The title of my last entry, “FINALLY,” which told of my adventures in Guanacaste that I forgot to mention also left me with a wicked wristwatch tanline on my distal left forearm you can almost tell time with, reminded me of the word ”FAMILY.” This train of thought led me to realize that I haven’t yet blogged much about the family I’m living with here in Santo Domingo that has been such a big part of my experience here. So, I’m going to do that now. It’s sure to be shorter, and maybe sweeter, than the last one so you can get back to procrastinating somewhere else out here in cyberspace.

My madre, Marielos, could not be sweeter. She is a stay-at-home mom, like the large majority of the mothers here in Central America I imagine, whose focus on cooking, cleaning and keeping house allows me to enjoy high-quality meals, frequently cleaned laundry, and a beautiful yard without so much as lifting a finger. Of course, I’m used to lifting my fingers, so I make sure to do my part when she allows it, which primarily comes in the form of washing the dishes and making my bed. Due to the fact that I eat more than any other student she has had before (out of the 20!) and have nothing to show for it in terms of weight gain, she is convinced that I have a parasite in my stomach that requires immediate medical attention. So I try to eat less when she’s around and sneak more later when she’s not, but I can’t keep living like this for much longer! She is incredibly patient with me in my Spanish-learning process and is always helpful in teaching, involving, and having fun with me. We really have a good time and laugh together a lot.

My padre doesn’t like to laugh so much. Don Luis is almost always out of the house either working at his business or finishing the thesis for his PhD in his office upstairs. I guess working from 7:30 am to at least 8:30 pm every day doesn’t give him much reason to laugh. He really is a nice man and makes sure to correct me when I err in speech (which I appreciate, but sometimes I feel like he’s just waiting for me to make a mistake, you know?). He certainly is an ample financial provider for the family, but he leaves much to be desired in his provision of fatherly love and display of emotion. Don’t tell him I said that though, or he might love me even less than he already doesn’t.

I have 3 hermanos. One of which is married and lives out of the house (Esteban, 31 years old), another who will be married and out of the house in approximately 8 days (Julio, 27 years old), and another who is currently “looking” for work and taking classes at UNA at night (Armando, 20). They are each very friendly to me and fun to be around. Julio actually takes me to school in the mornings because UNA is on his way to work, so that saves me about $1.50 a week in bus fares! I rarely see Esteban, but Julio and Armando really make an effort to involve me with their friends when it’s possible. Like, among other things, I got to come along with them to Julio’s bachelor party a couple weekends ago, which was really fun, so I really couldn’t ask for much more from them.

Overall my living experience is very pleasant and I am being well-provided for and taken care of, even beyond what I expected. Having internet access, hot water, a nice room, laundry service, and 3 meals (plus an afternoon cafe) a day is hard to complain about. Add that to the fact that it comes with people who are enjoyable to be around and you’ve got yourself quite a Costa Rican homestay!

Half my room (the whole thing is too big to fit on just one blog)

Two benches Armando and I painted at the house one day

Playa Flamingo sunset

mid-day. We were ready for some beach action. After a delicious lunch of casado and checking into our adequate (but air-conditioned!) hotel, we were on our way to the highly esteemed Playa Flamingo 6 km down the road. We were gonna take the bus, then after we considered its unknown schedule and ruled out a taxi we decided to walk it, which made us realize we instead wanted to rent some bikes, which allowed us to conveniently catch the bus on our way to the bike place… and we finally made it! The waves were incredible, the view astounding, water refreshing, nature invigorating, and sunset unforgettable. It’s tough to exceed the expectations we had, but it just might have happened. Again not wanting to take a chance on a bus, we unintelligently decided to hike the 6km back in our sandals under the stars. It gave us some good quality time, but at the price of some unpleasant irritation in unmentionable places.

