I am writing this final blog from my home in New York. It feels strange to write this anywhere other than my kitchen table with its view of my mango tree. It also feels strange for it to be almost mid-day and not be sweating.
The last week of my Peace Corps service was illuminating. Goodbye after goodbye, I learned what my presence in my site really meant for those with whom I had contact. The first such instance occurred at my despedida (goodbye party) at the girls’ albergue. On a weekday afternoon, I sat down in the home and spoke with the girls and the tias about my departure. The girls were baffled by the fact that I would be traveling in a plane (“does it hurt? Isn’t it scary? Will you crash?”) They then, one by one, handed me cards and letters thanking me for taking care of them. After the cards and kisses, the spunky Tia Ruth gave me a picture frame and a card. Then the girls surprised me with a giant tres leches cake.
After eating a big slice of cake, and chatting with the girls, I got up to go. After saying my goodbyes, Tia Zobieda approached me. A stark contrast to the loud and grabby Tia Ruth, Zobieda is taciturn to the point of awkwardness. Casey and I used to call her "The Turtle" because she rarely spoke or moved in our presence. She was always kind, just shy.
As I went to say goodbye to Zobieda, she pulled me aside and thanked me for my work in the albergue. For the first time in the two years in which I worked there, she opened up. She held me close and told me that my work with the girls had really given her a chance to breathe. My classes and workshops were great, she told me. “Vamos a hacer mucha falta de usted, David,” she said. We will miss you very much, David.
I was quite touched by Zobeida’s words. A struggle that I constantly had to deal with throughout my service was the feeling that nobody appreciated my work. It made me question the value of my presence in my site. Because of this, a simple “thank you” affected me deeply.
That Sunday, I had my despedida at the children’s albergue. It was a bright, hot afternoon. I had my new friend Nick with me; he was the volunteer who would be replacing me at the albergues. His new site was a kilometer or so down the road from me.
Walking into the green albergue is always an inspiring experience. I approach the gate and yell “UPE!” which is Spanish for “knock-knock.” There is then a chorus of shouts; “DAVID! DAVID!” A clamoring of footsteps is then heard, and finally a dozen kids crash against the gate and give me high-fives. After we were welcomed in the traditional manner, the kids led us to the back porch where Nick and I were immediately given heaping plates of arroz con pollo. After introducing Nick to the tias and children, we feasted.
This party was quite different from the girls’ party. Most of the children are quite young or mentally disabled, so they couldn’t quite wrap their minds around the fact that I was leaving for good. So I made sure that they got to know Nick, while I got sentimental with the tias over yet another cake. At one point, I looked out into the yard to see the kids playing soccer with Nick, and smiled. My little guys would be cared for. Before leaving, the tias gave me presents and said tearful goodbyes. They told me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
After putting Nick on a bus back to his new site, I walked home. On my way, I stopped and said goodbye to my neighborhood acquaintances. I walked to my gym, and said goodbye to Jorge and Luis Carlos. We exchanged information, and they told me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
I popped into my green grocer and told him that I was leaving. He looked shocked, and then disappeared into the back room. When he came back, he presented me with two ripe avocados. We shook hands firmly, and then he said to me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
I then went to my barber shop and told him that I was leaving. He told me that I was a good guy, and not to worry about balding. We shook hands firmly, and then he said to me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
I then said goodbye to my video store friend, Yaco. His wife made a big fuss, and took a lot of pictures. He gave me a handful of DVDs and told me to come back soon. We shook hands firmly, and then he said to me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
The bike repair guy and I then said goodbye. I think that he appreciates me because I always shook his hand as I passed his shop even though they were usually dirty. After a few words, we shook hands firmly, and then he said to me that I always have a home here and that I am welcome back anytime.
I then walked down my street in the ghetto project called Jireth (I could never previously reveal the name of my site due to security concerns). I passed by my neighbors and waved to them until I came to the house of my admirer. She was sitting on her porch, swaying in her rocking chair. I went up to her, and told her that I would be leaving in a few days. She got up and hugged me, and told me that it was nice to have me around. As I turned to leave, she said “I’m sad that you are leaving,” I smiled. “But if you want, stop by my house before you leave for a quickie.”
