Manuel Antonio Part 1

It felt just like a scene out of a movie. The sun was shining but not quite warming the chilled breeze that blew through the tents and over the fresh fruits and vegetables being sold all along both sides of the street. Everyone had come to stock up on ingredients for soups and salads and fresh snacks for the week. The people meandered in and out and around the tents. They visited with their favorite vendors, shared the weekly gossip, maybe they even haggled over a fair price for the onions. It was a normal Saturday morning… until the 3 gringas came running by like an episode of the amazing race with their backpacks in tow and their shorts riding up…

That’s right. My Saturday started off with a taxi ride to the wrong bus station so that we had to secure our belongings on our persons as best we could, tuck our prides away in our back pockets and hit the sidewalk running toward a vaguely explained destination. We asked for directions along the way from the meandering pedestrians who only slightly quickened their steps to point out the turn. The turn. We crossed the street without incident and immediately found ourselves headed up hill, not through a crowd of shoppers (which might have been somehow less surreal) but rather behind the veggie stands so that the vendors set off behind us as we went, yelling and cheering and laughing us along. What a sight. The three foreign girls (one in neon yellow shorts I might add) running (in a country where no one does anything in a hurry) and laughing hysterically to the point of tears as tico after tico turned and pointed and ran and yelled any and everything that came to his mind.

We missed the bus. Well we made it on time but there were no seats left so we had to buy a ticket for an hour and a half later. So we wandered around a little while, grabbed a snack, and by 10:30 we were finally headed to Manuel Antonio for our relaxing weekend away.

The bus ride was uneventful. We met a nice Italian woman who lives and works in New York. I slept. Kiera and Ashley listened to music and watched the breathtaking green pass by the windows. We arrived at about 2 in the afternoon next to a beach that could have been clipped out of a magazine, under a sun that could fry an egg. The vibe coming off the beach and tiny village reverberated with waves of what can only be described as “pura vida.” Relax. You have arrived in the land of leisure, so grab a beer or a piña colada and do whatever the hell you want. Sounds great right?

I guess I forgot to mention that none of us had gone to bed until 3 that morning and we had gotten up at 7 to get packed and catch our taxi by 8. Sure 4 hours of sleep isn’t so bad...unless maybe you were out until 3 the previous night as well, and unless maybe you forgot to grab coffee at any point in the day. I guess I also forgot to mention that when we bought our ticket to Manuel Antonio we didn’t buy a ticket home. Whatever, we thought, we’ll just get them at the station when we get there…except that there isn’t a bus station in Manuel Antonio.

So there we stood…three tired gringas in paradise, and all we wanted was food, a ticket back home and a good night’s sleep.

To Be Continued

Observing

We showed up not knowing quite what to expect. I have been to classes before. I would actually consider myself a world-class student (by the definition of: One who excels at attending class in the role of student). I have been to all your normal classes that everyone has to take. I have been to foreign language classes and tried to cram an entirely new vocabulary and grammar set into my already relatively full brain. I have even been to classes about teaching classes. Would observing a class really be that different?

We went in and did the whole hey we’re here, but just pretend we aren’t thing (even though this room is smaller than most one-person bedrooms, and the table almost fills the whole room, and there are only 8  people, and two of them clearly don’t belong. But yeah…pretend we aren’t here). So class started. The students were 5 Costa Rican teenagers, 3 girls and 2 boys. The teacher was a tall, gangly white guy with one of those personalities you just can’t help but like. The topic: “to make” versus “to do”, which is just “hacer” in Spanish. IT WAS SO INTERESTING! Granted they had already learned all the rules but it was fun to hear them trying to apply it, and fun realizing there really is just no really good set rule for why we use “make” sometimes and “do” others. Spanish-speakers seem to get by just fine with just the one word.

