Under the weather

Ok, so 9 weeks in Costa Rica is enough to spoil anyone. In the dry season (Dec-May) the weather is like this: high 80s--low 90s, bright sun. Every day. Every single one. Once in a while, and atypically for the season, thunder would rumble down from the mountains and rain would fall. Hard. Loud. And for an hour, maybe, at most. Then the sun would come back out, the birds and insects would take up their noise, and everything would go gloriously back to sun and warmth and blossom.

So I suppose I shouldn't complain, having had that. But of course a complaint is coming, is just bubbling out of these words, ready to rise, isn't it? Yes.

Yesterday went to Lyndale Garden Shop with my "spend 30 dollars and get 5 free perennials" coupon. I was wearing jeans, warm socks, a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, and a jacket. I knew it was raining but believed the weather man more than my own sense, and so I thought it would be warmer. When I got there and shuffled through all the annuals and then perennials and tried to decide, I realized I was getting colder and colder. My nose began to run. My fingers ached. The free perennials were of atrocious quality, but I kept right on buying. By the time I checked out, having spent $64 to get $9.50 of free, and not too healthy, plants, I was shivering. All this wouldn't be such a sad story except that it was May 16th.

Today the sky is again cloudy. Rain has fallen and will again fall. We might hit 65, the experts say, experts who've been much too optimistic in their predictions. And really, they plead, warmer weather is coming. It is. Their tone becomes plaintive and a little self-pitying: don't blame us! it's not our fault! In the paper this morning the weatherguy went as far as to say that he has a birthday coming up and would like warm weather for it. Well, yeah. I'd just like warm weather for the sake of NOT BEING COLD.

In honor of the weather, then, I've decided to take on a terrifying and dangerous task: cleaning out the closet by Emily's bedroom. It's a sort of crawlspace/closet and the only dry place in the house to store things. Over the past few years, our storage method has deteriorated to tossing things in and quickly closing the door. Organization is not my strong suit. Neither is making decisions to throw out the kids' notebooks from 3rd grade. Or to give away their beat-up plastic horse collection. Or stuffed animals. Or the 15 year old suitcase with a big rip in the side. But sometimes you've just got to rise up to the occasion. Today is my day. Wish me luck.

adjustments and minor shocks

As I write, the temperature is 31. Farenheit. Yesterday all day little bursts of snow would fall and stop, fall and stop, amounting to nothing except dismay. May 1. Snow. I am freezing.

Mike and I got ready to walk to the coffee shop yesterday and he turned to me, as I was fussing with a turtleneck, wondering about a hat, about gloves, and said,"I think you're having the most trouble getting used to the weather and money here."

He's right. Putting socks on in Costa Rica was a form of torture. My daily outfit was sandles, a skirt and a tank-top. Even then, I'd be sweaty and hot in every bus or taxi, at the bus stop, on my uncomfortable couch at the end of the day. But the hot was also glorious. Predictable. Every morning I'd wake up to the bright 6:00 a.m. sun, and I knew what the day would hold: sun. Heat. Which tank-top should I wear? That was about as far as my decision making went. Sometimes there was rain, more as April wore on, but even then the air was always so soft and warm on the skin.

My other struggle is how much things cost here, how easy it is to spend. I'm fairly cautious (my family would say tight or some less flattering adjective) about spending money. I loved going out to dinner for 5 bucks, including a glass of wine. Truth be told, neither the food nor the wine was very good. But 5 bucks! Mike and I went to a jazz club here the other night and I had wine that cost 6.50 a glass. Almost killed me to order it (it was the cheapest on the list) and then I saw that same wine at the liquor store on Saturday for 6.99 a bottle. I thought I'd have a heart attack. It wasn't even very good wine (not surprisingly!). Now, before going to Costa Rica, I would have just laughed that off. But the poor people there live on about $200.00 a month; an average income for a teacher is about 10-12,000 a year. When you live in that for a while, spending 6.50 on a glass of wine seems pretty appalling. But it's not just food (though that seems to be my focus right now). Last week I had to go downtown to the credit union to finish up work on the grand theft situation, and I parked in a lot for one hour. Less than one hour. And the cost? $5.00. For 50 minutes in a parking space?

