An Extra Foggy Day

So our program is officially over as of a few hours ago.  I don't want it to end.  I'm having a little trouble organizing my other thoughts seeing as it sounds like there's a dog fight going on right outside.  (That happens at all hours of the night here..)

I can't figure out how to describe saying bye to the kids at school.  It was sad, it was unfair, and it wasn't easy, but it was heartwarming, too, and, all the while, a little surreal.  It was a good day for goodbyes, if there is such a thing.  The kids' moms and siblings came near the end so that a photographer (i.e. a dad with a digital camera) could take pictures for Father's Day cards.  For my last hour there, the whole school community--parents, teachers, siblings, and students, was moving about the halls outside.  The ease I felt in walking around, able to recognize and talk to most all of them, made me feel like more than just a visitor at the school.

The kindergarteners were about half and half in their understanding of my leaving.  I got extra long hugs, sad faces, and promises of a visit from some of them, but there were others who I think realized it at one point only to be quickly distracted by other objects of concern (toy cars, candy, little siblings..).  The class gave me a surprise goodbye though, complete with a flower bouquet presented by Jorge with an adorable "gracias" speech, and a children's book that they wrote a note in with a different one's fingerprint on each page.  Nina gave me two pillowcases hand-stitched by her sister-in-law, and then we had a strawberry and vanilla ice cream party (at approximately 9:30 am).   

There were a couple specific goodbyes I want to remember.  I didn't cry--I think it was the surreal feeling that kept my sadness inside, but there were some moments, some interactions, that almost brought out the tears.  Like Avril, a kindergartener who has these big, brown, precious eyes.  She looked up at me and said, "Te quiero mucho Sophie, con todo mi corazon," and then kept reaching for my neck and rubbing my hair.  And with the last hug she added how she hopes God watches over me everywhere I go.  

Then there was Bernardita, the 6th grader who I've talked about before.  I knew from the start this one was going to be a crier.  We must have hugged goodbye (or "ciao") about ten times, and every time I looked at her I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't look away, but I couldn't keep looking either.  There's something about how she just stares at me, so intently, as if there's so much knowledge inside of me that I could just lay out on a table for her and she would soak up every last piece of it with all the contentment in the world.  She started crying the with the first hug and was still going by the last.  I gave her a flower out of my bouquet--she asked for one to remember me by, and she looked at me and made me promise that she wasn't someone I was going to forget.  It sounds so cheesy now, but somehow when words like that come out of a little kid, they seem so sincere.  The other kids joked with her, "Bernardita, no one is dying!" but her sadness didn't budge, and then she made it her goal to make it to Tennessee someday. 

Then there was Armando, the 5th grader who kept me company coloring the other day.  He was hanging around the kindergarten classroom all morning, until he retired into a little corner and emerged with a note for me, which he presented along with a pack of gum, and some strange, prickly orange fruit.  He had about 12 in his pockets, and he just kept whipping more out.  I honestly don't know how they all fit.  Then we did little math problems like "if I give you this many, now how many do I have?" before hugging goodbye.  His answers never failed, so I'm holding out hope that he succeeds in that career with math.. 

And Mario.  Oh Mario.  He's capable of such bold actions (love letters, shouts when his head pops into the window, discreetly telling staff members that I'm his girlfriend), but he's not so smooth with the face-to-face talk.  He gave me a paper flower this morning, but it took the whole class pushing him towards me for him to get up the nerve for a final hug.  And then they all  hooped and hollered, sending Mario ducking back into the crowd with his scrawny little self.  He'll be suave one day, I'm sure.   

I said bye to the 6th grade girls (other than Bernardita) in a one-by-one lineup of traditional "ciaos" with kisses and hugs.  One of them told me how much I look like her sister, who is 16 years old and actually lives in the US.  I couldn't get the logistics of how that happened, but I did get that they haven't seen each other for 10 years.  She told me that it's her dream to come visit her--she lives in Virginia, and I made her promise she'd come visit me, too, if she ever gets the chance.  

I even got sad saying bye to two of the boys' moms.  I've interacted with each of them a few times, but we don't know each other well by any means, and I wasn't sure that they knew today was my last.  They both gave me kisses and hugs, though, and wished me well in my travels, saying that they hope God watches over me on my flight.  The people here are so fascinated with flying.  When I tell them I'm going home, they never fail to bring up airplanes, usually with this mixed sense of amazement and fear.  So many of them dream of going on one--they ask if they're beautiful, if they're fun...so I'm going to try to fly like it's my first time tomorrow, in hopes that maybe next time I'll have a better answer for just how flying feels. 

The book and note from Nina, with the kindergarteners' thumb prints, left me not knowing what to do with my on-the-verge-of-crying-ness, too.  It says how she wants me to read these stories when I want to remember the time I've had, and the kids that I've met here.  And I have directions that point me to an address, a school, and a community where I'm always welcome to return.  