Clearly though, despite the fact that I don’t know a rule for it, I do know how to use these two words and didn’t need a class on them. I was there to learn everything else. How did the teacher present the information? How did the students receive it and respond. How did the teacher respond back to the students? How did he correct them? How did they correct themselves, or how did they just not ever really get it. Woah. I mean  I just get to go sit in this class and watch this guy teach, and, possibly even more interestingly, I get to watch these kids learn. It’s so neat.

I think the best moment of all would have to be when this little (I have no idea how old she was, but I’m guessing around 15 to 17) Costa Rican girl who speaks pretty intermediate English, just spouts off to her teacher, “hey, are you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?” Oh my god! The other observing student and I just about lost it. I know it doesn’t sound that impressive…but you just have to think about how hard it is and how much work it is to learn proper, logical things in a new language. Then think about how much more work it is to store away and recall for practical use a completely idiomatic phrase like that one. It’s just amazing to watch language take action in that way.

By the end of the class I couldn’t say that I had learned a ton of new things about teaching. I don’t know anything new about “to do” and “to make.” I still wouldn’t be comfortable helping new speakers navigate this huge maze of new language. I can say though that I got to see the inspiring side of the classroom. I got to see for the first time the thing I have always heard the good teachers in my life refer to. I got to see other people getting excited about learning and it was just reaffirming. I only hope that in the future I can have that moment again when I am the one leading the class. 

Awkward

I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes…many times, I just feel awkward. I mean how do you tell someone that you are meeting for the first time, after having stayed in their house for a night, that your bed doesn’t have sheets on it…in Spanish?

“Hola. Buenos Dias.”

We got through the initial good mornings and introductions and all that jazz. Do you drink coffee? Do you eat fruit? Yes. Yes. Oh and by the way my bed doesn’t have sheets. (I even looked up the word for sheets in Spanish before I went downstairs and I miraculously remembered it!)

I tried to slip it in as politely as possible. I told him it was fine now but maybe later I’d need some. Of course as soon as I got back upstairs with my cup of coffee his son arrived with an armload of blanket and sheet. I accepted graciously and proceeded to make my bed.

*****

Awkward. Shannon and I went exploring yesterday. We found our way to the bus stop (we thought) without a hitch and stood waiting for our ride to arrive. We waited. We chatted. We got a lot of stares and other such nonsense. And we waited. Finally this kid across the street asked if we were waiting for the bus. Yes. It doesn’t stop there. It’s over here. Oh.

We crossed the street and followed him up around the corner and another half bock to the actual bus stop and were headed on our way within 5 minutes.

*****

Of course this brings me to yet another sorta awkward thing. Personal space. I have a pretty good sense of it, and when it is being invaded. Buses don’t help. They are a space invasion waiting to happen. You have X number of people trying to get from point A to point B and only so much space to fit them in. Your bubble is bound to be completely annihilated. Prepare to be uncomfortable. Two white girls standing right in the middle of this bus. No empty seats. Nobody cares. But if you’re me, you just want to get your butt out of one person’s face without having to put it in someone else’s.  Awkward. And I’ll be doing that every day for the next 4 weeks.

*****

Really, if any situation exists in which I am in the same room or area as even just one other person, I can make it awkward. I try not to. Really I do. But I will find a way to suddenly have gas or to trip, or to have spinach in my teeth. It’s a talent really. So here’s to taking it global. 

Arriving in Costa Rica

I am finally where I have been going since August 4^th when I left my heart in Colorado and headed South. As the plane descended over the tropical verde of the Costa Rican landscape I couldn’t help but smile to myself just knowing that I was not going to have to move my things again for four whole weeks! (Never mind that I will also hopefully be certified to teach English all over the world). It wasn’t quite like coming home, but it was as close as I’ll hope for for now. For a time I can say, I am not in limbo anymore.

The airport experience was easier than I could have possibly hoped for. I’m not sure if it actually was less painful than in the United States or if I just thought it was because I had been dreading the whole thing for the past few days. As departure day grew closer and closer I became more and more convinced that something was going to go terribly wrong. I was going to lose my bag or miss my flight or forget something really important or be mugged or…or…I don’t know…die? The human brain is an infinitely creative and curiously powerful machine that can get you into a hell of a worry.

