lightly on Stephi's door in order not to awaken the sleeping resident children and ask her how to find this essential communication tool.

Message sent, I tiptoed back downstairs, said Gracias, gracias, estoy mucho cansada (I memorized this on the plane) and backed slowly away, smiling as benignly as possible and went to my room and collapsed.

Maria had repeated the word "rudioso"" several times in reference to mi cuarto, and boy was she right, it's noisy.

All the houses are right on the city sidewalk behind locked
,decorative grates. My room is on the front of the house, buffered only by a small, walled in courtyard, woefully unplanted, and the unmuffled,cars, busses, motorcycles, ambulances, trucks and pedestrians whiz by at all hours of the day and night, so fast and so loud that the floor of the house shakes. I was too tired to care.

So here I am, at the end of the first week in my favorite internet store, trying to type on a balky, slightly worn out public computer keyboard that speaks mostly Spanish. Especially punctuation. So please don't edit for content or grammatico correcto.

Tomorrow,
First day in a Foreign Country where They Don't Speak English
or
Whatever I say Makes Me Sound LIke An Idiot