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

Swearing In and Shipping Out

This past Friday was a big day: my swearing in ceremony. The event was held at the Ambassador’s House, and was attended by leaders of the U.S. Embassy, Peace Corps, and various Costa Rican government agencies including Patronato National de la Infancia (my program’s counterpart agency…the Costa Rican Administration for Children’s Services). The house was beautiful, yet eerily empty; we are currently between American Ambassadors. Therefore, we were sworn in by the second-in-command: Magda Siekert. The occasion was like a wedding; we sat under white tents in the mansion’s back yard, overlooking sprawling lawns, pools and reception tables. After speeches by several of my bosses, directors of counterpart agencies, and three of my fellow volunteers, Mrs. Siekert added a few words of her own and then asked us to stand and raise our right hands. I’ve always considered myself to be a patriotic American, but I must say, chills ran down my spine as I took the very same oath that the president takes. I felt like I was dedicating myself to something significant as I promised to defend the constitution in front of all of those important people. And when we were done, my friends and I looked at each other in awe as if to say “did you feel it too?”

After taking the oath, we received our certificates graduation style and I got to meet the second-in-command. I asked her when we should expect to welcome our new Ambassador, and she said she didn’t know. So if anybody is interested in being the Ambassador to tropical paradise, they may still be taking applications. Mrs. Siekert was sweet and assured us that the Embassy would be looking out for us. I’m not sure how comfortable that was supposed to make me feel, but I told her thanks and went to congratulate my friends. After a whirlwind of pictures and food with my friends and Tico families, we left the grounds of the house, not as trainees, but as Peace Corps Volunteers.

That night was mayhem. Just as we were swearing in, the group that had arrived two years earlier was spending its last weekend in Costa Rica. Those in-between were dedicated to giving us a warm welcome, while wishing the veterans well. What resulted was an American bar filled wall to wall with PCVs, and a party to remember (or not). It was really cool to hang out a bit with the veterans and get their advice. The best suggestion I got was to have your parents ship you big bottles of Franks Red Hot. You hear that Mom and Dad? It was a good celebration: lots of salsa, meringue and terrible Costa Rican beer. It made me feel that much more proud to be a volunteer.

Yesterday, I kissed my host Mom goodbye, and shipped out to my permanent site: Puntarenas, a.k.a.: the Puerto. Puntarenas may be the hottest place on the planet. I’ve been told that it is the worst place to have a hangover, and I don’t doubt it. The sun is strong, and the air is thick and humid. We are just coming into the rainy season here, which means hot sunny mornings and torrential downpours in the afternoons. This translates to full, open gutters simmering during the morning, and refilling during the afternoon. On top of the gutter smell, we are close to a water treatment plant that releases the putrid odor of raw sewage when the skies open. Needless to say, it’s going to be a shitty rainy season.

Regardless, I am in love with the Puerto. It may be a seedy port town, but it’s my seedy port town. And let’s not forget that there is a lot to be said for a seedy port town. You can’t walk down the street without finding a bowl of fresh ceviche, or fresh fish in general. I am a short walk from the beach, and a quick bus ride from the center of the city. I am already familiar with the site, as this is my third time here. Most importantly, Puntarenas has a strong tradition of hosting Peace Corps volunteers, and the PANI office already knows the drill. I am not going to be looked at like an alien when I tell them that I left a life of comfort in the US to work with troubled youth in the Puerto. In my specific neighborhood, I am the third consecutive PCV. I am even lucky enough to have Marianne, a PCV late in her second year, to show me the ropes. So while she’s looking forward to heading back to the states, I can transition into the role by taking over her programs while thinking up my own.

My host family looks great. The household is run by Doña Ania; a sweet woman in her early forties who vigilantly looks after her eleven year old daughter, Joseline and her twenty-something year old son Guillermo, a.k.a. Memo. Ania’s “husband” (I’m not sure if they’re married or not) Bairón makes furniture and has promised me that we will be making an armoire for my room in the next week. Bairón is a Nicaraguan immigrant, which is an interesting situation in Costa Rica. Nicaraguans (or “Nicas”) are very similar to Mexican immigrants in America. Fleeing war, violence and poverty, Nicaraguans have come here in droves, taking any work they can find. They have taken most of the work that Ticos consider themselves above doing, and are often resented for taking Tico jobs. Sound familiar? If any Nicaraguan commits a crime, the news broadcasters make it known that the assailant was “Nica,” reinforcing public resentment and fear of the immigrants. Nonetheless, Bairón seems like a good, honest man.