But maybe it's not so much how much things cost as how many things there are, brightly begging us to buy them, pulling our hearts toward the empty promises they make. We get caught up in the materiality they possess when it's the immaterial that matters in the end. Costa Ricans understand this--maybe by necessity, not having much choice--but I think just by culture. They move slowly and deliberately, enjoying their friendships and especially their families. I don't want to idealize, a pull a recognize now that I'm home again, a pull that I felt toward the US when I was gone, but the value system there is very different.

Here we have so much. I was struck by how clean this city is, how quietly the buses run (how few people are in them!), how nice everyone's cars are. And most Americans are appreciative of what they have. But I don't think they know (I certainly didn't) how much it is we do have. And how caught up we are in getting more things, more stuff, in work, in rushing about, in stress. I read about a woman in southern MN who was attacked by tigers. Of course, someone owned these tigers, kept them caged up, and when the woman went to feed them, they went for her. I think that exemplifies the most extreme cases of our desire to possess. Four tigers in S. MN? To what end? well, we can see how the story worked out.

So I am stunned a bit. I guess that's why they call it culture shock. I had it going to Costa Rica, too, but there I was so lost--linguistically, practically, in every way--that I felt less shocked than terrified. And there's this: the fear was so huge it couldn't be maintained; it turned into something sort of charming and amusing. I couldn't be graceful or clear in my interactions so I just was. I learned that things work out even when you don't understand them. That if you say "the bank speak me with my ATM card is ok" someone will eventually understand what you mean. (It really was the last week when I realized I'd been using hablar for say the whole time.)

Make no mistake. I am happy to be home. I love my home. My wonderful family. My most comfortable bed in the world. The delicious food. The freedom of movement through this great town with my car and to nearby shops. But I hope I can maintain the essential lesson: life isn't about making and buying and having. It's about all the other moments, sitting at the table with friends. Having the teenage daughter lie down on the couch and put her head in your lap. that stuff. That's real.

Ok. I got a little preachy there. Forgive me. But look in your medicine cabinet one day. Count the products you have there. If you're like me, there will be lots and lots, some costing lots of money, that you've purchased over time for various reasons (Aveda Hang Straight hair product, Aveda Sap Moss spray something, Aveda Defining Whip (don't ask), Aussie Miracle hair something, Clinique hair spray (free sample), four different moisturizers, and tons of misc. stuff) only some of which you actually use. That's the kind of thing I see now that I didn't see before. I believe something magical will happen through the use of these products. I'm not sure, so far, that it has. Enough. Onward into this cold day. Where is spring?

I don't know whether to keep this blog going or let it end, having served its purpose. Comments? Also, I appear to have a popup blocker on the computer that keeps me from spell checking. Apologies to all who catch the errors I'm sure are here!

home

I woke up this morning to the sound of cardinals in the yard, the faint sound of traffic on 35W, a cool breeze through the bedroom window. Now dark weather is approaching from the west, the neighbors across the alley have a backyard full of white blossoms, and nothing is tropical and everything feels vivid, green, familiar. I am in warm pjs and a sweatshirt as I write. I've had my tea and frosted mini-wheats. It's as though, in some ways, I've never left. And yet of course it is not.

I couldn't remember how to access the internet from this computer. It took a good five minutes of looking at various icons and straining my brain. I had forgotten how the charming cat Theo is also really obnoxious. I will need to put on socks soon. Socks! I haven't had cold feet in months. I need to walk and fetch our car from the body shop (one of Mike's many adventures when I was gone was getting dinged by someone as he drove to yoga class) and would love to pick up a cup of coffee somewhere, but I have NO money and no immediate access to any, with my ATM card frozen. I just thought of my cell phone and after searching for a while found it but not the charger. A cell phone. I know for sure now that I do not need it. But I'm glad to have it again.