That night, Yessenia had a despedida dinner for me. She and her warm husband, Coca, thanked me for my service. It was strange for me to be thanked so much, because these were the first sentiments of thanks that I had received in my time in country. Coca, Yessenia and I passed my last night in Puntarenas drinking beers, getting sentimental and talking about the past two years. When I left, I did not feel sad. Yessenia is a true friend and I know that I will be seeing her soon.
The next day, I made my way to San Jose. That afternoon, I had lunch with Mama Ligia, my training host mother. After eating a hearty lunch of Olla de Carne, I wandered around my former training community of Patarra. I said goodbye to Lucila, Casey’s training host mom. I then went to Marjory’s house (where Julie stayed). I spent an hour or so discussing the future with Marjory (who can only be described as “salt of the earth”) and her family. After more teary goodbyes, I got on a bus and headed back to San Jose.
After a few hours at the Peace Corps office spent signing papers and doing exit interviews, I was no longer an active Peace Corps volunteer. I received certificates proving my service, and language fluency. What struck me most though was my Description of Service: a two page long document signed by the country director outlining my main accomplishments as a volunteer. As I read through each bullet on the paper, I grew proud. It had been two long years of hard work, and I was done. I realized that I had accomplished my goals here, and could leave feeling satisfied and without regrets. And leave, I did.
Yesterday, I boarded my flight home feeling quite anxious. I wasn’t worried about anything in particular, yet found myself grinding my teeth. Then we took off, and I felt sad. The land was so beautiful, and I was leaving it. The mountains, so richly covered in green rainforest; the water so blue and clean. As we headed north, we flew over the Poas volcano. I looked directly into the crater and saw the turquoise water shimmering in the sun while sulphury plumes of smoke burst forth from the surface. The land is so alive, I thought as we passed over the border into Nicaraguan airspace. I am going to miss Costa Rica, a land bursting with life.
I slept a few hours. As we made our descent, the New York skyline came into view, and my mood changed. Costa Rica is alive with volcanoes and rainforests and monkeys, but New York is alive with a different kind of energy. I can’t say that one is better than the other, they are both awesome. On the ride home from the airport, we passed through my favorite neighborhoods on a perfect, sunny Sunday afternoon. And as I saw the streets, so full of life, and the beautiful women in short skirts, I knew that I would be okay.
I am thankful to the Peace Corps for giving me the opportunity to see another kind of land and life. I am grateful to the Tico people for introducing me to their culture. I would like to thank my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, my family and close friends for their support over the past two years and three months. Lastly, I would like to thank my fellow PCVs for getting me through. You know who you are.
Thanks for reading, and pura vida!
Dave Larkin
Monday, May 17, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
What I will miss about Costa Rica
What I will miss about Costa Rica (in no particular order):
1. The Sun
Every morning, I wake up to a brilliant sun. Even in the depths of the rainy season, the morning hours welcome rays that burn off the remnants of the previous night’s rain. These rays bring with it a heat that makes sleeping past eight impossible. I never get that rainy day gloom that makes you want to stay in bed all day. I always hop out, look to the sun, and start my day.
2. The Two Crackheads on my Corner
Ever hear of a crackhead with a heart of gold? Well, they exist. Every morning, on my way to the track for my daily run, I pass a lovely crackhead couple. They always chat with me, and remark what a beautiful morning it is. They never hassle me for money; they just want to get to know their local gringo. The woman always tells me to run some laps for her. They tell me “God bless you,” and I tell them the same.
3. Yessenia
My neighbor Yessenia is the most put together person in my entire site. She makes sure that her kids go to school and do their homework, an aberration here. She is a known leader in the community; people look up to her. When we dine together, I do no get the usual Tico conversation about the weather. Yessenia has educated herself. We often find ourselves talking about women’s rights in Costa Rica, Tico politics, and education. She is the only person in my site that I trust.
4. Travel
Whenever I meet tourists on my travels in Costa Rica, I feel sorry for them. Even on a long vacation, there is no possible way to see all the wonders that Costa Rica has to offer. I am thankful that I have had two years to explore the country. I’ve been all over, from the super touristy to the remote sites of fellow volunteers. I’ve had the privilege to get used to cloud forests and howler monkeys. I’m terribly afraid that I am going to return to the beaches of the Northeast to find myself thinking “you call this a beach?” Something tells me I’ll be back.
