El Verano de San Juan

A few days ago, I co-facilitated the Second Annual PANI National Youth Congress. Co-sponsored by PANI and Peace Corps, each youth representative from every canton’s Junta de Protección (youth advocacy group) was brought from every corner of Costa Rica to participate in the three day convention. Each Peace Corps volunteer paired up with a PANI officer to represent their region and supervise their region’s youth representatives. In my case, I represented the Central Pacific Region, along with the Francis: a PANI social worker from the Oratina office. Having acquainted ourselves with the youth representatives at the regional pre-congress meeting (see June’s blog), we packed up the PANI van, jumped in, and headed for the cloud forests north of San Ramon.

Throughout the entire congress, my fellow PCVs and I referred to the event as “the all-star game.” We were taken aback by the intellect, creativity, character and radiance of the youth with which we worked. Each participant was eager to participate and learn. They immediately became best friends with each other, and exchanged songs played on their guitars. All high school aged, they were mature; they took the congress very seriously. As foreseen by PANI staff and PCVs, several romantic relationships sprung up within the first day. One PCV noted that we’d have to make an effort to keep them from running off into the bushes together at night. Another volunteer countered: “no way. The mixing of this gene pool is probably the best thing that could happen in Costa Rica right now.” After a good laugh, nobody really disagreed.

The camp site was particularly beautiful. High in the cloud forests, we were surrounded by natural wonders. Rolling hills covered by dense jungle could be seen from every area of the camp. The mollifying sounds of rivers and waterfalls could be heard in the dining hall as we took our first meal. Everyone seemed relaxed as the congress began, which made the meat and potatoes of the event come easily.

The first theme of the congress was networking. We emphasized that the youth representatives were the future leaders of Costa Rica and were the voice of Costa Rica’s youth. We encouraged them to stay in touch both on a regional and national level. Each group made a presentation to the entire group about their region. My group sang an original song, put on a skit and painted a poster. The group from Limon passed out gingerbread cookies and other local foods. It came as no surprise that they were the most popular. Once we finished, the camp opened its recreational activities to the kids. They spent the rest of their night roller-skating around the gym, playing ping-pong, wall climbing, and socializing.

The next morning, the group was offered an array of adventure activities. Split into four groups, we all competed in the highlight of the congress: Retoselva (jungle challenge). Retoselva was an army-like obstacle course through a muddy path in the jungle. Each team made their way through muddy bogs, ropes challenges, and other obstacles. By the end, everyone was covered in mud, and not a single article of clothing retained its original color. Having bonded via filth, we washed, changed and prepared for the afternoon workshops.

The second theme of the congress was participation. To illuminate the concept, we PCVs created a fun and engaging workshop. Our aim was to show the kids that they had the right to participate in the civic management of their communities. The voice of the youth, we emphasized, was to be heard and considered in the decision making process of Costa Rica as mandated by law. We had a few fun lessons, and found a way to make the reading and interpretation of the law enjoyable (cue creative presentations of each article). After the aforementioned and following activities, the conclusions and plans of the youth representatives were compiled and published. The report was the official recommendation of youth to be distributed to PANI and every other public organization in Costa Rica. I take great pride in knowing that Costa Rican policy regarding youth may have been influenced by the workshops that I planned and facilitated.

Heading home, I accompanied the youth representative from Paquera (on the Nicoya Peninsula) to the ferry terminal at the end of Puntarenas. Having left the damp gray of the cloud forest, I was lifted by the radiance of the Puerto sun. The sea shimmered in its five o’clock rays, making for a perfect Sunday evening. Riding home in the front seat with the van driver, I realized that something strange was going on: it wasn’t raining. Since the first day of the rainy season arrived in May, not one afternoon was spared a shower. I mentioned the rarity to the driver who I had been chatting with. He looked at me, patted me on the shoulder, and gave be a big grin. “Es el verano de San Juan” he said. I smiled too, and spent the rest of the ride watching the throngs of people walk through the Puerto sun toward the beach.

El verano de San Juan (summer of San Juan) is a hole in the rainy season. For a few weeks in July, the clouds hide, and let the beach goers get back to work. It is no coincidence that all students have a two week vacation during this time. It is also no surprise that it is this time of year that the city of Puntarenas puts on its annual festival: Las Fiestas Virgen del Mar.