I stepped off the plane though, in the intended country, and after about 30 minutes, my monster of a duffle bag plopped out onto the conveyor belt to meet me. Looking like a lost orphan I followed the general trickle of people toward what I could only assume was the exit. It was. I only had one more fear to disprove. I looked around at the mass of eager family members, friends and taxi drivers waiting on the other side of the fence for arriving passengers and I did not see my name. Shit…

It’s ok. It’s ok. I scanned again and there it was. “KNIGHT.” My name. I felt my whole body sigh with pure joy. I was not lost and alone. I had a taxi driver all lined up to take me to my house (which is good because I had no idea where it was or who I would be living with until then.) He helped me with my bags and within the hour I was lugging them up the stairs to my new room.

I met one of the other girls who will be living here (Shannon) and 3 of the 4 family members who have so kindly opened their house for us. I think I understood (the accent is different here so I my ear is having to adjust) that there will be 6 of the 9 students in my TEFL class sharing this house (don’t worry. There’s room. This house is awesome).  I guess I can only hope there aren’t any crazy bitches like on those reality TV shows I don’t watch and can’t remember the names of at the moment. So far so good though.

Shannon and I went exploring in the afternoon. I would describe all that for you but I’m losing my concentration at the moment. We’ll save it for next time. For now, just know that I am happily at “home” here in a house in Costa Rica for the next 4 weeks!

Earthquake

You know those days when you just know that you are the center of the universe and everything must surely revolve around you? If you don’t…kudos. For the rest of you, it was kind of one of those days for me. Oh I don’t have any clean clothes (except for the 5 dresses in my bag); oh I don’t get to go for a walk this morning because I slept in; oh I have to leave Antigua in less than a week and go to Costa Rica. Poor me. Right? Yeah…I probably deserved to be slapped.

Actually, I kind of was.

I was sitting at a table on the second floor of the school trying my damndest to imagine the world in 20 years so I could right conditional sentences in Spanish over what it might be like:

-Toda la gente del mundo hablará un idioma, posiblemente inglés.

-Habrán cosas tecnológicas que no podemos imaginar ahora.

-El clima aún será loco…(The climate will still be crazy)

That’s when it happened, right after that last sentence. It started as a slight tremor, the kind that might be mistaken for a big truck passing. I stopped my pencil and looked up at my teacher. There was still a faint tremble getting ever so stronger by the moment. Then a jolt and everyone on the second floor leapt to their feet. This wasn’t a big truck passing. It was an earthquake. The building continued to tremble, the windows shuddered and vibrated, the pictures wobbled off kilter, and everyone in the building shared the thought: Is this going to get stronger?

After about 30 seconds (and believe me, when the earth is moving beneath your feet, 30 seconds is no blink of the eye) it stopped. It took my body a minute to realize that now it wasn’t the floor that was shaking, it was me. Everyone returned to their seats and resumed their studies. Teachers tried calling their loved ones, a few students tried to check the internet on their phones to see how strong it had been in other places. I took a breath. I wasn’t afraid at any point, my sense of self-preservation isn’t that strong, but I was (for lack of a better word) shaken.

I have always known that the earth is powerful and that nature has her whims, but somehow I had never internalized that knowledge into a deep understanding of the connectedness of things. I am tiny. Not only does the universe not revolve around me, it doesn’t even revolve around the planet I live on. Humans are small. We are fragile. We are self-destructive. But we live on a planet that is resilient and that will not hesitate to put us in our place.

*I'd like to add that I was more than 100 miles from the epicenter and Antigua was hardly affected. I feel like this blog makes light of a very serious situation and I wanted to clarify that when I wrote this I wasn't aware of just how much damage was done in San Marcos and the surrounding area. There were a number of deaths and disappearances in that part of the country and I sincerely hope that those who did survive are well and able to continue their lives in spite of the damage done to their homes. I am also deeply thankful to have only felt a tiny taste of the power of the earth and not her full rage and fury. 