It was extra foggy today--the most foggy day, I think, and for sure the most foggy morning, that any of us have seen.  There was a cool, misty air blowing outside all morning, and the grayness was doing that thing I've watched several times now but just can't get over, visibly rolling into the hallways that create outdoor gathering areas at the school.  It was a refreshing cool, though, at least as American standards of temperature go, but all the kids were pointing at my bare arms and asking how I wasn't cold.  By Costa Rican standards, today meant bring out your winter sweater, bend your knees and cross your arms.  As I said my last goodbye to Nina at the front gate, she pointed to the sky (well, the sky was more of just an invisible idea behind the wet gray that was closing in around us) and said, "The sky is crying because you are leaving."  Again, so cheesy, but, spoken in the Spanish of such a loving woman, it came out with a sincerity that almost drew a tear.  

I'm obsessed with the community here, the people, the culture-- the way that you actually can, and do, say something like "I love you with all of my heart".  The people have yet to cease to astound me, so openly inviting visitors to share in their lives that are so simple, yet so content.  I swear every time I go to have a conversation with a different local--parent, stranger, student, it's like I'm taken on a 15, 10, maybe only 5-minute journey where I land at my destination having learned something new.  

This afternoon, I took a break from packing to go on a neighborhood walk.  I walked up a hill where you can see over the city, and then a few streets over to the nursing home block.  Walking along, alone on the street, I heard a woman say something to me, and looked over to see where she was standing outside a teaching supplies/jewlery/odds-and-ends store that she had set up in her garage.  She called me over to look inside, only because it was new and momentarily lacking customers, not because she thought she had anything I wanted to buy.  We ended up talking for half an hour, and, again, this woman's hospitality--this Puriscal-ian hospitality, maybe just this Costa Rican hospitality, hit me with such surprise.  We eventually got on the subject of volunteering, and she told me that, until about a year ago, she had housed a Peace Corps volunteer in an upstairs bedroom for almost two years.   We talked about the projects she had worked on, how much she had liked it, and, at some point, I told her that I had always been interested in learning more about the Peace Corps, although I was unsure if it's actually something I want to pursue.  Well, her face lit up with that little inkling of interest, as, just yesterday, she had talked to the director of the Peace Corps here.  They are looking for a new volunteer to send, and to live with her again in that same upstairs room.  "You would be perfect! Because you know me, you know my house, and you know the community," she told me.  And here I am thinking, I've just known you for 15 minutes, woman, and now you're prepared to open to me, for 2 years, your family, and your home?!  I had to decline because I have to finish school first, but I left that garage with a hug and a kiss, an address, a phone number, and the best wishes of a woman who I know was sincere.    "It's been a short friendship," she said, "but it was a pleasure".  When I got back to the house, we just had to sit and have a room-wide rant on how much we can't get over the openness of this town's community, the gratitude, the almost instantaneous bonds people have extended to us as volunteers.  Really though, that Peace Corps job...I would love to come back.  Or if anyone else is thinking about it and ready to go sooner: it's Lilliam Delgado Jiminez, and let me know if you want to know how to go about getting in contact :)

Thinking about it now, I had signs from the start that my time here would be filled with little moments, little friendships like that.  In the Miami airport, before I even got to this country, a Costa Rican man and his wife ended up befriending me, and I boarded the plane with the name, number, and address of a couple that I could call at any point--if I needed help, transportation, or just a friendly recommendation or face.  I didn't end up calling them (shockingly enough), but the message they sent me about the Costa Rican people has stuck with me since, and been about 10 times magnified.

I've never really been one who forms connections with others in our initial conversations; It takes me a while to get comfortable, and then I'll come around.  But I've learned here the value of single interactions--how much there is to be learned just from briefly and simply, yet wholeheartedly, opening up.  But, before I get into what I learned (or what I think I learned at this point..), I'm going to conclude this blog entry and go to bed.  I'll save the plane flight for more reflecting, and then I think I'll come back.

A couple funny things from today though, first...because I want to remember them, too--

It's going to be weird not living with Emily and Catherine, the two little girls of the house.  We asked Catherine today if she was going to miss us and this house, and she got this pensive look on her face that she always gets when she's trying to figure something out.  Then she said, "Yeahhh...you know, I haven't stayed in a place in a while that had flashlights.."  Really, Catherine?! You're going to miss those in-case-of-emergency, wall-hanging flashlights that we never, ever used more than you're going to miss us?  I'm going to miss this constant interaction with little kids.  

