I never leave myself enough time. I scrambled around for a half hour before Daniel and his Dad came to take me to the airport. I forgot some things. I don´t have a towell. But we got there, and then here, with little to do. The main thing is that I feel like it may take me a couple days to relax. I am being horribly anxious and grumpy, and I don´t really know why. Maybe it´s because I got mad at Daniel in the airport and knew that I was in the wrong. I don´t know. I can´t shake it. I hate knowing that I am being irrational but not feeling like I can do anything about it.
Flying in was incredible. There are volcanos seemingly everywhere. It´s not unlike Costa Rica, albeit the poorest parts. I love that not a soul speaks english. Without my cell phone, or being able to speak well, i plan on just being quiet, and watching. I secretly think everyone looks like me. I know it´s not true, but i like to pretend.
When we showed up in El Salvador, Nicky was in a group of people, sweetly standing on tip-toes and waving his hand. We paid a cab (against my better judgment, but we would have had to take a bus out of our way to get to the city to then get on another bus to the beach) to take us to some town that´s not La Libertad, but is close. We are not at playa San Diego, but i think we´re close. I actually have no idea where we are, but our little hotel (slash) hostel has free internet, hammocks, and 3 beds in a room for about 20 bucks a night.
It may be important to mention that I am reading ´Franny and Zooey´again. As I have just started, I am being terribly introspective the way that Franny is. I am judging Nicky and Daniel at every turn, and secretly dream of running away. It´s not really ok. I try to direct my over-analyticalness towards beams of sunlight that I could lay down in, and away from my poor unsuspecting friends.
We went to the beach early, maybe 9 am. We had lunch, a nap, and a long walk along the beach. The sand is dark, yet not quite black, from the volcanos. The water is so warm, you almost don´t notice when it hits your feet- it´s so similar to the weather outside. It´s like my body knows I´m on vacation, within an hour my hair became a mane. We´re all sweetly ill-prepared for the beach- a little off-color and out of shape. I love it though. Between by boughts of grumpiness, I love watching Daniel and Nicky walk along the beach and playing in the waves.
What I meant to say is that I made it. I am here, and remembering how to be happy.
Buenas Noches.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Blueberry Wine
You held my little toes in your hands.
(The smallest one is round like a berry.)
I can picture the stems you call fingers
Methodically pressing into my flesh
As we pretend to be distracted by conversation.
I was rooted to that place on the couch,
Far enough away so I could watch your whole body move,
Close enough to grow our longing.
But I watched you a second too long,
And our brief silences quickly soured.
You were not careful with me.
You were not careful with any piece of me.
You let my toes slide out of your fingers
When the first distracting sound made you
Look away.
You offer no comforting words
As I now bend down to pick up the pieces myself.
I count my digits, one by one, honestly believing
You've kept something of me.
Looking up to find you've gone,
I realize I'm right.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
anything but speechless
I trace the sign for infinity on your back
every morning we're together.
You're asleep, in the place under the window,
fresh sunlight making your skin look so new. (young)
I wish we could start over- you and me.
I'd play my cards so differently.
I would say more, I would be less afraid,
I would be in a position where I didn't have to let
my fingertips do the talking.
Silently, branding you. Tangling
the memory the night before in my heartstrings.
Your voice still lingers in my ear, your breath on my skin,
the weight of your body on my chest,
your hands when they find mine-
grasping for you.
We've been here many times before
(maybe a hundred).
You sleep soundly
and I wonder why
we can't exist in the daytime.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Playa Ocotal
Everyone began to leave San Jose, and Kami and Stacey picked me up yesterday in my sad little hotel. It took them 2 hours to find me on account of the fact that there are no addresses or street names in San Jose. I was so happy to see them and they were so.... yeah. It took them 2 hours to find me.
After a stressful day of driving in the rain, dark, and watching a motorcyclist get hit my a semi, we finally arrived at our resort in Playa Ocotal (Kami and Stace decided I had suffered long enough).
It was dark when we got here, so I was speechless this morning to awake to the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
Sorry, but we have to go drink more champagne and fall asleep on the beach. More later.
Love and kisses.
After a stressful day of driving in the rain, dark, and watching a motorcyclist get hit my a semi, we finally arrived at our resort in Playa Ocotal (Kami and Stace decided I had suffered long enough).
It was dark when we got here, so I was speechless this morning to awake to the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
Sorry, but we have to go drink more champagne and fall asleep on the beach. More later.
Love and kisses.
Monday, July 7, 2008
micah's version
I don't have time to tell my version of the story, so here's Captain Caskey's in the meantime (which is much different than mine, but the interrogation part and me not getting my bag back parts are accurate)....
*So I've been here in Costa Rica for a little over a month at this point. This last weekend was--by far--my most comprehensive experience with the Costa Rican criminal justice system (and hopefully my last).
A few of us had planned to go to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve for the weekend. Our bus left San Jose at 6:30 am. As fate should have it, only Caitlin and I made it to the bus station. We boarded the bus and were set to go when the bus driver came by and told me to put my backpack underneath the bus. I wasn't really too keen on this idea, but what the hell. . . Caitlin asked me if she should move hers; I told her that I was only moving mine because it was so big. [mistake #1].