Playa Conchal

The next morning we woke up bright and early at 5:30 am to catch a glimpse of the sunrise. Of course, it’s not quite the same from the Pacific Ocean side, but it was still definitely worth the interruption of REM. The beach of choice that morning was none other than Playa Conchal, where the sand is replaced by seashells and frowns are replaced with smiles. Seriously though, there were seashells instead of sand – millions of them! This unique trait, along with the crystal clear water and lack of excessive tourism,  leaves me no choice but to regard Conchal as the coolest beach I have ever visited. Our empty stomachs pried us away from the clutches of the beach’s coolness, but after a quick breakfast and a bus ticket purchase, we were right back on it until check out at noon. Julian had to leave that Sunday for classes on Monday, but I was smart enough to avoid scheduling classes on Mondays, so I got to stay another day!

This time I was gonna head less than 20 km south where cheaper lodging and access to new beaches awaited me in Tamarindo (or as locals call it due to a recent increase in the presence of caucasian tourists, “Tamagringo”). Not long after my arrival to my hostel, “La Oveja Negra”, I was off to Playa Negra. Unfortunately, there are no buses that travel to PN and a taxi ride is $30 each way, so I was forced into renting a bike for the rest of the day to make the 18 km trip. But this wasn’t just any trip. We’re talking about 16/18 of this road being unpaved; to the extent that this “road” has been deemed the 7th worst road in all of Costa Rica by my traveler’s guide book, “Lonely Planet.” Unfortunately I didn’t read that part until after the fact, so I found out the hard way first. Enduring some unfortunate component problems with the bike seat and handlebars of my beach cruiser, I finally made it to the refreshing surf of PN a solid hour and a half later. Being made aware that another notable beach, Playa Avellanas, was 3 km down the road on the way back to Tamarindo, I left PN after 30 min to take in another postcard-worthy sunset at PA. Knowing a rough trip was ahead of me, I bolted out of there as soon as the sun was no longer in view to take advantage of what little natural light I had left. I knew I had more shoes on my feet than street lights I would encounter on the all-but-deserted dirt road I had to ride back. I was provoked to such desperation that I began half-heartedly waving down the cars passing me by, and not to no avail! The couple who stopped were unfortunately driving a full car headed for their home a mere 2 km down the road I still had about 10 left on, so I reluctantly thanked them for their efforts and decided I was making it back on my own, or not at all. Thankfully it was the former, and I had never been so happy to jump into a community shower back at the hostel.

I made it!

To avoid losing your interest in what has almost turned into a novel, suffice it to say that the following day consisted of 2 non-awesome events: 1) I woke up to find my 2 of my 4 small loaves of bread, 6 of my 12 slices of ham and a half bag of chips (36 of 72? I dont know…) were missing from the taken-too-literally “community” kitchen, and 2) I lost my really cool “Pura Vida” towel on… (enter the 4 reasons why this day was ultimately AWESOME): 1)Playa Grande! waves, beach, surfers, 2) I bargained the price of the bike rental down from 10.000 colones to about $9 (less than half!) due to the problems I had with it and the fact I didn’t sign a sheet saying I would be responsible for any damages, 3) the bus to San Jose arrived on time at 2 pm, 4) I had a humongous dinner that was even more humongously delicious waiting for me in my house upon my return. This will not be the last of my trips to Guanacaste, but it was a heck of a first!