Also, somehow we managed to make it to the very last night without clogging the toilet to the point of no return.  The plumbing here is very sensitive (you have to put the toilet paper in the trashcan), so that was kind of a surprise.  I guess we should have known it was going to be a poop-filled day when this morning's breakfast conversation consisted of one of the older women (I could write a whole blog entry about the ridiculousness of these older women) telling us about her friends' individual struggles with constipation, and their bathroom schedules when they travel.  And now the day has come full circle--we've ended the night with an unfixable toilet clog, a bathroom that smells like airplane (apparently that's a mix of extreme sanitary spray smell with sewage seeping through), and a room of girls dreading a dark walk to another bathroom if any of us have to go (which we undoubtedly will) in the middle of the night.  And we just concluded our before-bed talk with a discussion of how port-a-potties smell like "nasty christmas"...how nice..

Ok that's all for now...but it's not really all! I just need to go to bed.

Goodnight all! Goodnight Costa Rica! Goodnight, please, to the dogs that just keep yapping and yapping and yapping outside..

:) :)

two smiles!

Coloring, Picture Taking, Preparing for Goodbye..

Yesterday my kindergarteners didn't have class again (que triste!), so I spent the day in the empty classroom coloring pictures of mushrooms and turtles for my teacher.  There have definitely been times in the past month (like this one) when I feel like I've reverted back to a kindergartener myself...I must say though, I'm coming back home with impeccable scissoring and coloring skills, so I guess that's a plus..  

A little while after I began my day's childish work, one of the teachers brought me a helper: a 5th grader named Armando who had gotten to school early for a meeting he didn't actually have.  As we sat and colored like kindergarteners, we ended up having a conversation that made me realize why I don't want to leave.  His questions started out with "Where are you from?", "How much longer are you here?", the usual, but then he started to telling me about his own traveling ambitions, and how happy it makes him when he finds someone from outside his own country with whom he can interact.  And then he went on, saying thing after thing that I was not expecting to come out of a 5th grader's mouth--from how he wants his mom, who has been struggling with a sick father, to travel the world with him when he grows up, to how he never wants to drink alcohol because he has seen it cause people to lose everything that they love.  When I told him that I thought Costa Rica was the prettiest country I'd visited, he agreed, at least as far as the landscape is concerned, but just after that is when he started into the topic of alcoholism, telling me how he thinks that too many people here end up being sad, largely by their own doing.  I hate to imagine his little 5th grade eyes unable to find contentment in the views around him, a knowledge of hurt marring his perception of the reality that underlies them.  

We didn't talk long enough for me to get a sense of just where his little wisdom was coming from, but it was precious to see how he has such positive desires.  When I asked him what he wanted to be, he said first a soccer player (which is not surprising here), and then a teacher of mathematics.  His eyes kind of lit up when he said mathematics, so I asked why it interested him so much.  "It's because," he said, "the numbers just keep going and going.  It's impossible to find an end."  Every answer just made me more and more impressed with Armando...and, every answer just made leaving seem more and more sad :(

I've absolutely loved the kindergarteners, and I'm going to hate not seeing their happy (well, sometimes..) little faces every morning, but it's probably talks that I've had with some of the older kids, like Armando, that make me realize how there's so much more I still want to do.  I just want to sit and have conversations, one-on-one, with each of them, and then maybe I would be content.  Or maybe (probably) that would make me want to stay even longer, but at least I would have the satisfaction of knowing that each of them had a moment of focused attention--a moment to  say what they wanted, their wishes illuminated, their worries less of a concern.  And I want so badly to know each kid's story, and to see each kid's future, but I'm trying to make myself focus more on the positives of the past month than on the fact that I'm most likely not going to see where they progress, or don't progress, once our separation is restored, and I'm back, at least in geographic terms, to where I started.  I'm definitely satisfied, it's just a strange sense of satisfaction.  It's like the feeling I used to have when I went through my toast with Nutella for breakfast phase, and each morning I thought to myself , "yumm, that was so good", already anticipating the next morning, when I knew that, again, I would be equally satisfied.  It's only hard now because, after tomorrow morning, that same daily satisfaction is not going to come.  So, I'm going to have to run from here on out off of that toast that I've already had--off of the knowledge that the past month has been happy and hope-filled, and that the kids are just kids at this point, still playing and having fun and not so worried about the future. 

I'm going to hate saying bye to the 6th grade class.  I spent a lot of time with them yesterday morning, too.  They came to keep me company in the room during both of their morning recesses.  (Yes, they have two.)  I borrowed someone's camera to take pictures, so I got some group shots, some individuals, and, of course, one of me and Mario.  They made him stand on a chair so that he could keep his dignity and look at least somewhat my same height for the picture.  I told them all last week (after he came to the door with two drawings/love letters) that relations between overaged and underaged people are illegal in the US, but they didn't seem too concerned..

I also got a couple of their email addresses so I can send the pictures back to the class.  One of them is naranja@hotmail.com.  That made me laugh.  

Also! on a completely different note...we went to this pool/restaurant/soccer field to hang out yesterday afternoon.  When we were walking around, one of the older women who got here on Sunday pointed out a little plant called the sensitive plant.  It's small and bright green with leaves that look like they're separated into little fingers, and when you touch one, the little fingers clench up.  They were so cute.  Maybe they knew that and wanted to keep their cuteness in hiding...but I'm glad I got at least a little look..

aaand today...hmmm..