While most of the time Ania is in good spirits and wears a smile, there is a quiet sadness to her. Almost a year and a half ago, she lost her mother, brother, sister and very young son in a car wreck. Last night, Ania confided this information to me and showed me pictures of all of the victims. The little boy couldn’t have been older than six. She seemed pained as she showed me the pictures, but also a bit optimistic. Although her boy is irreplaceable, perhaps she is hoping to find another son in me. We’ll see what happens.

Overall, I am thrilled to be here in-site. While I was promised by Peace Corps recruiters that I would be in the hellholes of the world, working with the poorest of the poor, I am impressed with my community. People here look out for each other and seem genuinely vested in the health of the barrio. I walked around town yesterday and found myself greeted warmly with a “buenas!” from everyone on their porches, and was even invited to sit and visit with one family. Two cups of coffee and three slices of pan dulce later, defending the constitution never tasted so good.

Tico Passover

Before I describe the wonder that was Tico Passover, I have an announcement to make. I just received my permanent site assignment: for the next two years, I am going to be living in the coastal town of Puntarenas. From what I´ve seen, Puntarenas is like Detroit on the water. It used to be the thriving port city of CR, but the port has since moved and what is left is the shadow of a former city. I will be living in a government housing project on the outskirts of town. I´m actually really excited about my assignment because I will have other volunteers near me, strong Tico counterparts, and access to the albergues (orphanages). I´ll let you know more about the site when I get there in a month.

***

Let me tell you, getting in with the Jews here was TOUGH. My training director said that she would secure the two other practicing Jews and me seats at the seder of the Synagogue here in San Jose. That meant names, photos, home synagogue references, telephone numbers and ID. I even had to bring my passport to the seder. However, once I passed through the high walls to get in, I could see why they were so protective. They have one of the most beatiful synagogues I have ever seen.

The first building containing administrative offices, a cafetreia and a museum has an atrium opening out onto a sprawling lawn perferated by stone paths. These paths span the length of a football field or so over the grass to the main building. Inside the great stone building is the sanctuary which is the size of Avery Fisher Hall. There, I had Havdallah and Mincha.

The funny thing about this Orthodox congregation was its similarity to my beloved Brotherhood Synagogue. People were social, outgoing, and more often than not...white. This community started before WWII; as pogroms and oppression spread, Jews from Eastern Europe moved here. Why? Because Costa Rica did not charge a twenty-five dollar fee like most other countries in this hemisphere. So the community grew and grew and the result was the fine three year old synagogue that I was standing in.

I made a lot of new friends. The President (or at least I think was the president) sat me down near the beamah with is friends Ariel and Rodolpho. We chatted for a long while about the Peace Corps and my work and after a bit I realized that I had been speaking Spanish when one of them asked me if I spoke Hebrew. "Of course he does, he studied in Israel" boasted the President. I asked him how he knew and he told me that he saw my student visa in my passport. So of course the three of them shot me questions in Hebrew, and I suddenly felt that the giant building of worship was the Tower of Babble. I did the best I could with the three languages and felt relieved when people came over and introduced themselves in English. I left the service with invitations to services, shabbat dinners and even a free crocadile tour by the director of a tour company.

After we put our sidurs away, I met up with my two female fellow volunteers (yes, we were separated), and we filed into the dining room for our seder. The seder was sponsored by two Chilean Rabbis from Aish Hatorah. The set up was beautiful, complete with specially made hard-bound hagadahs for the Synagogue. At the table with us was a fantastic family of Eastern European grandparents, a Tico-Israeli couple and their friendly children. FYI, Emile, one of them lived and studied in Pikesville, MD. The seder was interesting; not a single detail went unquestioned. And it was in Spanish (I got a kick out of seeing the word "pesach" spelled "Pesaj"). The seder took all night and I loved all of the differences. Here, the bitter herb is lettuce (weak sauce). The matzoh balls were almost inedible, and I think that I may have scared people by forcefully asserting that mine were far better. After the meal, we actually continued the sevice with an hour of song. The family at our table really got into it and I eventually found myself belting out the songs I knew. The entire table was rewarded with Kosher for Passover lollypops.

By the end of the night, I felt as if the family was part of my own, and told them so. They responded by giving the three of us kisses and a ride home.

I must admit that I was hesitant about going to the seder, as Passover is my favorite holiday; a holiday I associate heavily with family. But I am so glad that I found a Tico-Jewish home for myself, being so far away from the Jewish haven of NYC. Just being in a synagogue was comforting, as was hearing the familiar prayers that I have become used to repeating in the solitude of my room in the house of my Catholic host family.

I hope that all of my friends and family back home are having a Chag Sameach. And if you aren´t Jewish, I hope that you are enjoying everything American that I miss.

