Language Camp

Hola from the land of coffee and howling monkeys! It´s been a long while since my last post... but I hope to be back on track soon after this update. Many life changes, experiences, and schools of thought have evolved since my life in the big K, and I´ll try to do my best to explain them. First and foremost, after leaving Korea I had a wonderful, blissful trek through South East Asia and Tokyo with my friend Jackie, and then returned to memory lane back in Michigan for 2 months. After leaving home again, my plan was to find a job at an international school in Chile, Costa Rica... or any other "acceptable" Latin American country. So I packed my bags, thinking I had found the school of my dreams, and headed for San Jose, Costa Rica for 2 weeks of Spanish school and a job interview.

I was happily met at the airport by 2 cheerful Colombian ladies, one of whom was my host mother in Heredia, a suburb of San Jose. She warmly took me into her home, showed me around and fed me a wonderful meal. Not to long after I was asked to follow her to the pharmacy so she could get some medicine and so I could get my first glimpse at the city. Not surprisingly, the city was bustling and the McDonald's across the street had a line out the door. I sat and people watched until she finished and was given a small bag of "Cheetos" from her Colombian friend named Brenda. I arrived back at the house to meet her 2 sons Nicholas and Daniel who were playing traditional Colombian music at a very loud volume. Margarita immediately pulled me up to dance with her and showed me some traditional "Baila" moves. She was very impressed with my minimal dancing skills and we danced in her living room for probably 30 minutes enjoying the rhythm and beats.

To sum up my stay with Margarita, I have to say she is one of the warmest, friendliest, most hospitable people I have ever met. She used to own a restaurant and is an amazing cook, but after her husband died from cancer 7 years ago, she had to sell the restaurant to support her family. Now she primarily hosts students for income. She was interested in my family, my life, and my developing plan... and we shared many gestural, communicative evenings sharing stories and thoughts. Coming into a new country alone, I could not have had a better host family or met a more welcoming person than Margarita.

Intercultura Language School was of the same vibe. A small grouping of mostly Americans who came to seriously learn the language for one reason or another. There were people of all ages. Girls from university to a couple men who were 70 years old and trying something new for the first time. Most people really cared to ask where each other were from and sincerely tried to remember everyone´s names throughout the week. It was a wonderful environment and a great learning opportunity. But, because everyone was American, and I came to Costa Rica to learn Spanish, after school I headed back to Margarita´s to study my vocabulary and wait for her to come home and talk to me. Conversations with Margarita were as important as my 4 hours of language study during the day. She even booked my bus ticket to Playa Samara where I would be staying with another host family for the next week of my lessons. I told her I would be back to visit, and Brenda and her dropped me off at a local bus stop so I could continue on the next leg of my journey.

With no problem I arrived to the bus terminal and met a group of girls that were also going to Samara with the language school. They had already been there for several weeks and we compared experience between the 2 cities. We were in line to board the bus when the man who checked my ticket noticed that the date on the paper was for the 14th and not the 15th which was that day... Margarita had booked the wrong date.... I started to panic due to that being the only bus of the day, and classes started the following morning. One of the girls I had just met asked if i wanted her language help, and she and I followed the ticket man around for 5 minutes asking if the bus was full, and of if I could buy another ticket to board the bus. For better or worse, the man just didn´t feel like communicating with us and shoved me on the bus in the back row, no other questions asked, and no other ticket purchased.

After a smooth arrival to Samara, I followed the girls to the language school to meet my new family. My new family picked me up in a small red car and consisted of Lillian the mother, Carlos, the father, and Joselyn, the 15 year old daughter. They swept me away to a strange complex that looked like a motel and showed me my room directly adjacent to the out door kitchen. I asked how many people lived there, and in an inferred response I gathered that it was a family compound and they also rented to several different people. Lillian asked if I ate meat and I told her that I´d eat a little, I didn´t want to inconvenience the family. Then I was served dinner.

Dinner..... ohhhhh dinner.... every meal I was unsure of exactly what I was eating, but the one thing I was sure of was that there was tons of grease, butter, and or other miscellaneous fat products included in the concoction. Usually including unidentified meat products that were the main portion of the meal. I was far from Margarita´s house now and longed for her healthy cooking with appropriate proportions. Dinner was not the only ginormous meal of the day, breakfast was a mountain of rice and beans, with usually 2 very friend eggs, a slab of fried "meat", a bowl of fruit covered in what I think was grenadine, with a huge glass of some sort of juice and then finally coffee. Every morning I woke to ask for a small breakfast, and every morning I received this feast. One morning I was surprised with simply a hamburger for breakfast paired with the quintessential vat of sugar juice and coffee. I gave up and considered the hope of smaller portions a lost cause and picked through my meals.

