Update

This moment might be the first in this house (that I have now been living in for two weeks and three hours) when I can't hear the padding of babies feet on tile, women gossiping, someone showering, or the tv crackling in the background.

And it's already over. A friend and cousin is now wandering through the house spreading the smell of his fresh aftershave, singing and arguing with my host mother while she sorts her bills, disputing whether he's related to another cousin's baby daughter, and now another cousin and daughter-in-law (with whom I conducted one of my morning interviews) is playing music on her cell phone and flapping her flip-flops in boredom.

It's funny that I believe (somewhere deep down) that I connect with my host-mother most of all. I've only had a few long conversations her, after all. I doubt she'd believe it to, though I think she recognizes that we both apreciate calmness and the times of day when it is quiet, when the tv isn't yet buzzing and the sweat hasn't started dripping. Before the first baby whines. She and I are coming at it from separate sides of the spectrum - she's lived an incredibly full 40 years, full of so much noise, so many babies yelling, greasy hands grabbing, family coming and going. I think the only noises I remember from my childhood is music, traffic, and the sounds of animals ruffhousing. Neighbors outside, but within the home has always been relative stillness and quiet. I don't know whether I miss the stillness of the homes or winter more, or whether they're actually the same thing.

Over the past two weeks, something has shifted and settled, leveling out my aspirations and leaving me smooth, less easily roused. They've been two slow, hard, incredible, and incredibly lazy, sweltering weeks, and I don't feel like I've come nearly far enough, just that I've been walking up this endless uphill slope in the heat, and there's no where I can keep going except forwards for another week. What I've decided to dip my toes into out of interest for my own project are much deeper than I could ever have imagined.

I've surrendered to that though. I realize that this is three weeks of my life, and that I must take as much from it as possible without getting lost in it. The only thing that still trips me up is the worst of the sexual harrassment I've found myself on the recieving end of. I'd say I don't deserve to be bothered and so upset since I haven't been living in this community for as long as most, but I don't think that's true at all. Someday I'll write a whole essay about machismo, maybe I'll feel better. Right now it's just not worth thinking about, especially when I consider how much more I get since everyone knows I'm not from here. There's only so much I can worry about in a day. If this were my own community, I would never deal with this the way I am now, but since it's not I don't see myself as having much of a choice. The structure is so much bigger than I am.

But more about the project itself -

I don't even know where to begin, except to say there is no such thing as adolescent pregnancy. This is not a revelation to me (or to anyone else if you actually think) - but rather it is part of the creeping answer that has been growing in the back of my mind since about day three, and I am still trying to pick it apart with fingers and teeth. Adolescent pregnancy is just a symptom of much greater social problems, not just a symptom but also inversely a cause. There is no way to address adolescent pregnancy without looking at the complex web of how society affects individuals, families, communities, regions and countries.. I'm overwhelmed and exhausted even trying to create a visual.

But my interviews are going very well. I've had to change my methods slightly, focusing more on personal interactions rather than a series of group workshops, due to the slowness of this town, how difficult it has been to reach out to and communicate with mothers (of all ages), and the time and resources I have here to accomplish this project. The truth is that I set out to undertake a project much greater than myself, and therefore what I am hoping now (and more realistically) to come away is enough to meet my own personal goals. Now it is time to be systematic, and patient, and

All of the above..

It's too hot to be writing right now and I'm grossed out by how lethargic the heat has made me. I needed to write some sexual education quizes for teenagers and got upset at how few resources there are online in Spanish and haven't gotten back on track since.. I suppose I could do a couple interviews and walk for a while. Drink some juice. It's Friday, after all. And the house is a little too quiet. I'll write in greather length about my goals and aspirations on a cooler day.

Johnny, la gente esta muy loca

Lauren, my host sister, just reminded me I can turn on the fan if I'm hot. Sitting in this little bedroom, with floral sheets covering the windows to keep the sun from heating up the shiny tile floor, that would be too sensible. It would spoil the Pacific heatstroke my body is going through, every sweaty second of which is a sticky heaven. It would wipe the sweat-stache off my top lip, and probably dry the gritty fishy sand stuck to my ankles off. To put it in other words - ¡Soy bastante feliz (sin ventilador).