A moderately funny story about why I'll probably always be single

I was wondering when this would happen.

There is always one of those guys who is way too attractive for his own good, and he always finds his way into my line of vision (multiple times), and I always fail miserably.

The first time I saw him it was fine. He works at this really great restaurant here in Antigua called Luna De Miel—“Honey Moon.” Yeah I know: great! A really beautiful man works at a place called Honey Moon. What next? A Nicholas Sparks novel? Don’t worry. I promise, there is nothing about my life that could possibly be turned into a romantic novel of any kind. Ok, maybe I’d be a grade B Romantic Comedy at best. But enough of that…The first time or two I saw him I was with friends at this restaurant and he wasn’t even our server, or maybe he brought our food. I don’t know. But I didn’t have to talk to him, so no harm done.

Yet.

Let’s fast forward. Now I am going to the gym because I haven’t been in almost 2 months, and I a miss it. Correction: I don’t actually like gyms that much, but I miss being active at all, and running within the city of Antigua is…interesting (more especially if all you brought to run in was yoga pants).

So here I am. I’m rockin’ it out on the Elliptical, sweating up a storm and probably mouthing the words to whatever Flo-Rida or LMFAO song I have  pounding in my ears (I grant you full freedom to judge my taste in music) when who should walk by but this beautiful Guatemalan man.

*Brief interjection: I don’t know if you have traveled in this part of the world at all but I’ll just go ahead and say that the men are short. Now I don’t mean this in a bad way at all. It’s fine because the women are short too. There also isn’t a lot of facial hair to go around for the Latin American population. Also, not a bad thing, just not my personal preference. I guess I like my guys to look like they just walked down off the mountain (tall and scruffy that is). And so we come to this guy (Who I shall henceforth call “Javier” for lack of an actual name). Javier is tall. And Dark. And scruffy. And nicely toned. And he has pretty, bouncy afro curls that he pulls back in a pretty, bouncy pony-tail. (Not exactly mountain-man…but as close as I’ve seen so far).

…When who should walk by, but Javier. He proceeds to warm up on the treadmill in front of me, which is fine, I still don’t have to talk and I get to watch the bouncy curls. Anyway I finish my time on the elliptical, dripping like I just got out of a shower and as red a cooked lobster. I see a room to the side that I figure I can hide in and stretch a little while. It has a few weight-machine things, but it’s carpeted and there aren’t any other people so I go for it. I get a mat and proceed to stretch it out. You know the usual, arms across the body, or around behind the back, down to touch your toes. Throw in a few crunches. It’s all going fine until I start the plank (You know, the thing where you support yourself on just your toes and elbows, keeping your body as level as possible.)

 If he had come in at any other time it might have been fine because I might have actually been able to get a sentence out when he accidentally knocked my water bottle over. He came in during the last 30 seconds of my plank and I had probably turned from red to purple and was doing everything in my power to breathe, let alone say “Sí, es mi agua, pero está bien.” I think I might have croaked out something like “yes… My water... Sorry… Bien.”  Gracias a Dios he only did a few reps at that particular machine before leaving for something else. I finished my plank and collapsed to the floor. I figured since he had left that he wouldn’t be returning, so what better time to do a headstand?! I don’t know. They feel really nice sometimes when the body is tired. So yeah that’s what I did. So I’m upside-down getting ready to raise my legs up when he comes back in again and plops back down at that same machine for another round. Well I’m committed now. I slowly lift my legs until I’m perfectly vertical then proceed to pray that this isn’t the one time my center of gravity decides to take leave. It’s not. But I’m still upside-down, I’m still probably purple, and I still can’t redeem my previous attempt at human speech.

So not much else happens at the gym. He leaves again and I decided it’s time to call it a day. I right myself and touch my toes one more time for good measure, then bolt for the door before he can come back in.