Dave

The Gira

I finally got to see some of the country over the past few days. From this past Saturday to Wednesday, we had our Gira (field trip). A lot happened, so I´ll break this entry up by day.

Saturday

After a bus ride of about 2.5 hours, my compañeros and I arrived in the large port town of Puntarenas. Waiting for us was a volunteer named Mary Ann. Mary Ann has been in country for over a year and a half, and I could tell from the second I got off of the bus that she is as sharp as they come. She lives in a part of town called El Roble. Her barrio is a government built housing project that is, to put it plainly, a ghetto. The barrio has dirt roads, and severe social problems. Nonetheless, I had a great experience.

After a brief tour of the barrio, I met my temporary host family (only two days), and we had lunch. They were incredibly warm and welcoming. They are a family of shark fisherman. All of the men (save the grandfather) were away at sea and had been for a month or so, and the family communicated back and forth via radio (¨Te Amo...OUT¨). The women of the house and their children spoke with me at length about Puntarenas and the social and economic problems they face. They were a well informed family.

After lunch, my group of five Trainees and Mary Ann and I went to her town´s albergue (orphanage). There, we met four other trainees, one other volunteer named Sarah, and some of the most impressive children I have ever met. The children were bright, enthusiastic, and extremely well behaved. We took the kids to the local soccer field and played for the rest of the afternoon.

Sunday

The next day, we spent the morning touring Sarah´s neighborhood which has as many issues as Mary Ann´s. After having a snack of fruit kebabs, the 11 of us went to the beach. It was the first time I had seen the Costa Rican coast; it was breathtaking. Puntarenas is set in the Nicoya Gulf, which is sheltered by the Nicoya Penninsula, so there are no waves. There was, however, a view of blue sea punctuated by the high, brown mountains of the Nicoya. After a quick dip, us Gringos boarded a ferry to the Nicoya Penninsula; we just had to see it up close. We stocked up on salty snacks and boarded the ship headed for Playa Naranja. The hour and a half trip was spent chatting, sunning, and eating.

Everything was going fine until I spotted another Gringo on the boat who -GASP- was wearing an Ohio State cap. I took extreme offense, and saw it as a challenge. I ducked below deck, abandoing my friends only to emerge with my Michigan shorts on. I walked around the deck like some animal performing a primal warring dance. We locked eyes, I lifted my fist and said ¨GO BLUE!¨ He averted my stare, which I took as a sign of defeat. If only our football games could be won like that.

To my surprise, I turned around only to find a man at another table wearing a shirt with a giant swastika on it. I was confused, I had stepped on the boat only minutes before, and found that two of my mortal enimies were on board. However, I didn´t let the scum of the earth bring me down. I took in the view, and enjoyed the ride with my friends. The thing that made me laugh was the fact that I was truly more offended by the man in the Ohio State hate. Yep, these are my priorities...

The time at Playa Naranjo was spent having dinner at a quaint hotel off the beaten path. While waiting for the food, we took a dip in their pool. The Ferry ride back to Puntarenas was muy tranquillo: we watched the sunset over the gulf, and relaxed. Despite the extreme heat and omnipresent smell of fish, Puntarenas was a good time.

Monday

After a visit to the PANI Office (US equivalent to Childrens Services), to meet the director, we boarded a bus to Herradura. Herradura is a small town just to the north of the surf paradise of Jaco. Upon our arival, we met our new host volunteer named Max. I knew that Max and I would be friends immediately; he went to Michigan. Indeed, we did become instant friends. He is a witty, laid back guy who has been in country for over a year and a half. That afternoon, we lunched and relaxed. Since I was to stay with Max because one of the host families bailed out at the last minute, I got to see a bit more of the PCV experience. That night, we spoke about the challenges and rewards of being a volunteer in Herradura. It was clear that he was proud of his work with the local school and community.

Tuesday

I woke up early and had my interview with Dan, Carolina and Scott: the people who are going to decide where my permanent site will be. We spoke about my experience and my preferences, so that they could better place me. It went well, and I left it hoping that they find a good fit for me.

The group then went to the local school and gave a fun presentation. We worked with a fourth grade class, teaching them fun facts about the US. They, in turn, taught us information about Costa Rica, and we had a CR vs US Jeopardy game.

We then took the bus into Jaco and met the head of the Officina de la Mujer: a womans group fighting to prevent domestic violence (among other things). Continuing down the road, we went to the local health clininc and met another community leader: a pshycologist who works with troubled youth (among other people). The leaders seemed firmly vested in their work and were quite inspirational. I hope that the counterparts in my site are as strong.