I have never felt that I lived a life of luxury. But coming home last night to this house, with its comfortable furniture and kitchen equipped with a dishwasher and stainless steel coffee maker (after using the worlds oldest and grungiest Mr. Coffee for the past 9 weeks), with the wood floors and soothing paint on the walls, I suddenly felt affluent in a way I never have before. The spaciousness. I have lived for 9 weeks in a place with no aesthetic appeal in any shape or form (though the gardens outside my apartment were lovely) and to come back here reminds me how much I take for granted in my daily life. I live well. I have comfort and beauty and the ability to buy things I might not need. I am grateful.

Leaving Costa Rica yesterday was a strange experience. We drove through Alajuela with Antonio, the sun beating through the windshield (the only air-conditioned cars there are the orange taxis from the airport that charge 3 times the regular rate), sweat soaking through my shirt in the familiar lines, dripping down my chest. I haven't really described Alajuela and I have no other Central American city to really compare it to, but it's a bustling town crammed with storefronts and small sodas (streetside diners), with dogs running everywhere, with lots of pollution, lots of honking (honking means anything from "watch out pedistrian, I'm coming" to "move" to "hey there, amigo" to "cute girl!"), broken up sidewalks with missing storm sewer covers (you must always look down when walking), people with their hands full of lottery tickets which they hawk on the corners, newpaper sellers walking between cars at red lights (sometimes people are also selling cell phone covers and sunglasses this way) and much else. The overall effect, when new to the place, is overwhelming. But yesterday it all seemed familiar. I was sad to say bye to Antonio, and he was sad, too. He gave Kerry and me his address, asking us to call if we ever return. We gave ours to him but I don't know why, really; he would never have the ability to visit here. The money, the visas, the whole thing.

But once we went into the airport, which was air-conditioned, we said goodbye to 90s and overwhelm. Things felt almost American. And what does that mean? I think that's the question for me in the next few weeks. Burger King. Gift shops that accept credit cards, charge in dollars, and that look, well, like airport gift shops. In the airport in Houston I noticed the piped in music. I had heard lots of bad music in Costa Rica--the CRs seem to love American pop music from the 70s and 80s--but no one there has the money to put stereo systems throughout buildings. I noticed the many TVs. I noticed how fast we all moved, desperate to make our too-close connection, winding through lines to get to the next stop in customs, being yelled at by airport workers ("Make TWO lines" "Go over THERE" "If you're traveling in a group, separate PASSPORTS and BOARDING PASSES now", etc.) All my Costa Rica mellow vibe evaporated immediately. I became just what I had been--a panicky, grumpy woman who was sure someone was getting where I wanted to be first. But we made it.

And I am so glad to be home. Home. Whatever it means. I'm here now. And I am very glad.

Farewells

I feel compelled to tell every Costa Rican I come in contact with that I'm leaving CR on Sunday. I don't know why I feel so compelled, but Costa Ricans are very polite and all act appropriately disappointed with the news. In the taxi today, I told the driver I was leaving tomorrow and he said, "oh! xohhutoieow manana sodfoite tarde lfnfk noche?" I fell back to my fallback position: big smile, nod, say "Si." He continued on that way for several kilometers. I grasped certain things. Finally I said, again part of this desire to part on good terms with every Costa Rican, "Costa Rica es una pais bonita." Every Costa Rican already believes this country is wonderful. The taxi guy seemed a little stumped at what to say in return, so finally he said, "Y la gringa es muy linda." I guess it's a fair trade-off, his country is beautiful and I am pretty. Thank you, taxi guy. Thank you, Costa Rica.