The bus gets going on time and the bus is fairly empty. She and I sit in separate rows so that we'd have more space on this 6 hour ride. [mistake #2]. As we approached the outskirts of San Jose after about 35-45 minutes, more and more people had gotten on the bus. An older gentleman (whom I'll call "Senor Pedro") sat down beside me as I was trying to fall asleep. I was listening to music, doing the best I could to sleep. Caitlin was still sitting alone. After about 10 more minutes, a pair of sketchy dudes got on the bus--one of whom sat beside Caitlin.
At about the 1 hour mark, a ruckus woke me from my all-too-blissful sleep. A lot of yelling in Spanish was going on amongst the people around me. All I could gather at the moment was that someone had just gotten off the bus. My Spanish is limited to asking for food/drinks, directions, and talking about soccer--I certainly couldn't keep up with passionate Latinos yelling... After a few minutes we came to realize that the sketchy dudes had jumped off the bus with Caitlin's bag and the wallet of an Australian guy (whom I'll call "Crocodile Hunter"). I got off the bus looking for someone to punch in the face, but, as you might have imagined, no one was around. Nor was the bag thrown any where discernible. Damnit. Luckily the bag only had school books, makeup, and clothes.
The bus got going again, sans bag. About 10 minutes later the bus pulled over again, and a nice lady acting as an interpreter told us that the cops had caught 2 guys and that they would come pick us up so that we could give statements against us (I'll call her "Fiery Latina"). Fiery Latina told us that we should go to help end this rampant crime against tourists. Apparently this sort of thing happens frequently on the tourist-heavy buses. So, me, Caitlin, Senor Pedro, the Crocodile Hunter, his Finnish girlfriend, Fiery Latina all pile into this police truck (Sr. Pedro and I riding in the back of the truck) and head to the police station in their little town.
When we get into this little station (and by little, I mean that they used old newspaper in lieu of regular toilet paper), we head into an office to give statements. I, having slept through everything, had exactly nothing to offer. So, like a good American, I just started taking pictures. I walked out of the office and started wandering while taking pictures. A couple cops just walked up and shaked my hand without saying anything. Weird, I thought. A few others asked me why I hadn't beaten these two smaller punks. Cops asking me why I didn't beat the hell out of their suspects. Weird, I thought. These police officers were openly in favor of me beating these fools.
After some more information gathering by Inspector Gadget & Company, Caitlin asked me why I didn't get her bag bag. Great, I thought. Now she's going to hold me responsible. What was I to do? I might as well try to interrogate Ace & Gary. What the hell, I thought, if they wanted me to beat these two, they'd certainly let me ask some questions, right?
So I asked. And they said yes. Seriously.
I went into this small room about 25 square feet. There was a waist-high wall that separated me and the suspects. Now--let me digress for a moment--my Spanish is mediocre at best. My German is even worse. My Arabic is even worse than that. Why do I say that? Because the first thing that came into my head once they told me I could interrogate these guys is the obvious: I don't speak Spanish very well. Being the ever-cosmopolitan traveler, I felt compelled to represent myself as being able to speak more than one language, irrespective of the truth.
I started off by asking they guys if they spoke German, in German. I then asked them if they spoke Arabic, in Arabic. (Well, I think that's what I said... it was more of mumbled Arabic-like sounds). Then I asked the same for English. Finally, I got to Spanish. They said, yes, they understood. Damnit.
The next several minutes were a series of grammatically incorrect iterations by me, doing my best to scare these punks into giving up some information. At one point I told them that I had lived in Iraq for 2 years (not accurate), that I had killed lots of people (not accurate), that I would wait for them in the street after they are released (not accurate), that if I killed them it would be nothing to me (not accurate), and that I was an evil man (maybe accurate). I swear to you this is all accurately what I said (errors in translation excepted).
They tried to play dumb, and I told them to shut up ("callate"). Finally, I pulled out my camera and took pictures because, as I told them, I wanted to make sure I got them later.
Needless to say, this was the best thing the Costa Rican cops have ever seen. They were patting me on the back and shaking my hand. The station captain came out pumping his fist in excitement, according to Caitlin, Crocodile Hunter and Fat Finn.
I still am not sure exactly how far this could have gone if I had pressed. I loaded a bunch of pictures, check 'em out.
By the way, and for the record, I couldn't help but think of the irony that I am here studying human rights law and yet I was almost presented with an opportunity to violate those very standards. I'm glad it didn't go too far, but damn, what a memory. ..*
*So I've been here in Costa Rica for a little over a month at this point. This last weekend was--by far--my most comprehensive experience with the Costa Rican criminal justice system (and hopefully my last).
A few of us had planned to go to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve for the weekend. Our bus left San Jose at 6:30 am. As fate should have it, only Caitlin and I made it to the bus station. We boarded the bus and were set to go when the bus driver came by and told me to put my backpack underneath the bus. I wasn't really too keen on this idea, but what the hell. . . Caitlin asked me if she should move hers; I told her that I was only moving mine because it was so big. [mistake #1].
The bus gets going on time and the bus is fairly empty. She and I sit in separate rows so that we'd have more space on this 6 hour ride. [mistake #2]. As we approached the outskirts of San Jose after about 35-45 minutes, more and more people had gotten on the bus. An older gentleman (whom I'll call "Senor Pedro") sat down beside me as I was trying to fall asleep. I was listening to music, doing the best I could to sleep. Caitlin was still sitting alone. After about 10 more minutes, a pair of sketchy dudes got on the bus--one of whom sat beside Caitlin.