5. My Gym
When I first arrived, I started working out at a gym owned by a guy named Choppa. Choppa is about five foot five and two hundred pounds. The measurements of his biceps may rival that of most people’s waists. If anyone saw him running anywhere, one could wonder if he wasn’t out looking for his neck. He is huge, as if he had jumped out of a weightlifting magazine. He is a good natured fellow, prone to doing irresponsible things like slapping me in the belly as I bench pressed. I liked going to his gym, but then one day (strangely the day after I made my monthly payment) he closed down shop.
I was then forced to join a different gym which turned out to be better. Jorge’s gym is closer to my house and nicer. Jorge is quite different from Choppa; physical trainer certificates hang above his desk. He creates custom workout plans for his members. He is lean and outgoing, and doesn’t make crude jokes or unsavory comments to the women of the gym like Choppa did. Also at the gym is Luis Carlos, my favorite. Luis Carlos is super friendly, and makes a point to say hello to and check in on all of the members. Usually, I don’t like to be interrupted during my workout. However, I don’t mind when Luis Carlos wanders over to shoot the shit with me. He is learning English and likes to practice with me.
After my workout, I usually spend a few minutes hanging out with the two. It is hard to find people my age that are cool and fun to be around, which is what makes seeing Jorge and Luis Carlos so enjoyable. Therefore, going to the gym has been more of a social experience than part of a routine.
6. My Porch
The best part of my house is the big front porch. After I wake up, I usually sit out there on my rocking chair with a glass of juice and toast and watch the day unfold. In the evenings, I like to sit in the same spot and watch the sky grow pink behind my neighbors’ houses. Behind the house across the street from me is an average palm tree. There is nothing special about the tree. But as the sun goes down, the palm fronds form beautiful comb-shaped silhouettes which sway and click in the breeze. Farther behind the palm, to the south, a giant oak tree hides the horizon. From the oak, hundreds of birds sing as the clouds reflect the rich colors of the sunset. Most evenings, I sit in my rocker and take the scene in until the darkness comes and washes it all away.
7. Other PCVs
My friend Max closed service just a few months after I began mine. Shortly before leaving, he said “the best part of Peace Corps is Peace Corps Volunteers.” I couldn’t agree more. I have made several friends who I know that I will be close with for the rest of my life. I have also met some PCVs who are not so great, but for the most part, PCVs are good people. The only problem with the PCVs in Costa Rica is the severe lack of hot Jewish women with proclivities for short, balding men.
8. Solitude
When my host family moved away, leaving me with the house for my second year, it was the first time in my life that I lived alone. I’ve always had roommates or house-mates. At first, I was a bit worried because I am a social person. However, it only took a few days for me to realize how sublime life alone can be.
The transition was stark: I went from a loud host family crammed into a small house without a hint of privacy to having my own little haven. At first, I celebrated the freedom by making lavish dinners for myself and drinking glasses of wine every evening. But then I got used to having my own house and fell into a smooth rhythm. Doing laundry, going to work, cleaning up. Never before was I in charge of everything, and I liked it.
Most important was the line that my house drew in the sand: work is out there, leisure time is in here. When living with a host family, one is on the clock twenty-four hours a day. A volunteer is obligated to speak Spanish, learn about customs, and help out around the house, all of which can be exhausting. Living on my own allowed me to end the workday once I got home in the evening. And once alone, after a day of screaming children, the solitude was delicious.
9. Puntarenas
Puntarenas is authentic. It is the most Tico city that I’ve seen in Costa Rica. You would never find anything written in English. Whenever I see gringos walking around, I ask them in my head “are you lost?” Even though the heat here in “the Puerto” is known to be the worst in the country, nobody here has air conditioning. The Puerto has baked its traditions into the small spit of land that it occupies. The spirit of the Puerto remains strong year after year. Fishermen haul fish from the waters off its shores, and chefs brine it to make ceviche, the flavor of the Puerto.
Sundays in the Puerto help me to see the beautiful side of a Tico culture that I often find myself at odds with. Upon stepping off the bus, I notice that the center of the city is deserted. Shops are closed, the streets are empty. The desolation reminds me that it is okay that I am not working, and that it is okay to relax. As I walk south toward the beach, I sense a vibration, a hum of activity. By the time I smell the salt air, the streets are more crowded. As I step onto the “Paseo de las Touristas,” the transition is complete and I am mobbed with people. Vendors are set up every ten feet selling everything from snow-cones to carne asada to beach sandals. Across the street from the ocean walk is a row of restaurants offering fresh seafood. Lines of shower stalls fill some lots, mostly for the people enjoying the beach before heading back to San Jose.