Aside from the food, my family was really sweet. Carlos had worked in Boston as a roofer for 20 years and spoke English fairly well, but tried to refrain due to my immersion program. Joselyn, was very friendly and I could tell she loved having all of these older people to look up to and show around town. Finally Lillian, my new mother was very friendly, enjoyed talking to me, and did everything to make me feel comfortable in her home. There was just one other issue with my Samara experience.

This issue was named Glen. Glen was a 50 year old man from the suburbs of Chicago who had apparently lived all over Costa Rica and married a Costa Rican woman. He was renting out an apartment directly next to my room, and had a voice very similar to Dan Ackroid. Now, Glen is the example of an American embarrassment. Joselyn actually named him "Shreck" due to his massive stature and volume of his voice. He spoke a bit of Spanish but had the most awful "gringo accent" I had ever heard. My first impression of him was realizing that the wall in my room was not actually a wall, but a white sheet placed over an open space that was connected to his apartment. I could hear every word, like he was standing over me. "Bueno baby, bueno!" "Make it Caliente baby, Caliente" were some of the repeated phrases that echoed in my head while trying to sleep the first night. Accepting my fate as a traveler and embracing the fact that "this was an experience" I turned on my i-pod and fell asleep.

Now, when Glen was in a sober state, he was friendly enough, but from the fist introduction I wanted nothing to do with him. He frequently decided to indulge in drugs and alcohol, which I soon found out is why many Americans come to Costa Rica. He did this and quickly became a screaming monster. One night I was very tired from a long day of studying and surfing and told everyone I would be going to bed early. His wife turned off their music, and I very tentatively went to sleep, wondering if it was possible for him to be quiet. When he came home everything was surprisingly peaceful. Then, around 4am the light in my room went on (because he turned his light on, and there was only a white sheet between our spaces) and he started screaming at his dogs. Light would go on, and off... on and off... He was messed up enough that I couldn´t even understand what he was saying, but he was talking at a very high volume, and no one was around... I laid there, looking at the ceiling, and prayed that he would leave. Some time around 5am he decided to stumble somewhere...probably for another fix... and I was able to go back to sleep.

I woke up very angry in the morning, and as calmly as possible shared my concerns with my family. They offered to move me to a room on the other side of the compound and I agreed very relieved. I knew it wasn´t their fault, and since Carlos was out of work, they needed the money and couldn´t ask the awful man to leave, they were in a rough spot. I didn´t want to make a big deal out of it, and I really enjoyed my time with the family. I just felt horrible, embarrassed, and frustrated that they had such an awful impression of the United States. To make the situation worse on several occasions the man would go into fits of rage and the family would have to call the police because he would start to throw things in his apartment, and make a big scene. He was the talk of the dinner table, and I shared my concerns with the family, and tried to assure them that he was not an example of "most Americans", but... unfortunately, I discovered his stereotype was more common than I would like to accept. The family seemed to appreciate my opinion on the situation, and we all laughed at my gringo impression of him saying " Bueno baby BUENO!". I was happy to try and counter act his behaviors by having a good relationship with the family.

The next day I did everything in my power to avoid seeing him. But, in his rare sober and tranquil state he sought me out to apologise and say he had no idea I was living directly next to him... or that we shared a space divided by a sheet... I dismissed him as quickly as possible and did not mention that I had moved rooms. Just as life usually works out, when you don´t want to see someone.... you see them more frequently than you would expect. He seemed to be everywhere! He would pass me on his bike when I was walking to class or I would see him just around town at the grocery store or local bar. Every time he would approach me, say in a thick Chicago accent " Hey Jen, you know I´m REALLY sorry for the other night, I had NOOOO idea you were staying in that room!" and I would continue to politely dismiss him.

My remaining time with the family was, as they say "tranquillo". I was far from the flailing and shouting of the monstrosity of a man named Glen, and spent my remaining days in Playa Samara soakin´up the sun and speaking Spanish. Jared and I corresponded on the Internet regarding our next move. We concluded we would move south to Panama where accommodations would be cheaper and gringos farther and fewer between.