Do I look like a kangaroo? Opossum?

I promise, the post title will make sense. So, one of the big goals of the Peace Corps is community integration. I think the idea is that if we are seen as a member of our community that people will trust us to lead economic development, health, and education projects. Also, being part of the community will help us be able to share about American culture and learn Costa Rican culture. Integrating into my community is a big task. I'm not going to say that integrating into a community is harder in one community than another, and on the whole, I'd say among the 68 countries that the Peace Corps is currently working, Costa Rica is probably one of the easiest in which to integrate. Yet, I say it's a big task because my community is much bigger than almost all other Peace Corps communities in Costa Rica. The regular high school has 1,100 students enrolled and the night school more than 700, so with 1,800 people, my two high schools have more people than communities of maybe half my colleagues. I'm not making excuses or complaining, just explaining, that I'm in no way about to claim that I'm integrated into my community. I'm still working on integrating into the high schools. community integration. 


I do though, spend a lot of time at my town's version of Kinko's. Copicentro Sarapiquí has the poster board, markers, folders, and contact paper I need to make classroom materials for the community classes I teach. And, as it's name indicates (I'm going to boldly assume you're witty enough to figure it out without the translation) it provides me with all my printing and photocopy needs. On top of that, it has a friendly and funny staff of young twenty-ish guys, most of them pretty fresh out of high school. I originally introduced myself to the staff during one of my walks around town introducing myself and the Peace Corps. After that, despite being in the store once or twice a week, I didn't develop much more than a friendly business-customer relationship. 

Two events changed this, one of the guys that works there lives with my host mom's nephew, who had told the worker of an arepa dance I had done. Arepas are like pancakes-not exactly the same, but pretty much. My host dad had a little song that he sang sometimes when we ate arepas, I think there is a slight sexual innuendo used with arepas, but honestly, I can't remember it now. I made up a dance to the song some day when we were eating arepas and much of the maternal extended family was around, because all songs need dances. Well, one day at the copy store, upon hearing about my dance from his roommate asked me to do it, so I did a brief, subtle version (I'm not trying to look like a giant fool in public, well, not yet).



After this event I joked more often with the copy store staff and/or make comments about how I had no problem with homosexuality to them-which may make them think I'm gay, open-minded, or both. The second event happened when one night as I came in they were making some jokes amongst themselves involving the YMCA music video, sadly, the joke was probably quasi-homophobic. But, I not only sang along with vigor, but threw up my arms and did the YMCA. I let them know that a good song is a good song, whoever sings it. I had time, so I sang along as they played some Doors and Led Zeppelin videos. Since then I have all sorts of fun when I go to make copies, mostly saying ridiculous things (or things that become ridiculous said with my accent), and joking around with the workers. Often they see if I know what a Costa Rican slang word means: I often don't. They have called me a few nicknames (one guy refuses to call me anything but Clark Kent) which usually have to do with the slang words they are trying out. I'm more than willing to be the butt of their jokes.

So, the most recent nickname, which came at the end of a conversation a few of them had that I didn't understand (lots of slang, plenty of distractions to my listening) was marsupial. Luckily marsupial in Spanish is marsupial, so I understood what they were calling me. Just not why. I guess that means I've got some more integration to do, eh?


(images: http://www.hiltonpond.org/ThisWeek030608.html, http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Eastern-Grey-Kangaroo-Kosciuszko-National-Park-New-South-Wales-Australia-Posters_i2668538_.htm)

Spring flowers all year round

Esther, the mom in the family I live with/rent from is a pretty awesome lady. For many reasons, many of which I'll hopefully go into later. She's one of the calmest people I have met in Costa Rica, and honestly, in my life. Calm isn't usually the first word that comes to mind when describing a person, but it does for her. As opposed to many other middle aged Tican women I've met, she's just very relaxed, very at ease with the world. It's not that she doesn't work hard-she does, it's just that I've seldom seen her get excited about anything and added to her super soft, slow, peaceful voice and way of speaking, she's very pleasant to be around. 

And, here's the transition, so are her flowers. It's no secret that, being in the tropics, it rains a lot here, there's lots of strong sun, and thus-anything grows here, anytime. Well, Esther has done great things with this environment. She has planted and maintains a huge number of flowers alongside the fence lines of the yard, as well as in a few other corners of the yard. Every few weeks she'll grab a chef's knife, and head out to cut off some of the blooming flowers to use in vases around the house as well as trim back some of the extra growth. A little bit of Internet told me that most of the flowers are heliconias, and I haven't a clue about the rest. If you ever visit, you can thank her for the visually pleasing blog entry. (Yes, I'm aware it's been lots of text recently-hence this post). 