At about the 1 hour mark, a ruckus woke me from my all-too-blissful sleep. A lot of yelling in Spanish was going on amongst the people around me. All I could gather at the moment was that someone had just gotten off the bus. My Spanish is limited to asking for food/drinks, directions, and talking about soccer--I certainly couldn't keep up with passionate Latinos yelling... After a few minutes we came to realize that the sketchy dudes had jumped off the bus with Caitlin's bag and the wallet of an Australian guy (whom I'll call "Crocodile Hunter"). I got off the bus looking for someone to punch in the face, but, as you might have imagined, no one was around. Nor was the bag thrown any where discernible. Damnit. Luckily the bag only had school books, makeup, and clothes.
The bus got going again, sans bag. About 10 minutes later the bus pulled over again, and a nice lady acting as an interpreter told us that the cops had caught 2 guys and that they would come pick us up so that we could give statements against us (I'll call her "Fiery Latina"). Fiery Latina told us that we should go to help end this rampant crime against tourists. Apparently this sort of thing happens frequently on the tourist-heavy buses. So, me, Caitlin, Senor Pedro, the Crocodile Hunter, his Finnish girlfriend, Fiery Latina all pile into this police truck (Sr. Pedro and I riding in the back of the truck) and head to the police station in their little town.
When we get into this little station (and by little, I mean that they used old newspaper in lieu of regular toilet paper), we head into an office to give statements. I, having slept through everything, had exactly nothing to offer. So, like a good American, I just started taking pictures. I walked out of the office and started wandering while taking pictures. A couple cops just walked up and shaked my hand without saying anything. Weird, I thought. A few others asked me why I hadn't beaten these two smaller punks. Cops asking me why I didn't beat the hell out of their suspects. Weird, I thought. These police officers were openly in favor of me beating these fools.
After some more information gathering by Inspector Gadget & Company, Caitlin asked me why I didn't get her bag bag. Great, I thought. Now she's going to hold me responsible. What was I to do? I might as well try to interrogate Ace & Gary. What the hell, I thought, if they wanted me to beat these two, they'd certainly let me ask some questions, right?
So I asked. And they said yes. Seriously.
I went into this small room about 25 square feet. There was a waist-high wall that separated me and the suspects. Now--let me digress for a moment--my Spanish is mediocre at best. My German is even worse. My Arabic is even worse than that. Why do I say that? Because the first thing that came into my head once they told me I could interrogate these guys is the obvious: I don't speak Spanish very well. Being the ever-cosmopolitan traveler, I felt compelled to represent myself as being able to speak more than one language, irrespective of the truth.
I started off by asking they guys if they spoke German, in German. I then asked them if they spoke Arabic, in Arabic. (Well, I think that's what I said... it was more of mumbled Arabic-like sounds). Then I asked the same for English. Finally, I got to Spanish. They said, yes, they understood. Damnit.
The next several minutes were a series of grammatically incorrect iterations by me, doing my best to scare these punks into giving up some information. At one point I told them that I had lived in Iraq for 2 years (not accurate), that I had killed lots of people (not accurate), that I would wait for them in the street after they are released (not accurate), that if I killed them it would be nothing to me (not accurate), and that I was an evil man (maybe accurate). I swear to you this is all accurately what I said (errors in translation excepted).
They tried to play dumb, and I told them to shut up ("callate"). Finally, I pulled out my camera and took pictures because, as I told them, I wanted to make sure I got them later.
Needless to say, this was the best thing the Costa Rican cops have ever seen. They were patting me on the back and shaking my hand. The station captain came out pumping his fist in excitement, according to Caitlin, Crocodile Hunter and Fat Finn.
I still am not sure exactly how far this could have gone if I had pressed. I loaded a bunch of pictures, check 'em out.
By the way, and for the record, I couldn't help but think of the irony that I am here studying human rights law and yet I was almost presented with an opportunity to violate those very standards. I'm glad it didn't go too far, but damn, what a memory. ..*
Thursday, July 3, 2008
"sometimes love dont feel like it should"
I have put photos on Efrains computer, so hopefully I will get some up soon. I have many from other people, but other peoples pictures are never like your own. My pictures reflect the way that Ive seen Costa Rica, which can be so different from everyone elses perspective.
Ive had a wonderful week. Marilys (the friend I made in the airport) took Efra, Robin and I to a popular local club on Monday. It was SO crowded. (Yes, on a Monday). I (first) was brought on stage by myself while looking for Mari to do an 80s kickdance to "My Sherona," (2nd) was pretty damn close to fighting some ridic American guy who felt like he could touch me as much as he wanted because we are in Latin America, (3rd) at one point looked over at equally sweaty Robin during a horrible rendition of "hurts so good," and thought its possible Ive never been happier.
The next day we visited the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) office and had a fascinating presentation. Later we went roller skating AND bowling. Holy white trash USA. (perfect)
The Refugee class is really interesting, but I have about a 100 pages of reading a night. Its impossible to get through, and Im not looking forward to this exam. But I like the SC professor considerably more than the last.
Generalmente I am feeling a little down today. Sometimes I get tired of being the girl with buttons people love to push. I am going to get up early tomorrow and go to Monteverde (the cloudforest) with some of the guys (which certainly will not help with the button-pushing, but I can handle it). Talvez I am getting tired of the city and/or home is close enough in sight that those pressures are starting to sneak in. I am feeling this mix of nostalgia for both home and my time here- even though I havent left.