I'm trying to enjoy my last times with the kindergarteners.  I wasn't sure they would grasp the fact that I'm leaving.  With kids that age, I think it sinks in more after it happens...and even then, since they are so easily amused, I don't know that it seems like a big deal.  Today, though, Felipe asked me when it was that I had to leave and then told the other kids that it was coming soon, so it will be interesting to see what happens.  Jorge told me excitedly, "If we come to the United States, we will live with you!"  Aw.  Mom and Dad--if yall adopted Jorge, that would be a dream come true :) 

I spent the past little while making cards for each of the kids and my teacher.  Now I just have a few more hours with them and then time for goodbyes.  I'm going to try not to think about time though because I've found that things tend to lose some of their meaning when I dwell on how fast they're going or how they've come too soon.  I only hope that tomorrow all the kids are there...and that they're all in a good mood! 

I'm taking more pictures tomorrow, and I took lots in town today.  We stick out like sore thumbs here, especially when we put on rain jackets.  No locals wear rain jackets.  It rains so much that they almost ignore it--but we all put on our jackets when we go out, even when there's no rain and the sky just looks cloudy, just as a just in case.  So I'm sure I stuck out today, in the middle of town in my rain jacket, taking pictures of everything, grocery bag of coffee on my arm, sipping my just-bought little box of Dos Pinos brand chocolate milk.  But it's ok because I don't feel like that much of a tourist here anymore, even if I don't blend in.  Plus I think I deserve my short time with a camera, although I'm actually glad I had a good portion of the month camera free, just with time to soak everything in.  So that's all I've got for the blog now...there's probably a finale to come tomorrow..

Buenas Noches! 

Pura Vida! 

Mucho Gusto! 

and every other phrase that I hear too many times a day to count

:)

A Little Note

Today, Bernardita, the 6th grader I met last week who was so excited to try out her best English, came into the classroom with a little journal for me to sign.  I wrote her a note in English, and then the same one beside it in Spanish, just to give her a little extra practice.  It said something along the lines of how I'm going to miss her, how glad I was to get to meet her, and how she should come visit in the US.  Later, she brought me two pages of the journal she had torn out with a note she had written on it.  With my best Spanish translating skills, I got that this is what it says:

Hello (in English).  How are you Sofi?  I am going to miss you when you leave here.  I love you a lot, like a sister or a  friend, or like both.  You are so fun and so beautiful and good.  You are like a light that shines over the world.  Stay a little bit longer.  I love you (te quiero mucho...so the friendly version).  Take care Sofi.  Bye Bye.

Precious.  

I can't take credit for being all those things she said, especially considering that I've only really interacted with this little girl a few times, but the fact she would take the time to write that to me said so much, even beyond the friendly words.  Oftentimes, the kids here don't get a chance to leave the city, much less the country (not that it's really necessary considering there's just about everything to do if you go to the different parts..).  When they get a glimpse of a foreigner, especially one with whom they get to interact, it's amazing how quickly they latch on.  I've mentioned before how it doesn't seem like the kids are taught to value an education, or simple things like reading or traveling that have the ability to broaden their minds, but, despite their lack of being taught to seek this expansion, their will to do so is apparent in the way I can give so little to these kids and receive such a big response.  

I mean, I came in, told this girl hello, complemented her English efforts and her nail decals, and have been greeting her with a smile and friendly chit-chat during recess ever since.  And now she tells me that I'm like a sister, that I shine all over the world.  This tells me, first of all, how small the world must seem when it's, for the most part, limited to the streets of Puriscal, and, second of all, how eager these kids (or at least Bernardita) must be to define themselves, or in some way discover themselves, through paths that can carry them beyond this small town by which their lives seem to be pre-defined.  And they are content with less than a physical relocation...I think that's the best news.  I'm obviously not showing them the world, but, just with a simple "hello," letting them know I'm not from around here, I think I'm awakening, or just encouraging, that little will inside them that wants to know and to learn.  I think it's an innate thing, that will, which is promising (although I think it's definitely stronger in some than in others).  But I also think it might be easily overshadowed or discouraged if it's not given opportunities or attended to just right.  It breaks my heart to imagine Bernardita sad after my leaving, as if I, an obscure college-aged girl from Tennessee, might have the ability to take with me her little bit of light.  So, I guess this goes back to hanging more on the shoulders of the educators, the adults, and the people who stay--in the suppliance not only of encouragement, but of resources with which these kids can expand their horizons, open their minds.  I want Bernardita to be able to add more to her little journal, like things that she's curious about, or things that she learns...because I think its pages need more than a simple hello from me for its opening to continue to rekindle that will that I know she has inside.

:)

Fascinating

I've rarely had trouble amusing myself by just walking around and looking outside, but, I have to say, I have NEVER been so fascinated by nature as I was this weekend in Monteverde.  