Fast forward again: It’s dinner time. I’m hanging out with Augusta for possibly the last time before I leave. We decide to go to “Luna De Miel” because, as I mentioned before, it’s really good (All they serve is crepes and they are amazing), and it had kind of become tradition for us. Of course he was working, why wouldn’t he be? Gracias a Dios otra vez that he wasn’t our server. I almost made it through the whole night actually without having to open my mouth. I smiled and nodded once in that hey I recognize you and I guess you probably recognize me but we haven’t met so I’m going to be awkward and just nod kind of way. It was great. I’ve got that dialed.

Then it was time to pay and leave. We walked down to the cash register and I gave Augusta money for my half the ticket, then she gave me her card and ran to the bathroom. Ok, I thought. Then I looked up. Well shit. I have to talk to him now. Here’s how it went:

Javier: “¿Estuviste al gimnasio hoy?” [You were at the gym earlier?]

Me: “Sí”

Javier: “Mucho ejercicio.” [a lot of excercise]

Me: “Sí…mucho…mucho…much needed?”

Javier: “¿Por qué?” [why?]

Me: (Really…you’re going to make me keep going?) porque…um…porque (AAAHHHGGG! I know this!)

um…sentir…mejor?

Javier: ¡Ah Sí! Me siento mejor. [I feel better]

Me: (UGH. I knew that…now I sound like that stupid American girl who can’t speak the language.) Me siento mejor. Sí. Gracias…um. ¿Buenas Noches? Um. Muchas Gracias.

And that’s it. I’m not actually sure I looked him in the face during that whole conversation. Of course my good bye was made exponentially better by the fact that I turned to leave and realized that I had to wait for Augusta so instead of walking out the door and waiting outside like any other slightly humiliated person trying to preserve an ounce of dignity, I stood awkwardly by the checkout counter looking at anything and everything except Javier.

I guess in the end it’s better this way. I’m not looking for a Latin Lover by any means. I can hardly function in a relationship with someone who speaks English, and I’m leaving Guatemala in a week anyway. I do need to work on my confidence though. I can speak Spanish. I can hold a simple conversation, even about working out at the gym. Maybe I’ll redeem myself this weekend if Mom by chance wants to eat crepes when she visits.

General Update on changing plans

Well it seems to be with me that changing plans is like changing underwear, if you don’t do it often enough things can get messy.

Don’t worry, I’ve changed. Again.

When I started the summer I was going to hike the Colorado Trail and going to visit China and then I was going to be in Durango again, working and living and trying to figure things out. Then I wasn’t going to China anymore, I was driving across Texas with my life in my car, headed home. Then I was on a plane with my life in 3 bags flying south for Central America for…years? Now I’m in Antigua, Guatemala, about to be flying to Costa Rica in two weeks and where before I was going to start looking for a job straight away after TEFL school, now I’m going home again. That’s right. I’ll be home for Christmas.

And then…?

Well I think I’ll go to Asia. South Korea maybe? It always happens suddenly for me. For a week or two I know things are wrong and I don’t know how to fix them, then suddenly one day I wake up, or someone says something or I see something and in an instant I know…Oh, this is what I’m supposed to do. All is right with the world once again, until that plan runs its course and it’s time to change once again.

Asia. I thought I wanted to teach English in South/Central America…but you have to try things out to know if they are right or not sometimes. I think this plan has been great so far and I have learned a great deal from the path I’ve come down so far. I wouldn’t trade this time here for anything, but now I know I am supposed to be going somewhere else.

How do you know it’s right?

I don’t know. It’s like they say with love: you just know. I also imagine it’s like those people who think they are fine but they visit the chiropractor anyway because they think it might be cool, but when they leave they realize that so many things are fixed that they never knew were wrong. It’s like you suddenly feel reset, repaired, like all those things that you didn’t realize were bothering you are solved.

Isn’t it scary? What about planning for the future?