Your passport please. And your afternoon.

I still remember after flying from Germany to Athens, how the Greek immigration officers just waved my three friends and me into the country. Not even a quick glance at the passports, no forms to fill out, we just picked up our checked luggage from the carousel and walked into the delightful Athenian sun. In light of the Euro debt crisis, this seems like a very typical Greek-German relationship. While airports don’t really count as borders, this was by far the easiest country to country transit I’ve ever made. Now, yes, picky and technical reader, I understand that they’re both part of the Schengen Agreement, but they’re still two different countries.

You can read more here about what I would consider my worst border crossing. It was from Laos into Vietnam, involved lots of waiting, ineffective bribing, and well, um, needless to say coming in the middle of a 26 hour bus ride didn’t make it any better. I bring these up because during my delightful few days in Guanacaste (the north Pacific part of Costa Rica) with the principal from my night school he offered to show me the border. We weren’t going to Nicaragua, and I can promise you that I hadn’t been begging for or even subtly suggesting a duty-free shopping trip. Yet, one day after lunch Hector was like, I’m going to show you the border. Now, let’s be real, a border is just an imaginary line on the earth-and as Costa Rica and Nicaragua’s border problems are on the Caribbean side of their border, there’s nothing in the border spat excitement category to be seen.

But, my policy, when traveling-whether domestically or internationally, is to always say yes when someone (I trust) offers to take me somewhere, show me something. I remember staying with my buddies Foster and Joe in St. Louis one time, they told me we were going to amateur pro wrestling. I really had no idea what to expect, needless to say, I was not disappointed. Nor was I when Hector took me up to the border. Because, well, much like amateur pro wrestling, it was pure mayhem. I was first struck when we started passing a bunch of semi trucks. No exaggeration, it was a lot of semi trucks. I counted on the way back-145 trucks-not including the 20-30 that were waiting in between the various processing stations. Despite my personal distaste for inanely obvious questions, I asked the obvious-were these trucks waiting to cross the border? Yes, yes they were Hector told me.

I tried to ask him as much as I could about why they were waiting. He didn’t seem to have any grand reasons. Then again, I guess for a county where waiting for things to happen and almost nothing happening efficiently (at least my opinion), it wouldn’t seem so ludicrous that trucks were lined up for miles waiting to cross the border. Or maybe, having grown up with it, he didn’t ever think about how, well, problematic it was. From what I could gather, the hold up was due mostly to inspections for drugs, and these inspections were more frequent and time consuming on the Costa Rican side. I’d guess that Costa Rica’s close relationship with the U.S. and its reception of plenty of ant-drug trafficking funds from the U.S. are the main contributor to this situation.

For a country that includes exporting agricultural and technological products to the U.S. and Canada among its biggest industries, it was mind boggling to me that this border crossing was so dysfunctional. This is the main highway border crossing between Costa Rica and Nicaragua-it’s where the Inter-American highway crosses. It’s not the only way to go north by land from Costa Rica, but it’s by far the easiest, fastest, most practical. Yes, the easiest and fastest way to transport anything via land between these two countries (and anything that’s coming from anywhere south of Costa Rica) is where there are trucks backed up for more than a mile. All I could think about the ride back was how giant of a problem this must be for the country’s export industries, a significant deterrent to expansion for many companies and industries looking to do business with Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala or even Mexico, Canada, and the U.S. Although, it could be a boon for the shipping industry ;)

It was crazy. Once past the huge line of trucks, we crossed an initial station just for trucks, and then entered a mini-city, where every single business operated either in customs forms, shipping, or catering. There were workers on bicycles with folders, papers, or Styrofoam containers of food and bottles of soda. It seemed like all the truckers were thus getting all the paper work filled out and bicycled up to the right offices while they were in line. Many snacked as they waited, some slept, some sat on stools and chatted, and a few even had hammocks tied under the trailer. Very near the border (as far as we could go before getting the passports we didn’t have with us checked) I saw two teams of drug enforcement officers examining two semi trucks. I don’t see those two teams working through the line of 145 trucks anytime soon. The article I link to below indicated the wait for transport trucks can take up to 36 hours. Not a typo-a day and a half.