As you might guess by the name, Monteverde is a town high up on a mountain that is covered--and I mean as far as the eye can see, in green.  It rains a lot (even more so than in the rest of the country), and the highest parts are located in a cloud forest, meaning that on the curving bump of a road that goes to and from the town, clouds hang both below and beside you.  

So the drive marked part one of my fascination--looking out, green valleys below,  green mountains behind, the blue crest of the ocean just further back (but so distant and overpowered that it, too, appeared green), and clouds like semi-transparent dustings of Cool Whip moving sporadically in between.  But this was only the beginning..

Saturday morning we went ziplining with Selvatura tours, which is one of the most renowned ziplining companies in Costa Rica.  There were 13 platforms total (so 13 ziplines), the last one being, at 1 km long, the country's longest.  I don't even know how to describe the feeling of speeding above all the green, sometimes for almost a whole minute at a time.  It was incredible.  All I could think when I was up there was "How the hell did this happen??"  It's such an unnatural thing to be up that high...but because it puts you in a position where you're so wholly surrounded by an expanse of nature--the trees, the clouds, the birds, the mountains, it has the ability to make you feel so natural.  So that was part two, and it was pretty dang fascinating...but I might have been even more fascinated by what came next...

After the ziplining, we went for a hike along the trails and the swinging bridges then ended the day with a butterfly garden tour.  Now, I've always thought that butterflies were pretty, but I never knew there was so much to learn about them.  Like did you know that they can get drunk off of fermented fruits?  And not just that it's possible, but that they take full advantage of the possibility in captivity because they are smart enough to know that no predators are there to get them?  And have you ever looked at a butterfly's cocoon?  At this garden, they hang the cocoons together in an outdoor cabinet-type thing so that they can monitor them as the butterflies prepare to emerge.  From metallic gold, to rusty brown, to emerald blue, the cocoons in the cabinet  looked like they belonged in a box of jewels.  We saw the butterflies  all the way from their earliest stage, half-stripped of their cocoons and still incapable of flight, to their final stage, when they fly to the garden's cooler part, aware that it's their time to die.  And all of this was enlightening, maybe even borderline fascinating, but what really fascinated me was this one species: the owl butterfly.  

From one angle, the butterfly's wings, a speckling of browns and whites and forest greens, disguise themselves as an owl's head, complete with feathers, a beak and eyes.  THEN, if you flip the butterfly over, the wings disguise themselves as a snake that looks like it's slithering away, eyes looking at you, mouth open.  I just don't understand.  I've learned about adaptations, survival of the fittest, all the stuff like that...but, still, this absolutely blew my mind.  How does biology just up and realize the necessity of designing a wing like that?  It was a design so intricate it would be difficult for an artist to paint, but biology (or something..) takes care of the complications in a snap.  Ahh.  I want so badly to have some explanation, but all I have is this sense of fascination, so I guess I'll learn to be content with that.  That was part three, and already I'm overly satisfied with what came of my weekend in this town of green and clouds...but part four has to have been my favorite of all..

Sunday morning, we decided to scope out the only free attraction that the hostel staff had advertised to us during our little Monteverde orientation session: what was supposed to be a 20-minute hike to an old fig tree.  The directions they had drawn out on our map in a nice, elementary fashion basically consisted of "a little up, a little down, a turn to find 3 roads to the right, and a trip down the farthest one," marked loosely with a dotted squiggle.  We actually forgot to bring the map with us, so even these didn't help, and we ended up sweaty and out of breath (the high altitude was definitely noticeable) climbing dirt roads that only kept curving in an upward fashion.  We must have turned around 10 times.  Periodically, we would run into a local on the road, or flag down a taxi, or turn into a hotel lodge--we even bothered a guy on his porch as his underwear-clad girlfriend peered out from the door behind, and ask if someone knew of this old tree that was apparently good for climbing.  We got a couple of looks like we were crazy, a couple of mumbled Spanish directions, and one map even drawn for us in the dirt, but I swear we thought we were never going to find the stupid thing.  Somewhere along the way, we decided that it must have been a joke amongst the hostel staff to tell their poor travelers of the free attraction just to see how far they would go, and how exhausted they would get, on their quest for this made-up tree.  Our minds drifted between that and an image of some forest oasis that we were half-sure we were about to uncover, where the world's sweetest figs and a wide-open trunk with a magical kingdom must surely await tucked inside. (It was mostly this idea that kept us going.)   