I don't know how to describe Costa de Pajaros without sounding like an enamoured tourist. Which (..I keep reminding myself to remind myself..) I am..but I also am just a girl who likes things like fish bones, eating with your fingers, chipping paint, and sweaty weather. So I'll try and describe everything with honesty. Well, firstly, this place is full of the bluntest honesty. I just came back from the weather-beaten wooden home of the sister of our tourguide from the mariposario (the butterfly gardens). Anabelle, our guide, had told our entire group (when I asked about womens access to birth control and teen pregnancy rates here during our first visit) about her own sister - whose first baby was born at 14, and who now is pregnant with her 7th at age 26, after being refused surgery by a doctor who told her at 23 after her 4th that she was too young and beautiful. I believe I may have already written about that.

When I came to Costa de Pajaros, I mentioned Anabelle and that story, but didn't realize that not only does the whole town know her (and each other), but that Anabelle's sister, husband, parents, and 6 children are next door neighbors to us, that I've seen this woman's childrens walking up and down the street, and that Anabelle herself lives about as far away from our house as the Pacific Ocean (20 feet?). In fact, one of the two times I've been taken out on my host brother's fishing boat Anabelle was apparently watching me from her window and remarking that my comfort in the fishing boat showed a steadfastness that will help me with my project. Good thing I love messing around with boats ("or in boats, simply messing").

Anyways, today, my host mother brought me to see Anabelle. We wandered up and down stairs made of flour sacks full of sand piled down the precarious hill to the beach, litterred with dogs, garbage and chickens, around which clusters of huts and homes look out across a view Julia Roberts and Mel Gibson pay billions for.

Anabelle was brushing the hair of one of her sisters "monton de ninos" (to quote Anabelle - monton means lot, but which makes me think mountain of children), and looked less than enthralled that I was there. Her seriousness, and the stares from my host mother (which is one-eyed), as well as Anabelle's sister (who Anabelle blatantly introduced in reference to her previous lecture) and many dirty, itchy children made me incredibly nervous. I felt as though I could hear them thinking, honestly, what does this little white girl need? Why is she asking it of us? And why is she asking questions with no answer, and that we have never once thought about? Like where she should begin her own vague project?

I realized quickly that she wouldn't be the source of information or inspiration that I was searching for..that no one will be. And that I needed to get over myself, which I did. And as soon as I had pulled myself together and managed to be more coherant about my goals, and a little more earnest about the places within my project where I see holes, she began to open up as well, and to show the support for my project that I've been wanting to see.

I left joking with her sister and children, and I'll be going back to speak with her mother some time about the history of this town. And felt like I was on a better path. I got out all my nervousness somehow facing Anabelle, who in my mind somehow was transformed into some sort of expert official on my project when in reality she's just a stressed mother taking care of more than her fare share. And her sister being there helped me as well, as she practically represents the entirety of my project, and exactly what intimidates me most. I don't feel comfortable writing more about her online, this whole blog already makes me so uncomfortable now that I've found out how to see how many people are reading it. Someone with so many problems does not need more speculation placed on her, in my own opinion, though I'd be happy to answer questions, if there are any.

I let my own host mother go back to the shade and comfort of her home, and went to CINCINAE (an acronym I can't seem to remember ever), which is an organization that gives milk to poor mothers as well as lunches to pregnant women and children. There, I caught the director & nutritionist on her way out for the week, who was distracted but delighted that I am doing this project. Obviously I could come and do interviews in the morning, she told me, and gave me a calendar with more information about when she'll be back next and when we can go over the organizations files together to look closer at rates of adolescent motherhood. Sadly, she and the man I spoke to won't be there every day, and tomorrow I have to go through the nerve-wracking process of introducing myself and representing my project well in a language I've just barely begun to grasp, but it could be worse. I could still not know that I am welcome and that there is some immense support in this community for the project I am doing.

What is left for me now is (HUGE), but firstly to go to the other town centers, such as the town management (desarollo - means development but Anabelle told me when I asked that it was the equivalent of a town committee), and the health center to speak to doctors, nurses, and pharmacists, as well as the police station, and middle and high schools. A whole lot of presenting myself..but at least I now have a foothold at the CINCINAE, and a place at which to start.

I also have a list of 50 questions which my host sister and friends helped to translate since the town's whole wireless and cellular system was down...I suppose it sounds insestuous to call her my host sister though, since she's married to my host brother and is the daughter of my host mother?...I should just use names. My host mother is Maritza and is a relatively-divorced 45 year old, and her daughter Lauren lives in the house with her husband Danny, and they have a 1.5 year old little girl. Lauren is 5 days younger than me, and I'm not sure about Danny. He is a shrimp fisherman by night, and hangs out with us and plays with the baby during the day, and they all take turns cooking the most delicious meals I've ever had. Many of Maritza´s other children live nearby to the house, so other daughters in law are always coming through with their kids, as well as cousins and husbands.