In some Internet research I was able to find a recent opinion article written in Costa Rica’s most important paper by an international business advisor to the Costa Rican Chamber of Commerce, expressing almost exactly my thoughts about the situation. And, this article discussing how the government has been unable to find a use or indoor storage for $6 million worth of x-ray machines and other customs equipment donated from China might demonstrate that the customs and immigration department is overburdened or not working hard enough. For an imaginary line drawn up by two groups of people, this border is having an impact that, until seeing this, seemed beyond my imagination.

A Note to Readers

As you're reading this, you can think of it as a note to you. (Just you!)

I think that for many, the image of the Peace Corps is one of traveling around the world discovering new places, people, and food. It is-for the first month or two of training and then the first month or two at site. And then, well, one still meets new people, but the food and sites stay the same. I don’t think the Peace Corps does anything to misrepresent itself, I was never mislead about this during recruitment or training. Yet, when I think about what to blog, I realize this grand difference. And that’s mainly because I compare it to my two years in China-which allowed for lots of travel, both international and domestic.

Costa Rica is a wonderfully and economically manageable place to travel on a US/European budget. It’s not when you get paid about 60% as much as the average Costa Rican. Additionally, part of my job description is learning about Costa Rican culture in order to share it with Americans (yes-writing on my blog is work, actually a pretty important part of my work-maybe I should be writing more often-oops). Another part of my job is sharing about America-nothing too exciting there for you-Joe Reader (aka friends and family) to hear about. Furthermore, as part of my job I’m supposed to stay in my site most of the time-I think one of my work documents says 80-90% of the time. So, both money and my job responsibilities keep me firmly planted in Puerto Viejo. Oh, yeah, and that it usually takes a fair amount of time to make local friends when a foreigner moves to a new country city, or maybe I’m just too disagreeable-I know I don’t make great first impressions.

In contrast, in China, although still making less than the US poverty line, I was making twice or more than a Changzhou local, and was in a country where traveling (transportation, restaurants and hotels) was significantly cheaper (and the transportation was better). So, economically going away for a weekend or during school vacations was a no-brainer. Additionally, at JSTU, my job was simply to teach my classes. Well, we were encouraged to go to English corner and participate in English activities, or activities where the school benefited from showing off Westerners-but often received cash in an envelope for such endeavors. So, in this aspect, working for the Peace Corps is much different, even if I had the money to take weekend getaways or go to other Central American countries every time school had a vacation-it would be contrary to the spirit (at minimum) of my job. Now, from a realistic standpoint, during some school vacations, all my teachers are away or unwilling to work on school related things (this is experience speaking) so taking trips is pretty much just an economic limit.

I make this note to my readers, mostly because I don’t like expecting one thing and getting one thing else. It’s not that I’m not constantly realizing and analyzing cultural differences, but as I’m not traveling, they are less frequent and not as obvious. And, sadly, my income/personal preferences haven’t placed a camera phone in my pocket-so I can’t take pictures that I would be taking if I was traveling-when I always have my camera in my pocket. So, I will most likely be blogging more about education-because I spend most my time either in school, thinking about teaching, lesson planning, reading about education, or talking about it. This may make some of you super happy, and please always feel free to comment or ask questions-I’ll always try to respond. For some of you, it may mean clicking on the blog, not seeing a picture of some ridiculous foreigners doing ridiculous things, and clicking back to the site you really want to be on.

Oh, and to complete my aforementioned task, for some reason this popped into my head: Costa Ricans really, really like sour cream. It’s not called sour cream, instead they say natilla, and it’s not exactly sour cream, but super close. They eat it with all sorts of things-but especially tortillas, pancake like pastries, and all sorts of other things. Like, lots of Costa Ricans start their day (along with gallo pinto), with a few rolled up corn tortillas dipped in sour cream. While we’re on condiments, every single Costa Rican house and even many well-adapted Peace Corps volunteer residences have a bottle of Salsa Lizano. Salsa Lizano is kind of like A1 sauce, but maybe a bit sweeter, a bit spicier, and honestly, it’s a difference that is hard to describe. Maybe if I cooked more I’d better know the spices that make the difference. It was developed in Costa Rica in the 1920s, but was purchased by the consumer product giant in 1991. Since about every Costa Rican eats gallo pinto for breakfast (Salsa Lizano is used for flavoring) and all Costa Ricans gorge on tamales during Christmas (Lizano is the condiment of choice for tamales) Salsa Lizano is in every corner store big enough to stock it and gets a few shelves just to itself in most supermarkets.