We finally found a well-informed local man and his son headed in the tree's direction who were nice enough to show us to, and walk us down, the tiny little path (which was actually about 20 minutes from our hostel, but definitely NOT findable by our map).  The tree, surprisingly, did not contain a magical kingdom, or even sweet figs for that matter, but our exhaustion was quickly erased upon our arrival by just how incredible it was despite the lack of magic.  It's going to be hard to describe..  The sides were like woven lattice, making a tubular ladder that you could just climb inside.  Imagine a McDonald's playplace, but at least 10 times taller than the biggest slide, and 100% natural.  We climbed all the way to the top, simply crawling along the hollowed out, window-filled passageway of the tree's insides.  It was like caving, but above ground, and with views of the forest out every side.  On a list of the top 3 coolest things I've ever seen, this has got to be 1 or 2. (I have no idea what else goes on there...maybe that butterfly..) 

So this weekend was fascinating, overall...and a nice reminder of what can be learned just by looking outside.  It's moments like that, halfway up the trunk of an old fig tree, when I'm reminded that no worry, no doubt produced by my mind,  could withstand the comfort offered by the realization that, somehow, I get to be a part of the wondrous intricacy of nature that's all around.  And while this seems so readily apparent in the world's more untouched places, I sometimes forget that it can also be apparent, if only I look with a little more effort, in my everyday environment.  So, I'm going to try to be aware of the wonder that's around, and to keep that extra-looking effort in mind...because things (whether big or little, man-made or natural, inside or outside..) are so much more interesting, more satisfying, if you can find a way to hone in on that slight but ever-present bubble of thought that begs you to be fascinated by them.

And that's my schpeel about fascination...now I'm trying to see what else I wanted to remember..

Oh! At our hostel, I got to sleep on a lofted bed above the bathroom that was only reachable by a bamboo ladder.  It was a very tree/climbing-themed couple of days.  AND we ended up staying next door to this guy from Canada who is about to drive to Pennsylvania with Paula, a girl who just flew home from our program on Saturday, and his 3 friends.  They are working at a camp together in a few weeks, but he has never actually met Paula.  It was crazy though because we rattled off the full names of the other Canadians who had been here to see if, by chance, they knew each other since they were both from Ottawa.  Then we said, oh and there's Paula who was from Toronto and he was like "What? Yes! I know Paula!", but he doesn't actually know her, she's just like this enigma of Paula that exists in his mind.  Maybe you had to be there..

I'm getting so sad to have to say bye to the kids, and not only my kindergarteners but the older ones too.  There are definitely things about home that I miss, but it's an awful feeling to have to leave knowing that there's a good chance I'll never see these kids again or get to know where they end up, what will happen.  I'm borrowing someone's camera Friday so I'm going to take lots more pictures.  And I'm sure there will be plenty to blog about in the next few days, but right now I'm exhausted.  Soo, goodnight! Buenas noches! Maybe tomorrow I'll steal someone's picture of the fig tree off Facebook and put it on here..

:)

Field Trips and More

So last night's soccer game went pretty badly for the US.  We ended up not watching the whole thing, but we could tell by the sound in the streets whenever Costa Rica scored.  I'm glad they won though.  I think they put a little more enthusiasm into backing their team than we seem to..

We've been on two field trips in the past two days: one to a tobacco plant and one to a sugarcane factory.  It's amazing to see these people work.  They pass hours of monotony in hot and smelly conditions, doing the sort of tasks that you almost forget actual people are required to do.  They don't seem to dislike the work too much though, or at least that's the impression I got from my perspective.  I guess there's a certain amount of pride to be found in the productivity of their monotony, as they can sit cutting leaves or pouring sugar and watch rows and rows of cigars and sugarcane blocks appear before them, resulting solely from the work of their bare hands.  There was actually a sign on the wall of the tobacco factory that made me smile.  It said something like "The best products are those that come from the hands of happy men and women.  Live happily."  I think it was one of those things that sounds a lot more poetic in Spanish, but that was the general gist.  

I admire anyone who can work in that tobacco plant's environment and really put that meaning into action.  Imagine a single, large room, filled with tables and desks, dried tobacco leaves on one side, countless Costa Ricans, equipped with all sorts of blades and racks and measuring tools, cutting and rolling the leaves on the other, and an air so thick and tobacco fume-filled that it stung our noses and throats to breathe in.  These people's hands moved so quickly and mechanically, producing such uniform products that they might as well have been spit out of a machine.  I actually felt like we were interrupting their flow just walking around.  And our tour guide was missing half of his pinky finger, which I think may have happened one time when his own flow was interrupted..

The sugarcane factory was a smaller building located out in the country behind someone's house.  We were told that it's a community-run project, so I think one man oversees it and lots of community members help out.  The workers get there at 4:30 in the morning and don't leave until 4 pm!  And the room they work in is filled with huge pots of boiling liquid that's been squeezed out of the sugarcane, giving off a sort of sticky steam that smelled like a mix of sugary sweetness and sewage/mulch.  We got to taste the pure liquid that first comes out of the sugarcane.  I'm pretty sure it was the most unsanitary thing I've ever had to drink.  It didn't taste bad though, just extremely sweet.  And later we got to taste the more solidified sugar that's been filtered and boiled.  It was served to us on banana leaves, like a big block of caramel.  I was one of the few people who didn't like the taste...I think because I wanted it to taste like caramel, or peanut butter, or even butterscotch, but it just wasn't happening.  Then they gave us a block of the final product, which is melted in boiling water to make Agua Dulce, a popular Costa Rican drink.  We had some at dinner, but I just couldn't make myself drink it...something about that smell..

