Work Hard, Relax Hard

My first week in-service was very busy. I filled my schedule to the brim so that my days could be as busy as they were when I worked at Skadden. This is a strategy I am using to take my mind off of the terrifying fact that I am going to be living away from everything I know and love for two years. Ha.

Most of my time was spent with the children at the two albergues in my town. Albergues are small orphanages run by PANI (the Administration of Children’s Services of Costa Rica). Passing by one, you wouldn’t know that it was an albergue; they look like normal houses on normal streets. In each albergue, between ten and fifteen children live with one or two “Tias” (Aunts). The children aren’t necessarily orphans; they are mostly children who have been removed from dangerous home situations. Many of them are victims of verbal, physical or sexual abuse. Regardless, they are a pleasure to be around.

During their free time, the children in the albergues really don’t have many recreational opportunities. The Tias are exhausted enough from caring for a household of children; they don’t really have the energy to run around with them. This is where I come in. Three afternoons this past week, I took the kids to the park to run around and get out of the house. We’ve been doing quite a bit of bonding lately, and I’m really happy to say that most of the kids like me. That is, of course, until I beat the hell out of them at soccer.

But in all seriousness, I feel that just to get the children doing constructive things during their free time is important. There is one boy in the group who is really good at soccer and was lucky enough to be selected for his school team. This has really kept him occupied; hopefully enough to keep him away from bad habits in the future. The boy is great to be around. He has a face that exudes congeniality, is really intelligent and has a decent chance of making it to college. I just hope that by embracing his talents, I can keep him on the right path in any way possible. If that includes taking him to the park to practice, then so be it. Hopefully as I become more comfortable with the children, and understand what they need, I can develop more substantive activities.

I also got to do my first work in the elementary school. This past Tuesday, Marianne and I taught a class for the “Aula Abierta” (open classroom) program: A class for dropouts who want to finish up their elementary school educations so that they can go to high school. This translates into a class of fifteen year old first graders mixed with eleven year old third graders and so on. It is interesting to say the least. Marianne and I taught a lesson on budgeting that went off without a hitch. This blew Marianne away; the previous class was apparently not so smooth. With students of different ages and intellectual capabilities, it is clearly a hard class to teach; and this is my inheritance.

All week, my host family has been raving to me about their family’s house in the campo just north and upland of here in a town called Caballo Blanco. Yesterday (Sunday), we packed into their tiny Civic, and headed out to spend the day there. As we drove away from Puntarenas, north along the Inter-American Highway, I felt as if I was being lifted out of an oven. As the Civic chugged up the mountains, the air became fresh and I was freed of the raw sewage odor. When we finally arrived in Caballo Blanco, my host brother, Memo, took us down a small dirt road until we were stopped by the car of my host aunt. She informed us all something in a Spanish that I couldn’t make out, and we all got out of the car and walked over to a group of trees. It made sense to me when the group of us (My host mom, “dad,” (he´s 29, I can´t bring myself to call him "dad") brother, sister, aunt, and two nieces) started to pick nance fruits from the trees and throw them in bags. The nances are like bitter little yellow pears the size of grapes. I didn’t like them much, and was glad when we continued a bit down the road to the house.

The house was beautiful. It was big and pink, with a long front porch and a yard of phosphorescent moss. Bamboo trees grew from the property in clusters and creaked in the wind. I walked with Memo behind the house where I found a view of Puntareanas, the entire Nicoya Gulf, and the high mountains of the Nicoya Penninsula. I was taken aback by the beauty of it, looked at Memo and yelled “why are you still living in the projects!” He explained that the house was his grandmother’s until she died in the accident, and now it belongs to his mom and aunt. They are probably going to move in after I spend my year with them.

As I contemplated this, Memo led me to the front porch and sat me down in their hammock as if to say “you’ve had a long week, take a chill pill.” The hammock hung under a great banyan tree which in and of itself seemed lazy; vines and moss hung from its branches. I lay there in the hammock and shot the breeze with Memo and Bairón until I saw my host Aunt setting up a barbecue. Happiness shot through my body as I saw her pour charcoal into the grill and start it up. This was totally inconsistent with the great Tico tradition of frying all food to oblivion. There would be no rice and beans for this lunch. Grilled meat? I couldn’t have been happier.

At this moment, Bairón sat me down at the picnic table on the porch and set a bottle of guaro in front of me. “Y ahora, bebemos” he said, and put down a glass. I asked him if it was like vodka, and he replied, “mas suave.” I smiled and he poured me a drink with ice and a bit of coke. It was great. Guaro is like a mix between vodka and rum, made from sugar cane here in Costa Rica. It is cheap and good. Bairón, Memo and I sat and took our drinks under the banyan tree until the meat was ready, at which point we feasted.

The three of us spent a while talking, and I felt that I was starting to get to know them. They are both clowns and kind of foolish, but with good intentions. Memo, I have just learned, is eighteen. This explains his immaturity. Regardless, I enjoy joking around with him and Bairón. It makes me feel normal again.

After a few drinks, Bairón said to me what may be the best thing anyone has ever said to me: “Vamos a apiar aquacates,” or “Let’s go pick avocadoes.” We walked behind the house and on their huge lot we found three avocado trees. And it just happens to be avocado season. We spent an hour or so plucking avocadoes from the high branches using a long bamboo branch with a pillowcase on one end of it. Two bulging bags of ripe avocadoes later, we were done. I can see what my meal schedule is going to be like for the next two weeks: rice, beans and avocadoes. It’s a step in the right direction.

Ania then asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with her and of course I complied. We strolled along a dirt path that separated huge meadows interrupted by mango and Guanacaste trees. The path was lined by marañon trees which produce the marañon fruit. The fruit isn’t anything special, but at one end of it is a hard shell protecting the seed we commonly know as the cashew. We walked and walked and shared a lot about ourselves. I thanked her for opening her home and family to me, and she said that she was happy to have me. As we walked back to the house, I realized just how lucky I am to have such a good host family and only hope that they continue to be so supportive.

I just wanted to give a quick shout out to my Dad: Happy Birthday! I hope that all is well. I miss you very much. Eat some good food for me, I´m sure that Mom is all over it!

Much love to all,
Dave