Things have been a whirlwind since Tabasco. I haven’t had a chance to sit down and breathe. There’s always been something to do: soccer games, beach, time with the grandkids, leading class, birthday parties, and on top of it all, trying to squeeze in homework. Out of all the activity during the last two weeks, two anecdotes stand out in my mind.
The first one starts with my friend asking me who the kid with curly hair and white teeth was, as he had asked her to go with him to eat ice cream. I told her who he was and warned her that he was “creepy” in the sense that he did not understand the meaning of friendship and just jumped straight to showing up in random places where you were going to be. Needless to say, she went to eat ice cream. A few days later when we were on the bus, bumping our way back from school, she tells me that her ice cream friend keeps annoying her and it was all I could do not to say “I told you so”. As we are crossing the park a few blocks from our homes, I see a familiar silver beetle parked on the side of the road and see our “friend” standing next to it holding a gorgeous sunflower. An awkward exchange occurred between the two of them before I was able to create a not-so-obvious excuse of how we needed to be home to eat lunch with our host families.
I tell this anecdote because this is exactly what my host father did to woo my host Mom, Rebeca. After telling her this story, she sat down and began to reminisce about her courtship. Licho, she said, would just show up in random places or at random events where she happened to be. He was always quiet she said, but always there. It’s really something only I can appreciate, but knowing the two of them, I could just see Licho standing there quietly while Rebeca laughed, gossiped, and joked with her girlfriends.
Anecdote two: A few days ago my friends invited me to a cantina for lunch. While I am not a huge beer drinker, buying one beer is accompanied by a bunch of botanas (snacks) and I figured an afternoon with friends outweighed the snack food I was about to eat. On our way there we ran into one of their old teachers who quickly told us she would love to accompany us. “A teacher in a cantina with her students?!” I thought. “This would never happen in the U.S.!” But needless to say we are not in the U.S. And honestly, things like this should happen more often. Through events like this, the teacher can relate to her students with a level of friendship that allows her to provide guidance and advice. In the classroom, she is tough, and expects a lot of her students. But outside of class, she just enjoys meeting her students where ever they are in life – many times meaning cantina. I would love to have such a close relationship with my professors in my university, but there is always a very defined student-teacher relationship. The next day, this same maestra drove us to Progreso, a pueblo on the beach, to speak to high school kids about majoring in literature. Afterwards we ate wonderful servings of ceviche before passing the rest of the afternoon playing soccer on the beach. The best part was, she played too. It was one of my favorite days so far in Mexico. I hope that I can share this concept – demand for excellence in the classroom while still being able to maintain a normal friendship with one’s students – with my teachers in the U.S. I truly believe that this form of relationship allows for much more growth and development and really gets the student comfortable, and more importantly, excited to learn.

Watching Mexico school Bolivia with friends

Classes have finally started and so far it seems like it is going to be an exciting semester. Being an international relations and political science major it is nice to be studying something new and different like poetry. All of my professors have been astonished that I decided to take courses not related to my area of specialization. Both Dr. Fadwa and Dr. Younma thought I was a literature major or English major so they were very surprised. Anyways, after explaining my reasons of wanting to end my undergraduate career with something different the general reaction was “we like you because you have guts to try new things!” After hearing this I assumed that students in Egypt generally stay in their area of study all four years of their bachelor’s degree. Apart from poetry classes I have Arabic class which is great because I am eager to learn the language and comprehend everyone when they speak to me. I also have Egyptology which I am really really really excited about because I will learn all of the secrets the ancient history of Egypt holds. Finally, I have Aspects of Islamic Culture which I am going to learn everything dating from the Pre-Islamic era to after the Abbasid (I think this is how it is spelled) era.

Apart from classes I have done other fun stuff like visiting the Giza Zoo. This zoo was crazy in a good sense. I got to see so many different animals but what amazed me the most was that there were zoo keepers at almost every different animal station offering for children and adults to feed the animals. For example you could feed: the elephant peanuts, the pelicans and seals fish, the bears and monkeys fruit, lettuce to the llamas, among many other animals. But wait; of course there are more extraordinary things like when a man approached me and asked if I would like to take a picture with a lion and then proceeded to whip out a brochure with pictures of this little girl sitting on a lion cub. I decided to pass on the opportunity given that even baby lions have sharp teeth and claws.

This past weekend I headed to small city of Marina (El Alamein), located an hour’s drive outside Alexandria with some friends.

Marina is a coastal resort city that caters to the super wealthy and elite in Egypt…most houses cost (far) over a million Egyptian pounds and are typically occupied for a few months.  Access to Marina is prohibited to the public and one must be a resident or a guest of a resident in order to enter the city. According to our host, Marina is composed of some 20 islands all connected by bridges. Apparently the Bin Laden family owns one of the islands in Marina. In order to purchase a house on said island you must submit a resume and have interviews with one of the Bin Laden’s. It’s apparently a very serious process.

