Despedidas

In twenty four hours I will be on a plane headed back home.
Last night was my last night here in Costa Rica. I'd love to tell everyone about it, but I have no idea where to begin, let alone where I would end. Tapas, a police escort, the curator of an insect museum, a rastafarian taxi driver and lots of dancing were involved. I am running on three hours of sleep, because my internal clock, after 19 years of being dormant, has started to work, and I cannot sleep past seven o'clock. But I probably couldn't sleep if I wanted to because my host parents decided to get their front door refinished. Consequently, I've been writing my final field trip report to the gentle hum of an electric sander. I am dreading packing, and am dreading saying good bye to everyone and everything.

Class Party

Since Tuesday was our last EA and SD class, we thought it'd be fun to go out with Roberto (my professor, for anyone who is coming in late). After class, three of the four of us in the class piled into his car, which happens to be the smallest 4wd SUV available in Costa Rica. We had just given him Crocs as a thank you gift, so he was in a good mood. We picked up his girlfriend, which made things slightly awkward and much more cramped, and headed to a bar near the University of Costa Rica. Roberto and his girlfriend, both biologists, thought it would be appropriate to bring us to a bar where a lot of biologists hang out. It turns out there was only one biologist there, but Roberto was paying so that made up for the disappointment. Afterwards, the real party started. We headed to Karaoke 88, near la Calle de la Amargura, a street lined in bars near UCR. I'd like to be able to say that I don't remember anything else, but sadly, I do. The important thing is, though, that I got home in one piece.

Los Mocosos

Last night as I sat on my bed in front of my open window writing my ten-page 1.5 spaced paper, three teenage misfits, or mocosos as my señor affectionately calls them, thought they would get my attention by throwing rocks at my window. After one of the rocks sailed through the open window and hit my housemate´s computer, we told our señora, and she proceded to call the police. That´ll teach 'em.

From Castro's to Curú

Last Thursday night was the first night my amigas and I went out on the town. We decided to go to a discoteca called Castro's; the walls were lined in mirrors and there was a karaoke bar on the second floor. It was a night full of karaoke, dancing and making Tico friends, and thankfully everyone got home more or less in one piece. Friday was my last day of Spanish classes, and my presentation went well considering that my four hours of sleep hadn't quite gotten rid of that fiesta feeling. This past weekend, my EA and SD class took its final fieldtrip to the private wildlife refuge of Curú. I don't think I managed to stop sweating the entire weekend, but snorkeling and picking up trash on an otherwise pristine beach made the perpetual shower worth it. At the refuge's home base, spider, howler and white-faced capuchin monkeys were the source of everyone's excitement, but I prefered my professor's howler monkey call. I also thought I had gotten my first sunburn, but it turned out to be nothing more than a sun-kissed glow. Now that I am back in San José I can enjoy writing my ten-page 1.5 spaced paper about recycling in Costa Rica and preparing for the 20-30 minute presentation that goes along with it, which is due tomorrow.

¿Pura Vida?

I won´t name names, but about half a dozen of my fellow study abroad-ers, most of them girls, have gotten the phrase pura vida tattooed on their bodies.  Now, you may be wondering what could compel such educated, bright and classy women to do such a thing.  Well, I´m afraid I can´t offer a fair answer.  But, I´ll take a stab at it: these girls, after having lived and breathed pura vida for the past three weeks of their lives, have reached an understanding of Costa Rican culture so deep and so personal that they just had to receive a permanent reminder of what the pure life really is.  I can only hope that I too will be able to appreciate this fine country on a level half as profound.

AsoProLA

This weekend my EA and SD class took an incredible field trip to the rural town of Altamira.  Altamira, along with several other neighboring communities, is part of an association called AsoProLA.  I'm not sure what the acronym stands for, something like Asociasion para la Proteccion de La Amistad.  La Amistad is the country's biggest national park, and is shared with Panama, hence the name.  We stayed in a hostel type building, and Saturday morning I was woken up by the sound of shovels hitting dirt and a rooster crowing.  In AsoProLA, there are several organic farms, an organic coffee plantation, and a small barn where cows are raised solely for the purpose of composting their poop.  On Saturday, we traveled to the national park where we took a hike and were eaten alive by mosquitos.  After lunch at the hostel, we ventured out on another hike, this time to visit Pancho, who lives on top of a mountain.  It rained gatos and perros on the way up there, so the hike was slippery.  The view from Pancho's place is breathtaking, but as I stood there taking pictures, I was greeted by an ant hill.  Pancho, a slender man with half grown-out dreadlocks, is the brains of the operation, and has constructed an edifice, for lack of a better word, out of garbage.  He gathered several buoys from illegal fishing operations and uses them as planters and decoration.  Two boats are suspended on the second floor of his establishment, along with a motorcycle, animal skeletons, glass bottles, dentures and other odds and ends in the first floor workshop.  His 14-year-old schnauzer Hippie follows him everywhere, even though he is deaf and blind and has no sense of smell.  After our initial introduction, Pancho took us down to the river (I'm not sure why) and I got stung on the ear by a wasp.  Back up near Pancho's place, we planted a tree that I had helped carry up the mountain to Pancho's place.  For some reason, it took us about half the time to get back down the mountain as it did to get up, but I thought it would be better to not ask any questions.  

Waking up on the wrong side of the cama

I find it miraculous that for the past two weeks, I have been able to wake up before seven a.m., leave the house by 7:30 and make it to school before 8 o´clock for my Spanish class. Hopefully I can continue this practice into next semester and make it to my 8 o´clock class on time and ready to go.
I almost forgot to write about my Costa Rican funeral experience. My señor´s (Herbert) mother died last week. My señora told me the news, and soon after, invited me to the wake. I accepted the invitation, partly in order to extend my sympathies to Herbert, and partly out of curiosity. Since the family decided to have a more traditional funeral service, they only had 24 hours to get the body in the ground before it started to, well, do what dead bodies do. Apparently, wakes are usually held almost immediately after a person passes, and last for hours. Herbert´s mother died at around 10 in the morning, and that evening, his whole family was crowded in a family member´s living room, performing the customary funerary rosary prayers. Not only were the family members crowded in the house, but the casket was placed by the front window, surrounded by candles and flowers. A piece of glass was placed in the casket; I can only imagine it was to keep the body fresh. The next morning, while I was in class, Herbert´s mother was buried, and a mass was held the following weekend.