The adjustment to life in Costa Rica went very smoothly for me. Uncharacteristically, I didn't fall ill, and I managed to avoid other disasters. Here are some observations about the town where I lived during my first week.
Heredia I
May 19, 2003
In spite of my reading to prepare for the trip, I continued to expect Costa Rica to be some version of Cusco. [Click here to vist my account of the trip to Peru.] After a little more than a day, I think I might be over that. The airport was my first surprise. The airport in Cusco was about as impressive as the one in Wilkes-Barre, and about as up to date as when I last flew through WB, in 1989. The airport in San Jose(actually, it is located in Alajuela, about 10 miles from the capital)is very modern.
Also, even though I knew I was flying into a tropical country, I wore a polartec fleece jacket. Cusco, after all, is not that far from the equator. But Cusco is at 3300 meters; San Jose is only 1100 meters. The temp was a balmy 81 degrees F when we landed, and although it cooled off at night I spent most of my first night under a single sheet (instead of the four woolen blankets I used in Cusco).
I am living for this week in Heredia, a few miles from San Jose. The country here is hilly, perhaps even mountainous if you are reading this in New Jersey, but the hills here are lush with trees and bushes. There are no snow capped peaks in the distance, or anywhere that I know of in CR (though I am probably wrong). This really looks like the tropics--there are palm trees and yucca trees (real trees, not the bushes that we have in PA). Mornings, the sky is clear and sunny. Afternoons it clouds up for the inevitable downpour. This is the rainy season that Costa Ricans (who refer to themselves as Ticos, so that is not some racist slang if you see me using it later) call winter.
Those of you who have read other notices of mine, or who have talked to me about places I have visited in the past, may be expecting me to reveal that Costa Rica looks in many respects like Southern California. No, no, no--I have finally found a place in the world that I cannot compare to my patria. The terrain, the ambiences, the weather--nothing here reminds me of So.Cal.
That said, you have to bear with what follows. I've only been to a few places, so I have to use some comparisons. The city has nothing of the flavor or look of Cusco. Cusco appears to have existed for centuries, which, in fact, it has. It is a city of white buildings and tile roofs. (Please refer to my web site on the Peru trip, and if you don{t have the address write me at this address and I will try to find it.) Heredia has survived for a few centuries, too, though not as many as Cusco. But it looks less grand, less solid. Roofs here are mainly sheet metal (galvanized steel, I assume, though David Spurlock will have to offer his judgement on that). There are, in fact, some tile 'treatments' here--roofs or roof decorations that look like terra cotta. In fact, there are more sheet metal, shaped and painted like roofing tile.
So, what am I saying? The city looks a little insubstantial. Many of the neighborhoods look like rally bad S.Cal neighborhoods. Small houses in varied colors, microscopic yards. Security fences or walls or both front all private homes. But this appearance nudges me toward a deeper appreciation. The homes in Cusco were often mudbrick covered by plaster. Here the houses are concrete. Most homeowners also seem to have cars. In fact, there are quite a few auto repair shops and parts shops between my family's home and this internet cafe on the other side of town. And, get this, the tap water here in central CR is perfectly safe. Heredia, in other words, is more prosperous than Cusco. So, may be that prosperity often looks insubstantial when it reaches the middle class.
After I arrived yesterday a young woman who has been living with my family showed me around town. Amber is from North Dakota, and you can hear a Garrison Keillor type brogue when she talks. We walked across town, finding the places I would need to take care of business, including this internet place. Amber gave me a good tour, and was very helpful in providing information about Heredia and Costa Rica. But I am already re-evaluating some of what she told me. As we passed the Oscar Arias Sanchez (former pres. of CR, winner of the Nobel peace prize) stadium I looked across the street to see some guy urinating against a low wall. This is so common in Cusco that is probably an important part of Quechua culture. So I asked Amber, 'Is it common to see people urinating out of doors?' Amber: 'I haven't noticed anyone doing it.' Later I asked if Tico men wear shorts. Yes, she said, 'but women never wear shorts. Only the very young ones, like the students at the university.' I noted that as interesting, though it didn't appear to call for any change in my plans. This morning on my way to school I saw four Ticas in shorts. They weren't students.
Enough for now. I have a ton of homework to do yet.
Heredia II
May 22, 2003
Now that I have grown pretty comfortable in Heredia and know my way around, I'm at the end of my time here. Tomorrow I move my base of operations to San Jose so I can began to see other parts of the country (all transportation runs through San Jose, so in CR
you hav to know the way...). But, in the interest of letting everyone relax, because I know that won't be easy until you have this, I'll give you some kind of account of what my day is like here.