Interestante, verdad? Well, there isnt long now. Bittersweet reality has begun to tease my senses.
Ive had a wonderful week. Marilys (the friend I made in the airport) took Efra, Robin and I to a popular local club on Monday. It was SO crowded. (Yes, on a Monday). I (first) was brought on stage by myself while looking for Mari to do an 80s kickdance to "My Sherona," (2nd) was pretty damn close to fighting some ridic American guy who felt like he could touch me as much as he wanted because we are in Latin America, (3rd) at one point looked over at equally sweaty Robin during a horrible rendition of "hurts so good," and thought its possible Ive never been happier.
The next day we visited the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) office and had a fascinating presentation. Later we went roller skating AND bowling. Holy white trash USA. (perfect)
The Refugee class is really interesting, but I have about a 100 pages of reading a night. Its impossible to get through, and Im not looking forward to this exam. But I like the SC professor considerably more than the last.
Generalmente I am feeling a little down today. Sometimes I get tired of being the girl with buttons people love to push. I am going to get up early tomorrow and go to Monteverde (the cloudforest) with some of the guys (which certainly will not help with the button-pushing, but I can handle it). Talvez I am getting tired of the city and/or home is close enough in sight that those pressures are starting to sneak in. I am feeling this mix of nostalgia for both home and my time here- even though I havent left.
Interestante, verdad? Well, there isnt long now. Bittersweet reality has begun to tease my senses.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
party all the time, party all the time
Enough of the serious stuff, we've had a lot of fun down here.
The proof is in the pictures:
Karaoke= my job in Puerto Viejo. Before this, some pretty scuzzy guys were passing me around when they figured out I could dance. I got sick of it, and started to stay close to Kirby and Efra. After I sang, the same scuzzy guys asked Kirby and Efra PERMISSION to clap for me and "honor" me. Machismo works in mysterious ways.
Dancing on the beach at "Johnny's Place" earlier that night. Micah (aka 'Capatin Caskey', USMC, or aka 'South Carolina' (depending on my mood)) confessed to me later that night that after dancing with me, it was really hard to dance with the other girls who didn't know how. He immediately asked that I dont let it go to my head (it did).
There's nothing like sleeping it off the next day in a hammock outside of your little home in the Caribbean...
The following week, my mysterious fever went away just in time for me to celebrate the last day with the whole group. We hit the town *pretty* hard. We went to a group of bars in "el pueblo." It was nice to have a large part of the group together (minus Efra, who took his test late after he got my fever).
The girls, sober and pretty, in the beginning of the night (+ Kent, who can not take a picture without looking like a creep).
Apparently, we had a good time. Lisa is on the left and Vicky on the right. Lisa lives in the city and I'm sure I will see her more. Vicky is from Jersey, and one of my favorites now that Ash is gone and Robin spends every weekend with her boyfriend.
Let me introduce you to Guaro, the Tico's version of imitation vodka? (But it tastes more like rum.) Somehow, they thought we were VIPs at this bar, and let us up to this VIP balcony level. The bartender handed us two bottles of Guaro when we walked in, so Lisa and I took advantage. After these swigs, he handed us glasses and mixers (whoops). I still don't really know what happened, but the point is, we had a lot of fun for a little money.
Yesterday we went to the History Museum and a craft market. It's a good thing I'm so poor, because I basically want to buy all the jewelery that I see. The museum was cool, but the coolest part was when it started to absolutely storm and we all sat in the center of this old castle and watched the water poor down on the roof tops of the entire town below us. You could see the whole city and the stretches of mountains behind it.
I stood with four friends and looked out through the rain to buildings that probably contained a million people, but I felt peacefully alone.
Pictures to come.
The proof is in the pictures:
Karaoke= my job in Puerto Viejo. Before this, some pretty scuzzy guys were passing me around when they figured out I could dance. I got sick of it, and started to stay close to Kirby and Efra. After I sang, the same scuzzy guys asked Kirby and Efra PERMISSION to clap for me and "honor" me. Machismo works in mysterious ways.
Dancing on the beach at "Johnny's Place" earlier that night. Micah (aka 'Capatin Caskey', USMC, or aka 'South Carolina' (depending on my mood)) confessed to me later that night that after dancing with me, it was really hard to dance with the other girls who didn't know how. He immediately asked that I dont let it go to my head (it did).
There's nothing like sleeping it off the next day in a hammock outside of your little home in the Caribbean...The following week, my mysterious fever went away just in time for me to celebrate the last day with the whole group. We hit the town *pretty* hard. We went to a group of bars in "el pueblo." It was nice to have a large part of the group together (minus Efra, who took his test late after he got my fever).
The girls, sober and pretty, in the beginning of the night (+ Kent, who can not take a picture without looking like a creep).
Apparently, we had a good time. Lisa is on the left and Vicky on the right. Lisa lives in the city and I'm sure I will see her more. Vicky is from Jersey, and one of my favorites now that Ash is gone and Robin spends every weekend with her boyfriend.
Let me introduce you to Guaro, the Tico's version of imitation vodka? (But it tastes more like rum.) Somehow, they thought we were VIPs at this bar, and let us up to this VIP balcony level. The bartender handed us two bottles of Guaro when we walked in, so Lisa and I took advantage. After these swigs, he handed us glasses and mixers (whoops). I still don't really know what happened, but the point is, we had a lot of fun for a little money.