Our friend and pirate cab(that is, unofficial) driver Antonio just called me. His English is slightly better than my Spanish, but he wanted to know if the "problema con sus dinero" was resolved. I told him everything was fine, that the bank had replaced my money (I think I said something like "the bank returns my money") and he said, "Oh, Cullen, my family is very feliz about your dinero." He was genuinely horrified by what had happened. He didn't need to call and check on me. But he did. That's just one example of the kindness of most people here.

I counted my money--I had a $100 bill my mom had given me which I exchanged yesterday--and after buying gifts for folks at home and dinner tonight, I should have enough to pay my $26.00 exit tax. So, with a little help from my friends, I survived the monetary disaster and should be fine.

Daisy the cat (I don't know if that's really her name) has disappeared. I hope she is alright. I won't get to say goodbye to her, but I doubt she'd care anyway. Mine was just a nice house with good chairs and easy access through the hole in the screen. Sometimes she let me pet her, but I had to be careful because sometimes for no apparent reason she'd bite. And I never fed her, so she didn't love me.

I can't believe I'm leaving this warm (in every sense of the word) country. I will miss so much here. Even downtown Alajuela, which has a certain kind of chaos about it, has come to feel familiar. I hope to return someday, but I will most likely return as a tourist, and that means the experience will never be the same. Well, no experience can ever be repeated, now can it? But that desire to come back, to have a place here again, is very strong in me.

As is the desire to return to my familiar life. Mike asked what he should have at home for us when we arrive and my list surprised me: frosted mini-wheats, soy milk, a good loaf of bread, and some good cheese. Pretty simple stuff. I think I'll be so appreciative of my bed, my comfortable couch (the couch in my apartment here is furniture abomination--itchy, hot, with wooden bars between each cushion so care must always be taken when sitting down), my car. But I don't know, really. Just as I don't know for sure what I'll miss most from here.

So, adios, Costa Rica, una pais bonita. (could be un pais bonito. Could be something else entirely.) And Costa Ricans. Thanks.

and now, the rest of the story

I used to love Paul Harvey. When I was a kid in Kalamazoo, I would sit in the car listening to WKZO radio--AM--while my dad ran errands to the hardware store or whatnot. The sound of Paul Harvey's voice over that AM static takes me back to a time when it seemed like every story had a possible twist at its end, a possible small miracle inside it.

So this terrible thing happened. My ATM card was somehow copied and the bad guys somehow got the PIN number and they had, as the police woman said yesterday, a fiesta grande all over Costa Rica. But here's the rest of the story. Everyone here has been so helpful. Everyone at our wonderful credit union in Minneapolis (Affinity Plus, that would be) has been wonderful. Eldon who works at Visa was wonderful, asked me if I was related to the poet Robert Burns, put the block on the card, invited me to visit in Canada someday. The police here took my situation seriously enough to ask me to come back and talk with their lead detective. They are seriously pursuing the leads. (I have to say one question they asked me today was whether I'd made friends with any Colombians since I've been here. Bad things in Costa Rica are never done by Costa Ricans! I had to say I didn't know if I knew any Colombians. I really can't tell the difference between Costa Ricans and Nicaraguans and Panamanians--by looks or accent or any other clue. (as if I could tell accents! I still struggle to understand a word.) ) The credit union has already returned the stolen money to our account. Aside from the temporary problem of having no access to my bank account, all is fine. And so quickly. People have asked if I'm more anxious now to get home, but really I'm not. I still look forward to my homecoming, but I don't dislike Costa Rica because I experienced this weird theft. It could have happened anywhere.

Tomorrow I will pack up and Sunday morning I will leave. I'll do my last blog from Costa Rica tomorrow. All endings are bittersweet, and I'm surprised to feel some real sadness at leaving. This despite the enormous spider that's taken up residence in my fruit bowl and will not be done in. I asked some students (who came over today to swim) to kill it and the young men went running away screaming. I don't like to kill bugs, but this one is big, so I was hoping those tough guys could handle it. The young women didn't much like it though one was convinced she needed to save it. Her efforts convinced it to disappear only to return this evening, back to the bananas it loves. Big arana. All this is to say I've had enough of bugs. Last night (don't laugh) I became convinced my pillow was buzzing, that some creature was inside it making a terrible, faint buzz. Is this crazy? Perhaps. But it had been a night of junebugs and moths and mosquitoes buzzing and biting and falling, for no reason, onto me and my bed. What was buzzing? I have no idea.