Yeah, it’s scary changing plans so much, but it’s a pretty consistent plan. I am trying to move in a general forward direction toward a general goal. I just never know what all the near future holds so I keep having to adjust to keep going in that forward direction. We have very little control over our overall lives, so I just keep making the small decisions that take me from one phase of life to the next and hope the rest falls into place as well. When it doesn’t, I adjust. It’s scary, but it’s no more scary than I imagine getting married is, or buying a house for the first time must be. They are all decisions that propel us forward into who we are and who we will eventually be.

Isn’t it lonely?

Yes, right now moving so much is lonely. But that’s what the internet is for: ) It’s also what social skills are for. I don’t have great ones, but I am learning to use them more and more each day to talk to people that I probably wouldn’t have talked to before. One day, after all this whirlwind is over, I will have a job and live in one place for a year, maybe more and I will make friends and make my friends come visit me and I will visit them too. One of my dearest friends said to me today that home isn’t so much a matter of where you are, but who you are with. Thank you. It’s true. And I think I have known it all along. I may not be with my friends now for a long time, but I can look forward to it and work toward a time in my life when I can see them again. In the meantime, I can also work on developing new friendships and enriching the life I am living now.

So that’s it. I’m still changing and taking each step as it comes my way. 

Barriletes Gigantes (Really really really big kites)

Ok, here’s the scoop, I’m a bad tourist. I’m just lazy. All I ever want to do is sit in the coffee shops in the most central part of wherever I am. I want to read, maybe write, people watch and sleep. I want to think about all the things I could do…and then I probably won’t do them.

I did it though! I did something! (I know, I climbed a volcano before and I have done a few other things but just go with it) I did it! I signed up for a trip with the school to see the annual festival of giant kites (barriletes gigantes) in Sumpango, a nearby village.

They aren’t kidding. The kites are GIANT. Some of them can measure up to 20 meters in diameter…that’s like 65.6 feet…that’s like 11.5 of me. ELEVEN Saras! (Don't worry, the biggest one's don't actually fly) The people spend months constructing these monstrous creations of ‘papel de China’ and cane and string. They are every color imaginable and more, and each barrilete has a message. Many this year followed the theme of the Mayan calendar and the approaching end of era. (Speaking of which, this little country is going to be a crazy place around the middle of December.)

Anyway, I got myself up on Thursday morning. I ate breakfast with the family and other guests in the house and I ventured out to wait for the bus to come. I always hate that part, the part where you are sitting there thinking about how lazy you could be, but instead you are committed to this plan you have made. I had already paid though, so I stuck it out. I bought a coffee and before I knew it I was stepping off the bus into the overflowing municipalidad de Sumpango, Sacatepéquez. People, fried food, people, colors, people, artisan crafts for sale in every direction, and above all, more people. Well, actually, I guess the ‘above all’ part should be reserved for the barriletes that stood towering impressively, watching over it all.

The guide explained that this was a day of celebration for the dead. We visited the cemetery painted, like the kites, in any and every color. The people leave flowers and food and drinks for their lost ones and they spend the day flying kites (much much more reasonably sized kites) over their graves. There is a belief that the kites connect the heavens to the earth and for this day the spirits can touch the earth through the kites. It’s actually pretty beautiful when you think about it.

Eventually some of the bigger kites did fly. But those were only about 1.5 of me as opposed to 11. That’s way more reasonable. If a giant flying creation is going to come crashing down on you, it’s really better if it’s closer to your own size. Don’t worry, I ran and successfully evaded harm, but not without tripping on a kind older gentleman on crutches. I don’t think that kite won. (The competition judges design and time the creation is able to stay in the air.)

All in all the day wasn’t a terribly spiritual day for me, but it did make me appreciate the variety and creativity of cultural celebration. I jokingly said at one point (in Spanish might I add) that the dead here are certainly lucky. We seem to try as hard as we can to forget them in the states (not always, I know, but we don’t dedicate a whole day or two to them either.)