Yesterday we went to the History Museum and a craft market. It's a good thing I'm so poor, because I basically want to buy all the jewelery that I see. The museum was cool, but the coolest part was when it started to absolutely storm and we all sat in the center of this old castle and watched the water poor down on the roof tops of the entire town below us. You could see the whole city and the stretches of mountains behind it.
I stood with four friends and looked out through the rain to buildings that probably contained a million people, but I felt peacefully alone.
Pictures to come.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
wasting time on cheap talk and wine
I'm supposed to be writing my final right now, so obviously I will write instead.
Today was my last day of Human Rights. Next week those of us staying on will do Refugee Law. I will miss the group, the court, and Judge Antonio Cancado Trindade.
The judge and Efrain, who next week starts an internship at the Inter-American Court.
Because I can't get to my computer, I will have to settle for some of Efrain's pics. I realize the link didn't work, so I added it to the tool bar at the right.
The night before Ashley left, we went to a coffee plantation. I think Efrain ended up paying a taxi driver $80 to drive us up this mountain (well, volcano really) because we wanted an adventure. It was POURING rain like I maybe have never seen. The taxi was old and I was sure we wouldn't make it. Efrain was constantly wiping down the front window for the driver to see as the driver gripped the wheel and did his best to navigate and Ashley and I were deep in conversation (as per usual). Along the way, people shouted directions to us through our window. At one point, lighting touched down literally feet from the car. When we got there, the rain stopped just in time for us to get some beautiful pictures (mine are really good :) )
The rows of coffee plants and banana trees reminded me of the vineyards in Napa and made me homesick.
After the coffee plantation we met up with Robin and her boyfriend Gusto and went to a jazz club. Turns out jazz is pretty much the same wherever you go. Lord, I'm craving live music.
The weekend after Ashley left Efrain and I went to the Caribbean and met up with 10 others from our group. We went to Puerto Viejo. The beach right outside the town has black sand. There seems at first glance to be a lot of tourists, but I think most foreigners have actually moved there. Hotels and restaurants are run by many Germans and Austrians. The food was so good and fresh.
When we arrived, we checked into our little bungaloo and rented bikes. We rode a couple miles down a mud road full of pot holes (I never fell, but was covered in mud none the less) and found some white sand beaches, but the rip tide was so strong you couldnt swim. When the rest of the group came, we got a sweet little house and I made pina coladas for everyone. After some begging, they found me a place to dance- right on the beach. We danced in the waves by candlelight and then somehow ended up in a tiny local bar, where I, yet again, ended up being the entertainment for the night and sang karaoke.
The playa negra (black beach) on the caribbean side:
Me, Lisa, Vicky, and Kirby
Vicky and I.
The sand is carbon black and would shine in the foamy surf. There are animals everywhere, including wild horses. Incredible.
We had a final dinner in an Argentinian steak house with the whole class- on Santa Clara's dime (and our tuition $s). We got stuck outside (Efrain, Robin, Gusto, and me) which was fine by us. Out of sight from the teacher, we ordered up a storm. But, by the main course, I was already wrecked with fever.
I am really going to go work on my final now and try to nurse myself back to health.
Sleep well, wherever you are.
Today was my last day of Human Rights. Next week those of us staying on will do Refugee Law. I will miss the group, the court, and Judge Antonio Cancado Trindade.
The judge and Efrain, who next week starts an internship at the Inter-American Court.Because I can't get to my computer, I will have to settle for some of Efrain's pics. I realize the link didn't work, so I added it to the tool bar at the right.
The night before Ashley left, we went to a coffee plantation. I think Efrain ended up paying a taxi driver $80 to drive us up this mountain (well, volcano really) because we wanted an adventure. It was POURING rain like I maybe have never seen. The taxi was old and I was sure we wouldn't make it. Efrain was constantly wiping down the front window for the driver to see as the driver gripped the wheel and did his best to navigate and Ashley and I were deep in conversation (as per usual). Along the way, people shouted directions to us through our window. At one point, lighting touched down literally feet from the car. When we got there, the rain stopped just in time for us to get some beautiful pictures (mine are really good :) )
The rows of coffee plants and banana trees reminded me of the vineyards in Napa and made me homesick.
After the coffee plantation we met up with Robin and her boyfriend Gusto and went to a jazz club. Turns out jazz is pretty much the same wherever you go. Lord, I'm craving live music.The weekend after Ashley left Efrain and I went to the Caribbean and met up with 10 others from our group. We went to Puerto Viejo. The beach right outside the town has black sand. There seems at first glance to be a lot of tourists, but I think most foreigners have actually moved there. Hotels and restaurants are run by many Germans and Austrians. The food was so good and fresh.
When we arrived, we checked into our little bungaloo and rented bikes. We rode a couple miles down a mud road full of pot holes (I never fell, but was covered in mud none the less) and found some white sand beaches, but the rip tide was so strong you couldnt swim. When the rest of the group came, we got a sweet little house and I made pina coladas for everyone. After some begging, they found me a place to dance- right on the beach. We danced in the waves by candlelight and then somehow ended up in a tiny local bar, where I, yet again, ended up being the entertainment for the night and sang karaoke.
The playa negra (black beach) on the caribbean side:
Me, Lisa, Vicky, and Kirby
Vicky and I.The sand is carbon black and would shine in the foamy surf. There are animals everywhere, including wild horses. Incredible.