Scariest thing I've seen so far: TV ads for Amway.
After breakfast, I walk the mile or so to my school, Intercultura of Heredia. When the brochure says "curso intensivo" it ain´t whistling Dixie. I work
for four solid hours. Of course, that was the deal in Cusco, but the teachers there interpreted their charge a little loosely. Sometimes it meant four hours, sometimes it meant a little less. Here, the calculation seems to be four hours or a little more. Also, since the only other student in my level works for the institute teaching English, he often has other things to do. Since I have no pressing outside engagements, i´ve had a private lesson for about half of what will be twenty hours of instruction.
Zeyda, the teacher, is from Nicaragua. She is very well educated and her Spanish, at least in class, is crystal clear. She is never in the least discouraging or arch about my Spanish. On the other hand, she does not wax euphemistic about my "problemas de concordancia." She has a way of saying "no" that gives the word the weight of its most fundamental meaning. Obviously I can´t reproduce it here, but suffice it to say that with Zeyda "no" has
at least three syllables.
After emerging from the class at 12:30 I walk about ten feet to a nice restaurant that manages to put a five course meal (drink included) in front of me for about $2.50. By 1:30 I´m back at the institute for the Latin dance class-yes, me in a Latin dance class has disaster written all over it. As if to add a few extra touches to the disaster message, the class goes for two straight hours. I´ve improved, but I doubt that I´m ready to retire from SHU for a new career as
a gigolo.
3:30 I head home, and if I´m lucky I will miss the afternoon downpour. I do homework (because Zeyda is a great believer in homework-it gives her a chance to say "no" quite a bit as we go over the tragic consequences of my attempts at indirect object pronouns). I also watch a good deal of TV, since this gives me another chance to study local and international Spanish culture.
Although my madre here is a wonderful person, we don´t see much of each other except at meals. She is pretty quiet, has her family (children and children in-laws and grandchildren) to keep her busy. We chat a little at dinner and watch news. Then, of course, it is time for my social life. |parents may want to have children leave the room at this point in the program.
Hand lettered sign that I read from the bus to San
Jose: "Neuroticos Anonimos"
(By the way, I´d like to thank all of my readers who
commented on my OCD behavior after reading my first
posting.)
Unlike Cusco, Intercultura Heredia has a bumper crop
of older men. There are five of us, and I am by far
the youngest. All the others are either retired or
working on getting retired. Since I´m waiting for
another democrat in the White House, so the country
will have a chance for peace and prosperity, I have
some time on my hands.
To avoid confusion, I have become best amigos with the
only one of the five not named John. Hal is a
minister in the Unity church. I´d never heard of this
church, but it seems to have no set beliefs, at least
none that he has been able to share with me. So, we
get along very well. Plus, as if to provide gilding
for the lily, Hal has written a self-help book. Hal
is a bit behind me in Spanish, though he has some of
the same survival techniques that I have honed to
perfection. We were sitting in the patio during the
rest period (no, not part of the four hours total of
instruction)when one of the instructors walked by and
smiled at him, saying something that I didn´t catch.
Hal smiled back and waved and said, "Oh, sí, sí," then
as the woman walked on he turned to me and said, "What
did she say?"
So, my big night out this week was attending an
Intercambio with Hal. At the Intercambio, Spanish
students speak Spanish to English students who in
their turn are speaking English. I had a great time
talking with Esperanza, a Colombian lawyer who moved
with her family to Costa Rica four years ago. She
struggled to maintain her part of the deal, speaking
English even when it obviously frustrated her.
After the Intercambio Hal and I walked to the Parque
Central, then to the University district where we
enjoyed a couple of beers. It was my birthday that
night, so Hal picked up the tab.
On our way back we passed a building with a sign for
the Nueva Acropolis. This turned out to be a combined
school and social center, part of a network of such
places offering classes and events. Either because we
looked totally harmless but at the same time earnest
and openminded (Hal has this effect on people-I know
I don´t) the hombre who I thought was security struck
up a conversation with us and took us inside where the
woman who seemed to be the director spoke to us
briefly and provided some literature.
(Preview)
Gabriel (speaking in unaccented English): "Do you
know where you are standing? You are standing on the
border of the red light district of San Jose! If you cross that street, your protection cannot be guaranteed."