The ten day long festival has served as a reminder for me of all that is good in Puntarenas. For these days, the heavily populated city of San José empties into the Puerto making for a raucous party. Glad to be away from the cold, damp Central Valley days, Ticos fill the Puerto’s beaches, waterfront cafes and hotels. All along the Paseo de las Touristas, booths line the walks; they offer everything from syrupy, icy granizados and carne asada to winged armchairs with ottomans. This past Sunday, I took the children from the albergue to the final day of the festival. It was an unforgettable day.

It was surely the best day I have ever had in which I was vomited on. The kids were wide eyed and excited as we stepped off the bus into the festival. I had never seen the streets of Puntarenas so full. It must have been the way Detroiters felt when the Super Bowl came to their city. Cafés that usually sit empty were packed to the brim. All along the beach, families had set up camp in the shade of trees. Babies slept in their mothers’ laps while they dished out homemade arroz con pollo to the rest of the family. Friends chatted in the sun while holding sweaty beers. Raisin-faced ladies sold vigarones from their stalls: sizzlin’, cracklin’ hot chicharones served on shredded cabbage, covered in chimmichuri and wrapped in an almond leaf. Holding hands as we walked, we stopped every so often to investigate one of these wonders. The kids were enticed by the cheap Chinese toys for sale; I couldn’t stop looking at the packs of scantily clad Ticas.

After making our way through the packed crowds and the pushy salesmen, we had found El Dorado: the rides. I thought that the kids’ eyes were going to pop out when they caught glimpses of the roaring rollercoasters. Each child grabbed and pulled at my clothing in sync and asked if they could go on (what seemed to be all of) the rides. With PANI money, the tia (literal translation: aunt (tio is uncle), PANI live-in albergue caretaker) and I paid for tickets. Excited as hell, we ran for the bumper cars and hopped in. Bairón and I shared a car and wasted no time in wasting our friends. Next, we mounted the haunted house ride, which was markedly tame. After the carousel, we concluded that we were done, and headed for the beach for the main attraction.

A boat’s whistle blew, and thus started the cruise of the Virgen del Mar. Making their way from the tip of the peninsula of Puntarenas toward the pier, dozens of boats held their annual parade. Each ponga, lancha or fishing boat was colorfully decorated. They all followed the lead boat which mounted Carmen: la virgin del mar (the virgin of the sea). Carmen is the patron saint of fishermen, and thus, Puntarenas. The hundreds of people packing the boats raised their glasses to her as their boats bounced along the ocean. The crowds of people lining the beach waved to them. They waved back.

With the parade over, we turned away from the beach and headed for a marisqueria for a lunch of seafood. It was when we made our first steps toward the restaurant that the vomit came. Bairón, hot in the sun and dizzy from the rides, unloaded the contents of his stomach onto the boardwalk. I asked him if he was okay, and he said that he had a stomachache. Needless to say, he did not order seafood when we sat down at the marisqueria. After taking a few sips of the ginger ale that we ordered him, he vomited two more times in the restaurant. Luckily, the waitress was a saint and helped the tia and I clean up while the other children enjoyed their arroz con camarones. Somehow, some way, none of the vomit had gotten on me.

After eating, we walked over to the beach where the kids played in the surf and I sat in the shade with the tia and the reposing Bairón. All around us were families laying together. There was a feeling of family in the air. This was a rare time that Tico dads could enjoy a touch of sun with their kids, and a spot of shade with their wives. Even the albergue kids felt it and treated each other like siblings. Bairón kept calling me “papa;” I continually corrected him. “Tio,” I would say while patting him on the back. “Soy su tio.”

When the kids had finished with the beach, we said goodbye to our neighbors and walked back to the bus stop. As we were walking, I thought about how much I missed my family. The authentically Tico nature of the festival would have been appreciated by my family. I then looked around at the sleeping albergue kids on the bus ride home and got chills. I realized that I had become their family. The tia smiled at me, looking a Bairón’s head resting on my side. I smiled back, feeling quite happy about the fantastic day we were ending. That was until I heard a familiar gurgle, and found my legs covered in puke.