We had a final dinner in an Argentinian steak house with the whole class- on Santa Clara's dime (and our tuition $s). We got stuck outside (Efrain, Robin, Gusto, and me) which was fine by us. Out of sight from the teacher, we ordered up a storm. But, by the main course, I was already wrecked with fever.
I am really going to go work on my final now and try to nurse myself back to health.
Sleep well, wherever you are.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
quick update
I finally moved into a safer/closer neighborhood.
My computer is broken, so access is super hard.
Efrain, Ash and I had a coffee farm adventure in the pouring rain, then went to a jazz club before she left.
Last weekend, the Caribbean was beautiful.
My first program is ending, so final tomorrow. But I am sooooo sick! Fever all night and all day....
Efrain posts pics at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/efrainstaino/CostaRica03?authkey=3WnoyaTFKus
(my new house is the same as his)
more soon. promise.
My computer is broken, so access is super hard.
Efrain, Ash and I had a coffee farm adventure in the pouring rain, then went to a jazz club before she left.
Last weekend, the Caribbean was beautiful.
My first program is ending, so final tomorrow. But I am sooooo sick! Fever all night and all day....
Efrain posts pics at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/efrainstaino/CostaRica03?authkey=3WnoyaTFKus
(my new house is the same as his)
more soon. promise.
Monday, June 23, 2008
caribbean dreams
My computer is broken. It's extremely frustrating. I may have to get a new one when I get back.
I will write more about the Caribbean, but we had these perfect little bungaloos with mosquito nets covering the beds. There were journals in each room with entries written in French, Spanish, English, czech, German, and more. Falling asleep in the heat, with the light above my bed lighting the net above me, I wrote:
My face is warm, my eyelids heavy.
Twirling the thin glass stem between my fingers,
I watch the soft light illuminating the
edge of the pools of red.
Liquid gliding easily along the glass,
mocking me,
pretending like one escaping drop won't be permanent.
Staining images and burning dreams,
I'm working harder than I should.
Laughing too loudly, listening too intently,
I recall places that existed only in a moment
and people who spoke only for me to hear.
My hand appears steady,
but my cynicism knows me better.
Exhausted, I wake remembering it's you
I'm pretending to forget.
The shadow of your laugh used to echo for me
constantly.
Speak to me.
I will write more about the Caribbean, but we had these perfect little bungaloos with mosquito nets covering the beds. There were journals in each room with entries written in French, Spanish, English, czech, German, and more. Falling asleep in the heat, with the light above my bed lighting the net above me, I wrote:
My face is warm, my eyelids heavy.
Twirling the thin glass stem between my fingers,
I watch the soft light illuminating the
edge of the pools of red.
Liquid gliding easily along the glass,
mocking me,
pretending like one escaping drop won't be permanent.
Staining images and burning dreams,
I'm working harder than I should.
Laughing too loudly, listening too intently,
I recall places that existed only in a moment
and people who spoke only for me to hear.
My hand appears steady,
but my cynicism knows me better.
Exhausted, I wake remembering it's you
I'm pretending to forget.
The shadow of your laugh used to echo for me
constantly.
Speak to me.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Before Sunrise? Before Wednesday.
I will save you all the meta-philosophical rant that I began the last post, as I have decided to turn it into my first article for the first issue of the Advocate. I think that the concepts of law have deviated too far from the discussion of ethics. Mostly I think that we take for granted that progress will be continuous- it’s not unless we fight for it.
Thursday night my new hermanos took me to a bar, Castros, which was a salsa bar downstairs and a karaoke bar upstairs. Basically, it was made for me. For those of you that know how passionate latin music is, I’m sure you can imagine the intensity that comes from the “Ticos” (what the Costa Ricans call themselves) in a karaoke bar. Of course I sang and made a fool of myself but then went downstairs and danced and felt a lot better. I have to say, it feels damn good to be a gringa in the biggest salsa bar in
Sometime around Wednesday or Thursday, something really amazing happened. That first day when you go around the room and introduce yourself and the impression you’re making on your classmates and teachers hedge on the few words you choose, a young woman named Ashley said she lived in a cabin in a little mountain town in Colorado with her husband a two dogs. She was one of the few that I initially thought I’d like, but had been busy with my new family and hadn’t reached out. She found me at break one day, and we instantly formed a great friendship. At dinner that night, we went to the bathroom and both gushed about how happy we were to have found each other and our other new favorite, Efrain, a married man who was born in Cuba, grew up in
This weekend we went to Manuel Antontio, a beach on the pacific coast. Somehow by the time we got there, Ashley and I had already made each other cry on the bus. I don't think I've ever met a friend that I've so instantly connected with. I can't really type much about it now, because we're already feeling super emotional and the cafe we are at is about to close.
Ashley called her Dad the day we got to the beach and found out he has to have surgery on Thursday. After much discussion and tears, she decided to go home. It breaks my heart that our little group is already disbanding. Much like the movie, "Before Sunrise," the three of us are trying to suck out every moment we can. We swam for hours and hours, hiked all day, and stayed up talking and drinking all night.
With all the changes going on in my life, my short encounter with Ashley and Efrain really made me remember that what's important in life is always something that you carry around inside of you. More moments that make you laugh so hard that you cry and cry so hard that you have to laugh, are still ahead of us. Home is where we are, and with the people that are with us.
