That kiss thing

1/25/14

“Hola, mucho gusto,” Hermimina sighed, averting eye contact while moving her push cart full of vegetables.  She leaned into me and tilted her head.  “Hola, me llamo Robert,” I stammered.  She didn’t move.  Aha! Here’s where I do the kiss the cheek thing! I thought.  I leaned in, and being a good foot taller than her, managed to plant my lips above her hear on her hair and made a slight kissy noise.  The gesture brought her back into motion, and with a quick “Permiso…” she wheeled the cart over the front step into the doorway.  My new Mom…I wonder if I nailed the kiss thing right, or maybe I wasn’t supposed to do that?  Rafael, her husband of 48 years, smiled, and followed her inside.  This quiet couple and their tiny home will be my new family.  I grinned and shut the three gates behind me.

           

            Today marks the first day of my four-month long trip to Costa Rica.  I’ll go over the logistics, which seemed interesting given my previous travel experience.  After a short flight from SFOàLAX, and a sleepless (literally no sleep) red-eye to San Jose, Lauren Phipps, Cora Regas, Samantha Abelove, and I made our way to Migracion in the airport.  We were told to lie and say that we were tourists heading to Nicaragua in two weeks to avoid the student visa bureaucracy; a move not altogether well though out, but if it worked would seem perfect in retrospect.  No problems, thank goodness.  Lauren and I exchanged some money (no doubt at a bad rate) while waiting for bags, and shortly thereafter were picked up by a sweet elderly man named Fernando.  Fernando dove us to our host family houses one by one, I secretly wishing I were last so I could see where everyone else lived.  The drive brought back memories of the dozens of bus rides in Quito; graffiti on the roadside walls, a near equal numbers of motorcycles and compact cars, and unofficial competitions of who’s merengue beat was louder and THUMP-y-er.  Sam was dropped off first on the corner of El Calle Principal – I don’t know her too well, but I believe she looked a little shell shocked as Fernando stopped the car; we all did.  All of the houses were covered head to toe with thick iron bars; where wasn’t an open window, door, or even wall on any neighboring house either.  Luckily, her host mother immediately disarmed the tension with a big hello, letting her little white dog (with a pink bow tie) out to greet Sam followed by a bear hug. We drove for another two minutes past an ornate church, and Lauren was next, her family greeting her with equal warmth.  I was getting excited.  We drove for a few more minutes down two blocks and the car stopped, and Fernando signaled that this was Cora’s house.  As she disembarked and embraced her family, my high began to sink, and I realized I was next, waiting to meet a family who I hoped loved and accepted me, and that provided me with a safe, centrally located place to live; if the criteria didn’t fit, I had no choice but to accept it. 

Fernando, who had remained silent except for the name calling thus far, flipped a switch with the ladies out of the car and chatted me up, complimenting me on my Spanish, giving me recommendations for which volcanoes to visit, and telling me that I’d be happy with my family.  We took a meandering route, seeming to pass down a series of narrow one-way streets and heading out of town.  When we finally arrived, I eagerly jumped out of the car, all three bags in hand, and waited to see who would open the door.  Rafael, a gray haired, well-built 70-year-old man came out of the double-gated enclosure.  He said nothing, only smiled shyly, and welcomed me into his house.  I was shown my room next to the kitchen, an 8’x10’ tiled bedroom with barred windows, a desk, and a small, neatly made bed.  I tried to talk him up, and half-expected the rest of the family to burst out and greet me enthusiastically.  No, Rafael simply looked at me calmly as he’d done several dozen times before, and told me to put my clothes away.  Five minutes later, Hermimia arrived from the marked, and I greeted her hoping to arouse some sort of excitement that I saw on the faces of the previous three families when my friends arrived.  Not unfriendly, just used to the routine, I surmised.  After putting away my things, I collapsed for a few hours, reclaiming two hours of sleep that the airplane had stolen, then talked to the couple for a while before lunch.  Rafael and Hermimia are peaceful, good-natured host parents.  They lack the excitement that I possess, understanding that the change in their family is one that appears like clockwork, not as something that they’ll tell dozens of friends back at Pizer.

In the afternoon, Rafael accompanied me to find a sim card for my phone, and we tried to retrace the route to the other students’ houses.  I tout that I have a decent sense of direction, and managed to find the two houses that were close to mine where Lauren and Cora lived, just a 15-minute walk away.  I’m told that I’ll be walking to school, and finding their houses means that if I get up a good 20 minutes earlier, I can walk with company.  On our return journey, we paused for a few minutes to watch a funeral at the church.  I’ve been asked what religion I was, and told them I don’t have one, but would be willing to accompany them on their trip to the Sunday mass tomorrow.  Rafael didn’t ask me to stop, he just halted and stared, making a cross motion with his worn fingers.  We returned to the house, and I took another nap and had dinner in front of the Futbol game on TV.

Traveling in Costa Rica is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.  I’ve been telling myself that, if I can handle heading to Ghana by myself, moving as I please, adjusting to Costa Rica would be a breeze.  Yet, there are several unanticipated adjustments that I’ve had to make very quickly.  Understandably, the language transition was abrupt and fast paced – aside from a quick visit to Lauren’s house, I haven’t spoken English since 8 in the morning.  My family understands that I can comprehend what they’re saying, and just have trouble remembering specific words here and there, so they abandoned the prospect of speaking slowly and using hand motions after the initial welcome.  After just a few hours here, I feel like I’ve spent an eternity here, and that aside from giving me directions, my family treats me like the student they’ve had here for decades with a new outfit on. 

I’ve had moments of panic, of forgetting words, and of course missing folks back home, but am still unable to properly digest how I should be reacting to the world that surrounds me.  So far, I haven’t; I’ve been polite, easygoing, and if anything just a little curious.  I think I’ll try to adopt Hermimia’s demeanor, and just play my stay in this house as nothing out of the ordinary.  I’m part of this family now, will soon be busy to the gills with work, and will just continue to live life with a peaceful, charming demeanor.

*** Edit, pictures to come, the internet is really spotty here so I just wanted to post this before it cut out again!***