Dr. El Komi’s good friend (our host), Dr. Zain owns a chalet close to the ocean and was kind enough to rent it to 9 of us for a small price. He was amazingly kind throughout the entire trip.

When I arrived, I was struck by how how deserted it was. There was hardly anyone around besides us…the reason being that this time is considered “off season” and “too cold”. However, by our American standards of weather, we could not be happier with +70 degree weather and ocean breeze.

We spent our days lazing on the beach, swimming in the frigid waters, and visiting the near by mall/hotel, Porto Marina, fully equipped with an in-built Venetian-styled canal (with gondolas, of course) and an especially decadent Chili’s restaurant. The last night we went to the beach and lit a small fire all while gazing at the million stars above. We became ancients guessing constellations and tracing our own pictures across the black horizon.
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The breathtaking beauty of the Mediterranean and Marina is only enhanced by the desolate and barren land surrounding the city. Gated communities are an amazing thing; this phenomenon seems to have no borders and is a common global characteristic among the rich and elite. One must contemplate the desire to physically segregate living-space from “others” (i.e. a high wall and a guarded gate) based on class differences. It is profound how much a sense of physical distance between one and another can create a sense of security and hetero-distinctiveness.

To me, class lines in Egypt are very distinct and recognized openly. In our Arabic classes we have learned over 12 titles for people based upon what class they appear to belong. For example, we are to address a man with glabiyya (long traditional gown) in one way, while a man wearing western clothes or a suit is to be addressed in another way…and yet another way for a person that has completed the Hajj. The distinctions continue based on the person’s occupation, age, gender etc etc.

Note that I am not suggesting that somehow Egypt’s class distinctions are completely unique or that such things to do not exist in the U.S…we have our own distinct way of denoting class and we inherit social attitudes towards people of different social standings.

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The segregated experience in Marina conflicts with another experience I had when Egypt played a soccer match against Algeria (about one month ago). In this instance, sport tied in with nationalism created a sight of unlike anything I had seen before in my life. When Egypt beat Algeria the streets of Cairo were literally on fire. People from all walks of life celebrated the night away in absolute bliss. I ran through the streets in my tweed suit (this celebration was right after I attended the Egyptian Opera) with my doorman (and now friend) Taamir.

The crowd of celebrators grew thusly: first a group of people would start waving flags and chanting certain slogans, then more strangers would come (with percussion instruments like tablas) and continue the chant. Typically after about 20 to 30 people have gathered several people would take aerosol cans and lighters to make home-made flame throwers. At this point traffic would cease as the celebration spilled onto the main streets. In the mean time groups of other celebrators would come and join thus growing the crowd at an exponential rate. Then all of us (several hundred by this point) would run on of the bridges over the Nile in order to join the nucleus of Cairo’s celebration. Literally thousands of people had descended upon one city square, all of them in absolute bliss.

As I observed random people hugging each other (some wearing thobes and others with western clothes etc.), it seemed as though nationalism outweighed many of the class differences that night. However, this nationalism was spurred on by competition against “the other” (in this case Algeria). The tenuous rivalry between Algeria and Egypt goes far beyond sport. The attitudes of Egyptians towards Algerians as a people is highlighted with negative comments referring to their “overly-French” pride and brutish tendencies towards violence. Furthermore, Egyptian  nationalism is directly tied in with Islam! There is no real conflict between “church and state” as there is in the U.S.; Islam and the state can coexist quite nicely (but this subject can be reserved for another day).

I will upload some photos later.

I’d like to share something I’ve learned about communication. Ever since I got the idea in my head to travel to a Spanish-speaking country, my goal has been to become “fluent” and master the language. Although I suppose that goal is not quite as concrete as I had expected or hoped. Communication simply consists of people simply trying to get across ideas or messages to other people, and most of the time that doesn’t even involve words! So I suppose mastering a language and all the inner-workings of the grammar stuff isn’t quite as important as being able to simply communicate the intended idea. I’m sure it’s just a lot more fun to feel comparable comfort in two languages instead of just one. It just fascinates me how people all over the world can use the same sounds and move their mouths in the same way (or at least similar ways) - just in a different order – and come up with a completely unique language that connects the humans within a specific region. Incredible!