Last note-no I don’t know what is causing some of my posts to format differently (text size, font) than other posts-I sure do my best to format them all the same. There are some problems that I’m still working to get sorted out with my Google AdSense account, so that may be it, but, trust me, if I knew the solution, I’d fix it. I’m just as unhappy as you that every post isn’t the same format. 

Found it

Among the plenitude of things I'm grateful to my parents about is that they brought me up to eat anything. I ate incredibly well growing up, with both parents cooking most of the time-we were able to enjoy a wide variety of dishes, as my parents definitely have different tastes. I still remember some more dramatic lessons that my dad taught me about eating what I was given and not complaining about it. I've had the great fortune of traveling to a few countries and also around much of the U.S, tasting all sorts of food. One of the things I love about my dad is that when we'd travel when I was a kid he'd always try to seek out some local restaurant-even if all of us just wanted to go to a chain. My dad thoroughly enjoys a good meal, and is always on the lookout for it. My mom is a person that doesn't like to eat the same thing too often. While I'm pretty much the polar opposite (my universal acceptance of food doesn't make me picky-even about repetition). Yet, her desire for something different meant that she was always trying out new recipes, or new restaurants, whereas my dad, brother, and I would probably just go to Famous Dave's every time we go out to eat. 


I don't have a great memory, but I can't remember ever refusing food, or telling someone I couldn't eat that. I'm not hating on vegetarians and feel sympathy for those with dietary restrictions-but, luckily my parents taught me never to refuse food which I say is lucky because it means I get to try everything and in doing so experience one of the few things that everyone in the world has (or should have) in common-eating. That doesn't mean I like everything I eat. Almost everywhere where I've spent some time, I've found something that I just can't stomach. In China it was stinky tofu. And, in the past few weeks, I found the Costa Rican culprits. 


I'm a pretty straight shooter, so my agreeable belly is good for me, because a common question I've received has been "how do you like Costa Rican food?" "how have you adapted to the Costa Rican diet?" I am able to tell them that I like it, I've adapted fabulously, and I've got no big complaints about what I've eaten. 


But I've got two very specific complaints: Maxi Malta and nances. I had noticed that a bunch of people every day and night were drinking this drink in an aluminum can (sorry couldn't find a can image) called Maxi. So, one night at the night school, I bought a can from the convenience store. As I got to class, I sat down next to Laura, an English teacher with a great sense of humor. I opened my can, took a big swig, and "oh-my-gosh-this-tastes-horrible" came straight out of my mouth. Laura agreed, she likewise didn't understand why so many people like it. Because my parents also taught me not to be wasteful, I lost the sunk cost logical argument in my head and drank the whole can. I mean, I was thirsty. Yet, I don't deceive, there are a bunch of people that drink one every day. Maxi Malta, as its website advertises, is the only malted barley drink for sale in Costa Rica. I'm utterly surprised that even it sticks around. I can definitively say, I like my barley with some hops. 

The second culprit should be considered on trial or rather, the local court made a ruling, but there's a possibility of an appeal to a higher court. Also at the night school, a super fun Spanish teacher who spent 10 or so years working in Houston offered me a nance. (It may be called golden spoon in English, but it's mainly a Latin America fruit, so I'll use nance (nahn-say).) I'd seen nances before, steeping in the sugar cane moonshine that is so popular here, but had never tasted them. I'd seen them on sale plenty too, but until the teacher offered me one, hadn't tasted them. From appearances (look left), I was expecting something maybe cherry or blueberry-esque. What I got was putrid, bitter, and sour all at the same time. With such an experience, I told him it was repulsive and turned down the second offer. It's possible that I just got a bad nance. It's also possible that nances are just bad-and maybe only taste good when steeped in equally revolting moonshine. I'll probably come around and try them again, and I'll update if my first sample wasn't indicative. 


If only two of the numerous things I've tried have failed to please, it either means my standards are low, or Costa Rica is doing a pretty damn good job of pleasing my palate. I'll give the Ticans the benefit of the doubt-they may not have too much variety in their daily diet, but they tend to put together a nice, hearty plate of food.