My kids didn't have class today because Nina had to take her parents to a doctor's appointment in San Jose.  I was given a list of cleaning tasks to do around the room though, so I spent my morning washing plastic play dishes, changing out dirty old pillowcases for cleaner ones, and sweeping the windows with a broom (I guess this is a makeshift form of dusting?).  I can't say I particularly enjoyed being in the classroom without the kids, but even my morning of cleaning alone wasn't without its entertainment, as the older kids were running in and out the whole time making conversation.  

One girl, who I'd never met before, came by to ask for newspapers and was absolutely adorable.  As soon as she realized I was from the US, she started trying to speak to me in English--nothing fancy, just the little conversational bits she has been learning in the school's English class.  I asked her how old she was and her response was a slow but well-pronounced, "Hi, how are you?".  I thought she was gonna stop there, but she must have been able to tell by my face that that was the wrong answer, so she thought for a second and then looked down and proceeded to count up to 12 on her fingers.  Once she gave the right answer, she looked so satisfied.  Then I complemented her on her Dora the Explorer fingernail decals and she gave the cutest, most effort-filled sounding "Thank you".  The whole rest of the morning, she stuck her head in the room periodically just to say another "Thank you!" or "Hello!".

There's a boy in the 6th grade, Mario, who has apparently developed a crush on me.  Now I don't know when this happened because I had never even spoken to him until some giggling girls dragged him into the classroom a couple of days ago, but I guess he's been popping his head in the window for the past couple of weeks.  The older kids are always doing that.  Whenever I look up at the window, there are always little hands clinging to the sill, and then some eyes will jump up to peer in for a second and then disappear.  

Mario is probably the scrawniest boy in the 6th grade.  The first time I talked to him though, I was sitting at a table with him and about 4 other kids from his class, and I asked them all how old they were.  They started going around the table, all responding "twelve...twelve...twelve.." and then it got to Mario and he raised his eyebrows (I guess in the most seductive way a scrawny 6th grader can) and said "twenty".  Hahaha.  I'm fairly certain Mario and I don't have a future together, but he's determined to at least get a picture with me before I leave.   

Tomorrow we are headed to Monteverde, a town in the mountains in the middle of the country.  We are going ziplining on Saturday and I'm SOO excited.  I can't believe that it's already time for the last weekend though.  And, what's worse, 5 more people are leaving tomorrow :( It's only going to be 4 of us going to Monteverde, and the past couple of weekends we've been traveling with 11!  Even with the long days, the laid-back lifestyle, everything goes so quickly..

Well, I'll update again after this weekend!  Pura Vida! (as they always say here...literally ALL the time...it means "pure life" and it's like the whole country's theme)

:)

Little Personalities

For the past couple of days we've been trying lots of new forms of afternoon/evening entertainment.  Last night we discovered the joys of competitive Pictionary, the prize being that the losing team had to do the winning team's dishes at lunch today.  My team was a little overconfident going into the competition, which ended in several rounds of sudden death.  We lost.  We even cheated, and we still lost.  Soo, as we washed extra dishes, we had some time to think about how honesty is always best.

Last night, a few of us went to an aerobics class at the gym in town.  It was led by this INTENSE Costa Rican couple...I mean, if their home life is anywhere near as energetic as their aerobics class, I don't think I could handle the household.  It was fun though...until the final abs/butt workout, when I was seriously considering jumping up and saying "Aghhh no mas!".

At school today, I spent a lot of time helping Nina clean out the drawers in her desk, which I'm pretty sure she's just been shoving random things into for at least a year now.  Half of the stuff in there looked like it needed to be thrown away, but she just wanted it all to be organized and put back, so I had to refrain myself from getting rid of all the random bags and sticks and drawings and such that I'm fairly certain will never be used.  Anyway, everything was going fine until I pulled a shoebox out of one of the drawers, opened it to organize its contents, and 4 huge cockroaches were inside running around.  I screamed.  I typically handle bugs pretty well, but I don't do cockroaches.  Nina, however, with her calm and composed self, simply came over, grabbed the box, swept the roaches out one by one with her hand, and smooshed them each onto the classroom's tile floor.  Then she looked at me and said, "What? You don't have cockroaches in your house?"

I don't know what anybody would do without Nina.