For a short update on what has happened to me this week, I’ll hit a few high points. The basketball coach of Universidad Nacional invited me to play with the university team (maybe because he’s good at recognizing incredible natural talent, or maybe it’s just because I’m taller than 95% of the population here… who knows?). Much to my dismay, walking into the gym for practice on Thursday night found me feeling like I stepped into a time machine that took me back to high school freshman basketball tryouts. I feel confident that my middle school team would have given the best players there a good game, but I’m gonna stick with it and see what happens. I also got to meet with Daniel Hercules, the boyfriend of a friend of mine at UE, to have him show me around his university and San Jose on Monday. I “got to” sit through his physical chemistry class, which made me appreciate my chemistry-less curriculum. Before I go, I’d like to share a few of the few things I currently miss about the United States: cold milk that comes in gallon cartons instead of luke-warm liter boxes, popularity and sufficient broadcasting of the Winter Olympics, and the promise of toilet paper in every public bathroom. (That last one could really leave you sitting in a… sti(c/n)ky situation!).

A pic I snagged with the Universidad de CR futbol team... super nice guys!

The front of my university

In a whirlwind decision, I stuffed clothes in my bag and headed to Tabasco. It all started late one night when my friend Maggie (from New Hampshire) and Hyramzu (a tabasqueño studying here in Mérida) were sitting in a park eating our favorite galleta ice cream. This past weekend was Carnaval, aka no school until Tuesday. While Mérida is very well known for its weeklong celebration, I was antsy to leave the city and see something different. Out of the blue I asked Maggie if she wanted to fly with me to Monterrey  for the weekend. I had already researched this possibility, and knew a round trip plane ticket would only cost 700 pesos (In other words, it would be like traveling from San Francisco to Chicago for $70 roundtrip.). However, Hyramsu quickly invited both of us to his home in Colmalcalco, Tabasco. Since touring with someone who knows the region is always more fun and informative, the decision was easy. Tabasco here we come!

We arrived early Saturday morning after a nine-hour bus ride sprawled out in an almost empty second-class bus (While most people would rather travel in first class, my codo ways would rather save money. The only downside I see is that the bus has no bathroom, but that is canceled out because that means the back row actually has seats perfect for laying down and getting a decent night’s sleep.). From then on, the weekend was a blur moving from one activity to the next. As Comalcalco is known for its chocolate, we went on a chocolate tour, ate an alligator-fish called pejelargato, visited the zoo in Villa Hermosa, saw the Olmecan ruins, and had a fabulous Valentine’s day dinner complete with an entertaining show of Karaoke.

We also spent a lot of time with Hyramzu’s family who was very excited to get to know us. Hyramzu’s father works for Pemex, the petroleum monopoly run by the government in México, and his mother sells anything and everything. Both are kind and inviting. His mom is your stereotypical Mexican mother- always offering too much food and making sure our every need has been attended to. Hyramzu has three other siblings, two of whom still live at home. The whole brigade was very accommodating and excited to talk with us about everything from food to whistling to religion. Being a caballero, Hyramzu (and his family) did not let us pay one penny throughout our whole time in México (This is something I still struggle with. In the U.S., going out to eat with friends almost always implies that everyone pays for their own part. In México, going out to eat almost always implies the gentleman pays, even if it is not an actual date.). The day we left, the family eagerly asked us when we would be coming back. From the moment we arrived, Maggie and I instantly felt integrated into their home and family and cannot thank them enough for their hospitality and kindness.