We then hit the beach. I rented a surfboard only to be thoroughly frightened by the 6-8 foot waves. After catching a few of the smaller ones, I joined my compañeros and we returned to Herradura for the night. We spent the night relaxing on Max´s porch talking about the incredible things we had seen. An excited fourth grade class, Officina de la Mujer, the clinic and 8 foot waves; I sure did see some incredible things.

The next day we had breakfast together and took the bus home. We were exhausted from the trip, but thoroughly empowered by what we had seen. It made the idea of moving in-site as a volunteer that much more tangible and exciting. I can only hope that my experience is as successful as Mary Ann, Sarah and Max´s.

Semana Santa

This past Thursday, I witnessed a good sized battle with one of our neighbors to the north. The fighting was fierce, and I was both exhilarated and frightened. The ¨rally ´round the flag¨ effect was striking, when the fighting took place, everyone wore the national colors and flew Costa Rican banners. It was an experience that I will never forget...

...I am, of course, referring to the Costa Rica vs. Mexico futbol game that I went to the other day. The Tico team dominated the Mexican team and won 3-0. It was insane. Latin American soccer is comparable to College Football. They go crazy. For the first time, I was actually glad that they did not serve beer in the stands. Had the crowd been drunk, I could imagine that some decapitation would take place.

Four of us Gringos went with Julies´ siblings...all 8 of them. The family introduced us to our neighbors in the bleachers, who in turn taught us all of the Tico chants. When I returned to my host family belting out the chants, they went wild and declared that I was becoming a Tico.

This week is Semana Santa...the Ticos take a whole week off for Easter and Good Friday. The Peace Corps gave me Thursday and Friday. Yesterday, we took advantage of the day off and explored our vicinity. My Peace Corps buddies, Julies siblings (the whole tribe), and I grabbed our packs and water bottles and went hiking in the surrounding mountains. The views were great and made my suburban town seem purely rural. The trees swallowed everything so that the pulperias and crowded streets were erased from sight.

Church processions have been filing through the streets, and the local stations are filled with Easter movies. While surrounded by so much Christianity, I am completely at ease. My host mother is very accepting of my Judaism and seems to appreciate it. ¨No hay un differencia entre su iglesia y mi iglesia,¨ she says. ¨There´s no difference between our religions,¨ she said. ¨As long as you believe in something, you are okay in my book,¨ this seems to be her message. Most of my family members and neighbors seem to feel the same way. It is in such words that my apprehension regarding my Judaism were relieved.


I plan on taking the rest of my vacation easy. I´ve got some Peace corps Work to do, but besides that, I´m free to spend time with my host family and friends. I hope that everyone is doing well back home. Drop me a line it you have time.

Best,
Dave

Salsa and Sun

Hi all,

This past weekend was quite the learning experience. I learned two things (both good): that I am the de facto babysitter for my Primas, and how to Salsa dance.

Learning to Salsa was one of the best experiences I´ve had here. My PC friend (and next door neighbor) Julie´s host sisters took us to a salsa club. Andrea and Lorgie led us gringos (my firends Julie, Casey and me) into a flourecently lit room, and showed us the steps. Andrea quicky saw that I had gotten the hang of it and we danced like crazy. We really tore the dance floor up, but I was dismayed to see that the middle-aged couple next to us was putting us to shame. We are all going to take lessons and try to go dancing every fin de semana.

My primas are great. We´ve been playing futbol every chance we get. It is partially their fault that I am getting tan.

I´ll let you know how the salsa classes go.

Best,
Dave

Week Two

Hi All,

A lot has happened since my last entry. The days at the retreat were incredible. We got situated in our Spanish classes, had some technical training and bonded. By the time it was over, I had trouble believing that I had only met my colleagues just a few days prior. Everyone in Peace Corps Costa Rica is unique and has a good sense of humor. In both sadness over separation and anticipation regarding our coming adventures, we said our goodbyes and went to live with our host families.

I arrived in the town of Patarra on Sunday afternoon to a house full of small children and dogs. I had lunch with my tia (Aunt) and my Primos (cousins), because my host mom and sister were at the beach. My primas Lisaña (about 12) and Gipsy (about 5) are the most fun in the world. We hang out and play together; they are always around.

My host mom, Ligia, is fantastic. She and my host sister are homebodies; Ligia runs the household and Cristina is pregnant. Ligia feeds me until I can´t move, and is very pleased that I like her cooking (rice and beans anybody?). Cristina is my age and really cool. We are all excited about the baby. S/he is due in August.

Overall, I am having a great time. I have Spanish classes every day with four other PCVs. My Spanish is improving exponentially, and it needs to if i am to be an effective volunteer. I hope that everyone back home is doing okay. I will try and write another post soon.

Love to all,
Dave