Also, Emily (the 2nd grade volunteer) came back to class with me today.  She and her dad are going to start coming to my school again on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Her dad is helping someone paint the buildings, so she joins my kindergarten class and plays with the kids/helps out.  Emily is reserved, a little bit perfectionistic, and, with her tendency to focus on maintaining organization and suppressing chaos, a fitting product, at only age 8, of the values that most separate the American school system from that of Costa Rica.  It's mostly a coincidence that it happened that way, as there are definitely American kids whose personalities would fit right in to the more disordered and lenient Costa Rican schooling style (like Emily's little sister, who is always providing entertainment for the house), but, I must say, I love the days when Emily comes to class because it's so interesting to watch her and the other kids interact.

She doesn't speak any Spanish, and the kindergarteners can only count to ten in English, so the language barrier doesn't help Emily's shyness.  The kids are always inclusive though--the little girls run over and try to make her put on lip gloss, and the boys, namely one first grader, Mikey, have crushes on her and come over with timid little hopes that they might be able to understand each other when they interact.  Emily doesn't seem to enjoy playing with the kids so much though; I think she likes it better when she gets to observe from afar.  She watches them make messes and forget to clean them up, leave the caps off of all the markers they put back in the box, and run in and out of class with no apparent reason.  And then she makes comments like, "Are they supposed to be wiping the paint off on that faucet?", or "My teacher would never let them do that".  She seems most content when Nina gives her some sort of organizational job, like putting the caps on all those cap-less markers, or sweeping dirt (and cockroach guts) off of the perpetually dirty floor.  With a perceptible amount of focus, she always does these little tasks with more effort and diligence than Nina asks.  And I can look at her and see how determined she is to do them right.  I feel like she puts pressure on her 2nd grade self, holding most of her playful urges back in exchange for what she deems as higher standards of composure and regularity--standards that are magnified when she's thrown into an environment that's somewhat chaotic.  In her little ways, she's giving what she knows how to the classroom: a gift of order and control.  She doesn't impose these things on the kids; she's too timid (and incapable of Spanish) to do that...but, I can tell that as she organizes she's watching the kids in their rambunctious ways and thinking a lot, wondering why their standards don't seem to be as rigidly placed as her own.  And while I think her character is, in reality, probably more shaped by genetics than by the structure of the American school environment, Emily's presence in the class sets up an undeniably visible Costa Rican-American contrast.  

I guess I like watching how Emily interacts with the kids because, in a way, she reminds me of myself.  I don't know that I was just like her when I was younger, but, from the older perspective I have now, I feel like I can detect early beginnings of the high standards that, for me, came at a young age and then continued to grow.  But I've realized, partly through this experience and partly through others, that it's things like volunteering that allow me to push those standards, and the pressure that I often put on myself, aside.  When I'm helping other people, it's like a release from thinking about how I might like to change or improve minute aspects of myself...because I've learned that when I think about these things, I start to think too much, sometimes so much that it's like I forget to speak, or act.  I've decided that, in some cases, for those prone to high standards, or perfectionism, not thinking might be the best option.  Maybe not not thinking, but at least recognizing a sort of separation between oneself and one's thoughts.  

So, I guess my point is that I'm really loving my time here in Costa Rica, being able to have a focused and productive outlet, and knowing that my thinking is being used (hopefully) to better someone else.  And I like that helping doesn't require any intense or burdensome kind of thought.  When you're helping, what's needed is more of a presence, a perceptible effort--simply enough to let those you are helping know that your support is there.  You don't have to concern yourself so much about the hows and ifs and whys when you aren't being held to any sort of standard.  Your actions can set their own standard, and even the smallest action is good enough.  I feel like I could keep going on this train of thought forever, but I think I'm going to leave the subject at that for now.

AH my blog posts are getting excessively long.  Having this blog makes me wish I had always kept a journal. I still have a little more to say! (up to now was yesterday, and this is my only journal type thing, so I have to write everything I want to remember on it)

This morning, I was accompanying Cecil to the bathroom and she squatted in her uniform RIGHT next to the toilet, lid closed, and just peed in her pants!  Then she looked at me all worried and said she didn't know what had happened.  I said, "Cecil! No puedes usar el piso para el bano!" and all she did was laugh.  

Antony came back to class today, thank goodness.  I'm in love with that little boy.  He's just the happiest thing I've ever seen.  He and this other boy, Jorge, are the two continually well-behaved ones of the class.  I'm in love with Jorge, too.  He is so precious and has this scar on his face that makes him look older and wiser, or maybe a little more weathered, somehow.  And he is wiser--he's the only kid in the class that knows how to read, and whenever we do craft projects, he sits happily and quietly and focuses on doing a good job.  When Nina asks the kids a question and others shout out nonsense answers, she calls on Jorge and he always knows the correct response.  It's so cute how perceptible their little personalities are from so early on.  I don't think I'd realized that so much about young kids until these past couple of weeks...or maybe I knew it was true, I had just never reallly experienced it..

Ok that's all for now, finally!  Tonight is the US vs. Costa Rica world cup game, which is apparently supposed to be a big deal, so we are going into town to watch it.  I can't decide who to root for..

:)