What I like most about the Puntarenas beach is that the people are all Ticos. Most of them are from the area, but many are from San Jose and the central valley. For most Ticos, this is the beach. Before touristy beach towns sprouted up all along the central pacific coast, Puntarenas was the only real option. And the San Jose Ticos have been faithful. They come back to the Puerto for the traditions like salsa dancing on the beach and the pescado frito. Puntarenas is a Tico beach.
As I walk along the beach on a Sunday afternoon, I see Ticos at their best. Families bring tents and tables and chairs and set up camp. They heave giant pots of homemade arroz con pollo onto their tables and eat as a family after playing in the surf or lying in the sand. Babies stumble around naked as fathers teach them how to navigate the hot sand. Raisin-skinned old ladies sit together under the shade of the coconut trees looking out onto the surf. Couples kiss unabashedly; husbands slap their wives scantily clad asses. And I sit on the seawall drinking cold coconut water, taking it all in.
10. Chepe Despiches
For my lack of a desire to incriminate myself, I’ll keep this portion short. Allow me to explain, “Chepe” is a nickname for Jose. Therefore, “Chepe” is also a nickname for San Jose. “Despiche” is Spanish for “shit-show.” So as you can imagine, Chepe Despiches are weekends in which the lonely, bored volunteer leaves his or her site to go a little crazy. In our sites, everyone knows us, and we volunteers must be on our best behavior. However, we are anonymous in San Jose. We can let loose, which is exactly what we usually do.
I always feel excited as my bus pulls into San Jose, and always incredibly relieved as it pulls out. The partying is always great, with an extra buzz of excitement because we can speak English and see friends whom we have not seen for long stretches of time. But it never feels good to wake up in San Jose, a city of grime. So while the despiches are fun and necessary, it always feels good to get on that bus and back to my site.
11. The Albergues
The albergues have been the keystone of my work here in Costa Rica. I love the kids. I have grown into a family member for most of them, Tio David. While many of the kids come and go, there have been a few who are long-term residents. There are only two who I have known during my entire service, and I feel especially attached to them. However, I hope that I have been able to make the traumatic experience that is life in an albergue a more positive one for the many children who I’ve known for only a handful of weeks or months. I will miss the albergues more than anything else in Costa Rica.
12. Catcalls
I will probably never again get them. But I like them. It lets me know that, no matter what I feel about my appearance, somebody out there finds me attractive, even if that person weighs more than I do and has no teeth.
13. Fireflies
When I turn the lights off at night, and lay awake in bed, I am never alone. Fireflies hover over me, floating across my room. My eyes follow them for as long as they can before closing and trailing off into sleep.
14. Eating My Site
In my back yard there is a dead lemon tree, a live mango tree and a chili pepper plant. During my first year of service, my host mom would pick lemons off the (then live) tree and make lemonade with them. At the beginning of the rainy season, my mango tree bears fruit. There is something amazing about eating a purple, ripe mango that you have seen grow from the size of a pea to the size of your fist. And to cook anything spiced with a fresh hot pepper from the yard adds a special something to the dish.
There are countless more things that I will miss about Costa Rica and my Peace Corps experience. I am thinking about including them all in a book that I may or may not write using material from this blog.
I know that I said this last week, but this could be my last blog entry. If it is, thank you for reading it. If you have any questions, you can email me at dhlarkin@gmail.com.
-Dave
1. The Sun
Every morning, I wake up to a brilliant sun. Even in the depths of the rainy season, the morning hours welcome rays that burn off the remnants of the previous night’s rain. These rays bring with it a heat that makes sleeping past eight impossible. I never get that rainy day gloom that makes you want to stay in bed all day. I always hop out, look to the sun, and start my day.
2. The Two Crackheads on my Corner
Ever hear of a crackhead with a heart of gold? Well, they exist. Every morning, on my way to the track for my daily run, I pass a lovely crackhead couple. They always chat with me, and remark what a beautiful morning it is. They never hassle me for money; they just want to get to know their local gringo. The woman always tells me to run some laps for her. They tell me “God bless you,” and I tell them the same.