Ashley on the beach the night we got there.
Ashley and Victoria
The group from the first night. My two favorites are on the right- Ashley and Efrain.
On our hike, we almost literally walked into a group of about ten monkeys having lunch. This baby was my favorite.
The beach inside the park.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
"people pass thru life nowadays..."
I am grateful for all of your comments, emails and well wishes! Knowing you are in someone´s thoughts is one of those deep pleasures in life. Keep leaving comments, if even just to say you´re reading.
It´s funny. Sometimes you have to get out of your routine and your life to really feel like you´re exercising pieces of yourself.
On the first plane ride- really feeling alone- I rediscovered that music has and always will be one of my closest friends. It seems silly to say, but I know that most of you have felt that moment when you´re in a new place, so far from home, and a familiar melody or song can bring a flood of emotions. I was grateful.
On the second plane ride (and time in the airport, mostly) I rediscovered my love of talking to strangers and making new friends. I went from feeling alone and content on one plane to feeling like the entire world was on my side in the other. It´s what I loved about the restaurant, bartending, and living in a city. In a matter of minutes, I can form the kind of connection with someone that could last for years if I pursued it. The choice is mine- truly empowering.
(My new sister and brother are in the kitchen making me MORE food (I swear I have a belly already) and discussing where they are taking my school friends and me drinking Thursday night. See, I have already learned the Spanish that matters.)
I don´t know when dinner will be ready, or if I have time to get into it, but I have rediscovered a piece of myself already at school as well. My teacher is AMAZING' Judge Antonio Cancado Trindad from Brazil. He is really into the philosophy of law! Most people brush past philosophy just to learn hard and fast law- what needs to be applied today. But in the time of Plato, Socrates, Hobbes, Mill, and Suarez, the two were indistinguishable. Law was born out of philosophy- the idea that humans had rights and wondering where they came from is the basis of the way we govern today.
Much of the philosophy of law came out of Spain, although most Europeans don´t admit it. Victoria and Suarez wondered whether the "indios" of the new world had souls- because if they did, they had rights (they believed this to be true). Do the rights exist only because we right them down, or are they floating around somewhere above us- were they there before and despite the fact that they are written (I can´t find the question mark on this spanish computer).
ugh. dinner. more later.
It´s funny. Sometimes you have to get out of your routine and your life to really feel like you´re exercising pieces of yourself.
On the first plane ride- really feeling alone- I rediscovered that music has and always will be one of my closest friends. It seems silly to say, but I know that most of you have felt that moment when you´re in a new place, so far from home, and a familiar melody or song can bring a flood of emotions. I was grateful.
On the second plane ride (and time in the airport, mostly) I rediscovered my love of talking to strangers and making new friends. I went from feeling alone and content on one plane to feeling like the entire world was on my side in the other. It´s what I loved about the restaurant, bartending, and living in a city. In a matter of minutes, I can form the kind of connection with someone that could last for years if I pursued it. The choice is mine- truly empowering.
(My new sister and brother are in the kitchen making me MORE food (I swear I have a belly already) and discussing where they are taking my school friends and me drinking Thursday night. See, I have already learned the Spanish that matters.)
I don´t know when dinner will be ready, or if I have time to get into it, but I have rediscovered a piece of myself already at school as well. My teacher is AMAZING' Judge Antonio Cancado Trindad from Brazil. He is really into the philosophy of law! Most people brush past philosophy just to learn hard and fast law- what needs to be applied today. But in the time of Plato, Socrates, Hobbes, Mill, and Suarez, the two were indistinguishable. Law was born out of philosophy- the idea that humans had rights and wondering where they came from is the basis of the way we govern today.
Much of the philosophy of law came out of Spain, although most Europeans don´t admit it. Victoria and Suarez wondered whether the "indios" of the new world had souls- because if they did, they had rights (they believed this to be true). Do the rights exist only because we right them down, or are they floating around somewhere above us- were they there before and despite the fact that they are written (I can´t find the question mark on this spanish computer).
ugh. dinner. more later.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
I met my guardian angels, They live in costa rica.
I haven´t been gone 24 hours and I already have enough material for about 5 short stories.
Due to my two hours of sleep in the last 24 and the Imperial cervesa I just finished, you´re lucking out with little snippets.
I arrived in Miami this morning at 5am EST, so 2am for yáll. Miami International is the worst airport I´ve ever seen. Yes, ever. No sleep, gate is changed three times, plane that is supposed to leave at 10am is "lost."
The next 7 loopy, goofy, delirious hours in the airport allowed me to make many friends. By the time I arrived in Costa Rica, I had made contacts with 6 new people, including an old bball player for the Indians who now works for the Mariners who promised to take me out with the boys the next time I´m in Seattle (this is no joke, he had a pic of Sexton´s ass on his digital camera), a woman who owns a Romanian restaurant outside of San Jose, CR, a new girlfriend = Mari, who wants to take me out in San Jose and then eventually Argentina, and some college kids who somehow got their weight in vodka on the airplane for free. Arriving hours and hours late, sitting on the runway for 30 minutes and customs for 45, I walk out to see a sea of drivers with printed signs pressed to the glass, and one man with "Catalina Robinett" scribbled with a sharpie on a yellow sheet of paper.
I walk around the corner and see a woman of about 5 feet, holding another sign with my name, gerber daisies, and wearing a button up pink shirt in the pouring rain. I must have been beaming, because my host Ydaria and her friend Memo both ran up to be yelling "Cati!" and my new Costa Rican mother gave me tres besos.