Still, this is an amazing place. I have had amazing adventures. And tomorrow is my last day.

darkness

I had a great poetry teacher once--John Woods--who said each writer could only use the word darkness only 2 times--it's too self-consciously dramatic. But I think I'm allowed the word now.

Yesterday I could not take money out of the ATM machine. This happens, so I wasn't worried, except for the fact that I was down to about $1.50 to my name. Paul and Susan, my colleagues, invited me to dinner, and we stopped at the bank that always works, and it did for them, but not for me. I got a little twinge in my belly. Something wasn't right. Paul and Susan--kindly-- loaned me $4o.oo until I could get money out of the bank. When Mike called me last night (I still can't make international calls from my apartment--the block that doesn't officially exist is still on my phone) I mentioned the trouble to him. He got online and discovered someone(s) in Costa Rica has withdrawn thousands and thousands of dollars from our account in the past few days. There was a lot of money in there because Mike just sent in a large check (outstanding, of course!) to the IRS. The weird thing is that I have my card--it wasn't stolen. The other weird thing is the bank allowed these people to make transaction after transaction--12:29, 12:30, 12:31--until they reached the daily limit. Why allow that? How did the bad guys get the pin? How did they get a card? What will happen now? Mike cancelled the card, but now that leaves me low on money. I can get an advance on my credit card, I guess. And Mike is there in Mpls, trying to clean up the mess.

This is not a small issue, and it brings up all sorts of unpleasant questions. Such a thing could happen anywhere, but it never has happened to me anyplace. I'm very, very cautious here about everything, and was just feeling pleased not to have experienced any "tourist" crimes here. My gut feeling is that, since I used the card at a restaurant where I go all the time just days before all this happened--the only time I've used that card here except to withdraw money--that someone there did this. That makes me even more unhappy, as I sort of know those people.

So, days before I return, I'm out of access to my checking account which has been pretty much drained. Someone in San Jose is having a very good week. And some people in Mpls and Alajuela are not. Do you think the IRS will understand?

learn something new every day

For example, it turns out the past tense of to be and to go IS the same in espanol. And the word for 'this' is esta. Oh, if I could tell you how much that little word helped my conversations in class today. And apparently houses with lots of wood are attractive to scorpions, who move from the sugar cane fields when the temperatures get too hot. (I might not have understood all these facts correctly.)

This afternoon I took Emily for a birthday pedicure at a beauty salon. Women here have fancy toenails, with polish and designs on each toe. So now Em's toenails are an orangey pink with pretty white flowers. A woman who worked there just chatted me up, blazing kindly past my incorrect Spanish (many people, helpfully, correct me and after a while I find all the correction to be a bit demoralizing) and saying she thought Emily was my sister. I of course loved this, and remembered my mother's pleasure when a waitress in Manuel Antonio asked if my mom and I were sisters. I guess, logically, one could wonder if that means my mom looks twenty....

I know I moan a lot about my lack of skill in Spanish. I do not exaggerate when I say I am not gifted in languages and am terribly inarticulate. Still, when I think what I've accomplished in 9 weeks--or perhaps I should give credit where it's due, to the Institute with its fabulous teachers--I'm really amazed. I can make my way here. That's pretty amazing considering I started out with three sentences, one of which was "Tengo dos gatos."

Now I'm off to the theater to see that Lorca play. Tomorrow is my last class in Spanish and my last class teaching. I can't believe my time here is really coming to an end. Hasta manana. (Imagine the tildes in the right spots, por favor.)