Despite all the fun activities, the trip definitely reinforced my discovery of how quickly cultures change. While Mérida is one of the most tranquil cities on the planet, Comalcalco is bustling and Villa Hermosa is a congested mess. People in Tabasco drive offensively, or in other words, if a car is coming and I want to make a right turn into their lane, I’m going to step on it and go and assume they are going to stop. Traffic laws, while already are more chaotic in México than in the U.S. appeared to be nonexistent. Another huge difference is the way the people speak to each other. Unlike yucatecans, in Tabasco people tend to drop the s’s in their words and put a lot of emotion into each phrase, giving them a Donald-Duck Italian mobster like accent. Everything is much more passionate and much less formal.

All in all it was a wonderful eye opening experience. The poverty is much more apparent in Tabasco than in Mérida and much harder to avoid. For example while children do sell gum in the streets in Mérida it is not a common sight. In Tabasco, every street corner seems to have a child working to try to make ends meet. However, I do not regret even a little bit missing out on Carnaval in Mérida. Yes, five days of fiesta would have been fun, but the experience I had in Tabasco was unforgettable and irreplaceable.

Riding on the subway, walking down the street, or just sitting at a local café, you get to see many distinctive qualities about a country. So far I have noticed that: 1) sidewalks are for parking instead of walking, 2) divisions in the road are for decoration and not to help direct traffic flow, 3) even if you live 10 minutes away from your destination and are planning to take a taxi you probably should give yourself about half an hour to 45 minutes to ensure you will be on time, 4) the metro is more efficient and dependable than in Boston, 5) it amazing how much you can eat for 5 dollars, 6) people drink tea at all hours, 7) you can actually drink faucet water without getting sick (of course after your “community immunity” kicks in) the chocolate here is AMAZING!!! 9) Mango juice as well, 10) everyone is extremely friendly and helpful when you try to practice Arabic with them, 11) I feel safer walking in Egypt than walking in Boston or New York, 12) there is a ton of people in the city and you do not know what rush hour is until you ride the metro from Sadat station to Dokki, 13) the Nile river is BEAUTIFUL, 14) some women I have spotted who do not wear a hijab have hair styles taken from the 80s, 15) when ordering Turkish coffee make sure you are ordering medium sugar and not “happy coffee” (the difference in the two words is the order of the letters “masboot” (med. Sugar) and “mabsoot” (happy).

All of these aspects and more are what make each and every country unique. That is why I love to keep a small journal with me so that I can jot down every little aspect that I find interesting.

Laura wins!

Another change we have been lucky enough to be a part of this semester reigns in the political arena with the election process that ultimately led to the first female president in Costa Rican history: Laura Chinchilla. We had a fun Super Bowl / Presidential Election party at our house on Sunday to celebrate both historic occasions. Julian and I, the only Estadounidenses (“Americans” is not politically correct I’ve been told) in the house, were the only ones really watching the Super Bowl I think, but we had two TVs in the room to broadcast both events so everyone was happy. The whole time leading up to the election involved an incredible amount of flag-adorning, car honking, and conversation sparking. What is neat is how incredibly passionate Ticos are about politics without transmitting an ounce of that passion into violence. They really seem to be a peaceful people as a whole from what I can gather.

Sucking on some coco juice during orienation

Classes began this week, which is another change to chalk up on the growing list. There are marked similarities and differences between the education system here and at home, but to say that it is more USA-esque than not might be stretching it. Details may be too many to discuss in a blog that is meant only to summarize my experience while attempting to keep your interest. I have yet to make an incredible amount of new Tico friends after my first couple days in school here at UNA, but there is time yet. I have noticed that male adolescents here tend to consistently have two things in common: raging hormones and copious amounts of hair gel. Though this inevitably attracts the females, whose wardrobes can be as sassy as their hair is brown, because lip-locked couples obviously licensed in PDA dot the campus like sprinkles on a sundae. And my middle school frowned upon holding hands…

Overall my school situation is nothing to complain about because I have both Fridays and Mondays free, which allows for a personally unprecedented 4-day weekend for the entire semester, and most of my classes involve frequent field trips (some even overnight near the beach!) for very cheap. I think I can cruise with the 15-credit hour load I’ve got, so I can focus more on Costa Rica and her people while I’m here rather than books and papers. There will be time for that later.