Right after I arrived, they closed the airport. Pouring.
Somehow, I´ve already been fed three times. Mami (Ydaria) is worried about me eating lunch while I´m at school, so she may pack me something even though I´m getting breakfast and dinner from her. She wants to drive me to and from school all week because she wants me to be comfortable before I use the metrobus. I have my own room in this precious home with an old wood slanted ceiling which echos the sound of each raindrop like it´s making a point for me to pay attention and remember. Most everything has been in Spanish although Memo speaks a little english. and ive already learned so much...
literally cant keep my eyes open. sorry doesnt make sense. just wanted to say that i´m already spoiled as hell, am pretty sure i´m going to get fat, i´m constantly being complimented and even the waiter at the restaurant ran into the rain to bring me an umbrella, so maybe i´m never coming home.
fat and happy, here i come.
school minana. i promise to be more poetic then.
(disclaimer. this computer doesnt really work so I cant use punctuation properly. also' i dont speak spanish and know im going to be spelling and using words incorrectly. get over it)
Due to my two hours of sleep in the last 24 and the Imperial cervesa I just finished, you´re lucking out with little snippets.
I arrived in Miami this morning at 5am EST, so 2am for yáll. Miami International is the worst airport I´ve ever seen. Yes, ever. No sleep, gate is changed three times, plane that is supposed to leave at 10am is "lost."
The next 7 loopy, goofy, delirious hours in the airport allowed me to make many friends. By the time I arrived in Costa Rica, I had made contacts with 6 new people, including an old bball player for the Indians who now works for the Mariners who promised to take me out with the boys the next time I´m in Seattle (this is no joke, he had a pic of Sexton´s ass on his digital camera), a woman who owns a Romanian restaurant outside of San Jose, CR, a new girlfriend = Mari, who wants to take me out in San Jose and then eventually Argentina, and some college kids who somehow got their weight in vodka on the airplane for free. Arriving hours and hours late, sitting on the runway for 30 minutes and customs for 45, I walk out to see a sea of drivers with printed signs pressed to the glass, and one man with "Catalina Robinett" scribbled with a sharpie on a yellow sheet of paper.
I walk around the corner and see a woman of about 5 feet, holding another sign with my name, gerber daisies, and wearing a button up pink shirt in the pouring rain. I must have been beaming, because my host Ydaria and her friend Memo both ran up to be yelling "Cati!" and my new Costa Rican mother gave me tres besos.
Right after I arrived, they closed the airport. Pouring.
Somehow, I´ve already been fed three times. Mami (Ydaria) is worried about me eating lunch while I´m at school, so she may pack me something even though I´m getting breakfast and dinner from her. She wants to drive me to and from school all week because she wants me to be comfortable before I use the metrobus. I have my own room in this precious home with an old wood slanted ceiling which echos the sound of each raindrop like it´s making a point for me to pay attention and remember. Most everything has been in Spanish although Memo speaks a little english. and ive already learned so much...
literally cant keep my eyes open. sorry doesnt make sense. just wanted to say that i´m already spoiled as hell, am pretty sure i´m going to get fat, i´m constantly being complimented and even the waiter at the restaurant ran into the rain to bring me an umbrella, so maybe i´m never coming home.
fat and happy, here i come.
school minana. i promise to be more poetic then.
(disclaimer. this computer doesnt really work so I cant use punctuation properly. also' i dont speak spanish and know im going to be spelling and using words incorrectly. get over it)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
not your average travel blog
I've already lied to you.
Here we are, just getting used to the idea of each other, and I've already gone and lied. I can't promise this isn't going to be like any other travel blog out there because frankly, I wouldn't like them enough to read them to find out what the average blog would be like.
But this one is probably better. Because I'm better. And there will be more than travel. There will be half baked stories, and partly written poems, and some of my favorite photos. And me. You get the best of me.
As Mr. Lund would say, "you can take that to the bank, Jack." "And that means you can count on it."
I have been sitting here for the last few hours, listening to my new spanish language CDs and debating whether or not I should start a blog again. So far, I've gotten this lame-ass entry and...
" ¿Qué es?"
"coliflor"
"Sí, coliflor. Es bueno, ¿no?"
"Más o menos. Necesita sal. "
So, if you're ever stuck in a spanish-speaking country, and desperately need to tell someone your cauliflower needs salt, you know who to call.
Costa Rica, here I come.
Here we are, just getting used to the idea of each other, and I've already gone and lied. I can't promise this isn't going to be like any other travel blog out there because frankly, I wouldn't like them enough to read them to find out what the average blog would be like.
But this one is probably better. Because I'm better. And there will be more than travel. There will be half baked stories, and partly written poems, and some of my favorite photos. And me. You get the best of me.
As Mr. Lund would say, "you can take that to the bank, Jack." "And that means you can count on it."
I have been sitting here for the last few hours, listening to my new spanish language CDs and debating whether or not I should start a blog again. So far, I've gotten this lame-ass entry and...
" ¿Qué es?"
"coliflor"
"Sí, coliflor. Es bueno, ¿no?"
"Más o menos. Necesita sal. "
So, if you're ever stuck in a spanish-speaking country, and desperately need to tell someone your cauliflower needs salt, you know who to call.
Costa Rica, here I come.
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