3. Yessenia
My neighbor Yessenia is the most put together person in my entire site. She makes sure that her kids go to school and do their homework, an aberration here. She is a known leader in the community; people look up to her. When we dine together, I do no get the usual Tico conversation about the weather. Yessenia has educated herself. We often find ourselves talking about women’s rights in Costa Rica, Tico politics, and education. She is the only person in my site that I trust.
4. Travel
Whenever I meet tourists on my travels in Costa Rica, I feel sorry for them. Even on a long vacation, there is no possible way to see all the wonders that Costa Rica has to offer. I am thankful that I have had two years to explore the country. I’ve been all over, from the super touristy to the remote sites of fellow volunteers. I’ve had the privilege to get used to cloud forests and howler monkeys. I’m terribly afraid that I am going to return to the beaches of the Northeast to find myself thinking “you call this a beach?” Something tells me I’ll be back.
5. My Gym
When I first arrived, I started working out at a gym owned by a guy named Choppa. Choppa is about five foot five and two hundred pounds. The measurements of his biceps may rival that of most people’s waists. If anyone saw him running anywhere, one could wonder if he wasn’t out looking for his neck. He is huge, as if he had jumped out of a weightlifting magazine. He is a good natured fellow, prone to doing irresponsible things like slapping me in the belly as I bench pressed. I liked going to his gym, but then one day (strangely the day after I made my monthly payment) he closed down shop.
I was then forced to join a different gym which turned out to be better. Jorge’s gym is closer to my house and nicer. Jorge is quite different from Choppa; physical trainer certificates hang above his desk. He creates custom workout plans for his members. He is lean and outgoing, and doesn’t make crude jokes or unsavory comments to the women of the gym like Choppa did. Also at the gym is Luis Carlos, my favorite. Luis Carlos is super friendly, and makes a point to say hello to and check in on all of the members. Usually, I don’t like to be interrupted during my workout. However, I don’t mind when Luis Carlos wanders over to shoot the shit with me. He is learning English and likes to practice with me.
After my workout, I usually spend a few minutes hanging out with the two. It is hard to find people my age that are cool and fun to be around, which is what makes seeing Jorge and Luis Carlos so enjoyable. Therefore, going to the gym has been more of a social experience than part of a routine.
6. My Porch
The best part of my house is the big front porch. After I wake up, I usually sit out there on my rocking chair with a glass of juice and toast and watch the day unfold. In the evenings, I like to sit in the same spot and watch the sky grow pink behind my neighbors’ houses. Behind the house across the street from me is an average palm tree. There is nothing special about the tree. But as the sun goes down, the palm fronds form beautiful comb-shaped silhouettes which sway and click in the breeze. Farther behind the palm, to the south, a giant oak tree hides the horizon. From the oak, hundreds of birds sing as the clouds reflect the rich colors of the sunset. Most evenings, I sit in my rocker and take the scene in until the darkness comes and washes it all away.
7. Other PCVs
My friend Max closed service just a few months after I began mine. Shortly before leaving, he said “the best part of Peace Corps is Peace Corps Volunteers.” I couldn’t agree more. I have made several friends who I know that I will be close with for the rest of my life. I have also met some PCVs who are not so great, but for the most part, PCVs are good people. The only problem with the PCVs in Costa Rica is the severe lack of hot Jewish women with proclivities for short, balding men.
8. Solitude
When my host family moved away, leaving me with the house for my second year, it was the first time in my life that I lived alone. I’ve always had roommates or house-mates. At first, I was a bit worried because I am a social person. However, it only took a few days for me to realize how sublime life alone can be.
The transition was stark: I went from a loud host family crammed into a small house without a hint of privacy to having my own little haven. At first, I celebrated the freedom by making lavish dinners for myself and drinking glasses of wine every evening. But then I got used to having my own house and fell into a smooth rhythm. Doing laundry, going to work, cleaning up. Never before was I in charge of everything, and I liked it.
Most important was the line that my house drew in the sand: work is out there, leisure time is in here. When living with a host family, one is on the clock twenty-four hours a day. A volunteer is obligated to speak Spanish, learn about customs, and help out around the house, all of which can be exhausting. Living on my own allowed me to end the workday once I got home in the evening. And once alone, after a day of screaming children, the solitude was delicious.
9. Puntarenas
Puntarenas is authentic. It is the most Tico city that I’ve seen in Costa Rica. You would never find anything written in English. Whenever I see gringos walking around, I ask them in my head “are you lost?” Even though the heat here in “the Puerto” is known to be the worst in the country, nobody here has air conditioning. The Puerto has baked its traditions into the small spit of land that it occupies. The spirit of the Puerto remains strong year after year. Fishermen haul fish from the waters off its shores, and chefs brine it to make ceviche, the flavor of the Puerto.
Sundays in the Puerto help me to see the beautiful side of a Tico culture that I often find myself at odds with. Upon stepping off the bus, I notice that the center of the city is deserted. Shops are closed, the streets are empty. The desolation reminds me that it is okay that I am not working, and that it is okay to relax. As I walk south toward the beach, I sense a vibration, a hum of activity. By the time I smell the salt air, the streets are more crowded. As I step onto the “Paseo de las Touristas,” the transition is complete and I am mobbed with people. Vendors are set up every ten feet selling everything from snow-cones to carne asada to beach sandals. Across the street from the ocean walk is a row of restaurants offering fresh seafood. Lines of shower stalls fill some lots, mostly for the people enjoying the beach before heading back to San Jose.
What I like most about the Puntarenas beach is that the people are all Ticos. Most of them are from the area, but many are from San Jose and the central valley. For most Ticos, this is the beach. Before touristy beach towns sprouted up all along the central pacific coast, Puntarenas was the only real option. And the San Jose Ticos have been faithful. They come back to the Puerto for the traditions like salsa dancing on the beach and the pescado frito. Puntarenas is a Tico beach.
As I walk along the beach on a Sunday afternoon, I see Ticos at their best. Families bring tents and tables and chairs and set up camp. They heave giant pots of homemade arroz con pollo onto their tables and eat as a family after playing in the surf or lying in the sand. Babies stumble around naked as fathers teach them how to navigate the hot sand. Raisin-skinned old ladies sit together under the shade of the coconut trees looking out onto the surf. Couples kiss unabashedly; husbands slap their wives scantily clad asses. And I sit on the seawall drinking cold coconut water, taking it all in.
10. Chepe Despiches
For my lack of a desire to incriminate myself, I’ll keep this portion short. Allow me to explain, “Chepe” is a nickname for Jose. Therefore, “Chepe” is also a nickname for San Jose. “Despiche” is Spanish for “shit-show.” So as you can imagine, Chepe Despiches are weekends in which the lonely, bored volunteer leaves his or her site to go a little crazy. In our sites, everyone knows us, and we volunteers must be on our best behavior. However, we are anonymous in San Jose. We can let loose, which is exactly what we usually do.
I always feel excited as my bus pulls into San Jose, and always incredibly relieved as it pulls out. The partying is always great, with an extra buzz of excitement because we can speak English and see friends whom we have not seen for long stretches of time. But it never feels good to wake up in San Jose, a city of grime. So while the despiches are fun and necessary, it always feels good to get on that bus and back to my site.
11. The Albergues
The albergues have been the keystone of my work here in Costa Rica. I love the kids. I have grown into a family member for most of them, Tio David. While many of the kids come and go, there have been a few who are long-term residents. There are only two who I have known during my entire service, and I feel especially attached to them. However, I hope that I have been able to make the traumatic experience that is life in an albergue a more positive one for the many children who I’ve known for only a handful of weeks or months. I will miss the albergues more than anything else in Costa Rica.
12. Catcalls
I will probably never again get them. But I like them. It lets me know that, no matter what I feel about my appearance, somebody out there finds me attractive, even if that person weighs more than I do and has no teeth.
13. Fireflies
When I turn the lights off at night, and lay awake in bed, I am never alone. Fireflies hover over me, floating across my room. My eyes follow them for as long as they can before closing and trailing off into sleep.
14. Eating My Site
In my back yard there is a dead lemon tree, a live mango tree and a chili pepper plant. During my first year of service, my host mom would pick lemons off the (then live) tree and make lemonade with them. At the beginning of the rainy season, my mango tree bears fruit. There is something amazing about eating a purple, ripe mango that you have seen grow from the size of a pea to the size of your fist. And to cook anything spiced with a fresh hot pepper from the yard adds a special something to the dish.
There are countless more things that I will miss about Costa Rica and my Peace Corps experience. I am thinking about including them all in a book that I may or may not write using material from this blog.
I know that I said this last week, but this could be my last blog entry. If it is, thank you for reading it. If you have any questions, you can email me at dhlarkin@gmail.com.
-Dave
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