The house has five rooms like most Costa Rican homes - a kitchen, a living room, and three bedrooms. Considering that at one point this house had 7 or 8 people in it, that's a little wild to picture. My own room is now a guest bedroom, with two beds covered with thin foam mattresses which are probably many years older than I, and brightly colored sheets which don't get used since the nights and days here are so hot. Above my bed, I have a little carving of a wooden kitchen and roof, with a little carved man sitting and watching while his aproned wife cooks dinner. The walls open up to the tin roof, which is open to let out the heat. Lauren says frogs jump from the trees and through the sides of the house, but I haven't decided if I believe it. Though thinking about it, the thumb-sized scorpion that I found in my backpack could have gotten there much more easily from the cieling than from the ground.

I am relishing getting to walk around in barefeet, and that I can go get passion fruit fresco (the seeds float and are so crunchy and tart I just want to die eating them, that delicious) from the fridge whenever I want. It's the family's first time hosting and they're having a great time doing it. They even got Daniel's brother to bring over his big desktop computer, which they put together for me and which even has wireless thanks to a little USB plug in. Daniel and his brother Joseph's mother works at the mariposario, and is also eagerly trying to help me - though she lives in Chomes which is about an hour away and can't do too much. But it let me get access to a computer to sign up for classes. Oh, which look like they will be a riot - here they are: Latin American Social Movements, Law and Politics of Housing, Producing Violence, and Environmental Justice on Native American Land. Looks AMAZING, and at the same time, I haven't even had a chance to look at classes in the 5 colleges yet. But Producing Violence is only on Monday nights, so I have space for another. If not, I could leave out that or Law and Politics of Housing to take something more specifically focused to what I'm interested in if my advisors tell me I need to reign it in. But I'm supez psyched, to say the least. Also Latin American Social Movements is in espanol!

I haven't finished talking about Costa de Pajaros though! Well, here is their blog..http://costadepajaros.blogspot.com/


































And this is what the fishing boats look like..


























Here is the colegio, where I'll be going tomorrow to introduce myself. These are all pictures I've found by Googling 'Costa de Pajaros'..haven't taken any myself yet..Don't know if I will be taking many since I might have forgot my camera charger, though I do have several film cameras for my project I could use.


































































Here is an old, but still very accurate picture of the coast. Today I walked home along the beach, and was more overwhelmed by human trash than I have been in a long time. This weekend or next, or whenever I get the time, I'm just going to take a trash bag and walk up and down the beach picking up everyone's gross stuff.

Somehow it doesn't suprise me how careless people here are. It almost makes the natural beauty more beautiful, somehow, to see how undervalued it is by the people who live off it. Here the water is full of dead yellow-tailed sardines that the fishermen have killed while netting shrimp, and which the pelicans didn't dive to catch fast enough. The beach is littered with intricate bones and shining fins, and the water in the heat smells like the jellyfish and fish bodies that have melted into it. Or maybe that's the sand. There's glass in the sand, as well as plastic bags, and the majority of fishing boats are tied giant fallen logs. The plastic soda can holders that I remember learning would strange seals are snagged on the logs, and this is the one place I've felt very stupid to be walking barefoot. I'm relatively sure I won't step on any needles here - I don't think there's the steady rconomy here for that kind of drug use - but between angry dogs protecting shanty homes, and broken pottery and shells from and full of littered food remains, it's pretty stupid.

But just so beautiful. I didn't find a good photo of the coast line, but picture the Pyrenees (layers of shades of light to dark navy blue jagged mountains) surrounding a clear pool of bright ocean water. That's the Gulf of Nicoya. And at sunset, which I got to watch last night from a friend's house on a nearby mountain (nbd) picture the blue mountains interrupted by bright shocks of red, orange, yellow and pink light streaming out of the clouds and onto the red sea.

And Daniel took us in his boat across the bay to feed crocodiles old fish gills, and the first time we went out he drove us through a flock of 200 albatross.

I have to go for a walk!


That was a great walk!!!

I went with my host mother and her sister, who I've added to my list of these amazing strong women I meet whenever I travel anywhere and who always blow me away with their life stories and the fact that they're interested in what I'm doing and what I have to say. This one was married at the age of 15, and had her first three babies in the next three years, and was the first person I've talked to here about my project who made the connection to self-esteem for young women. Which was great since I somehow didn't know the word autoestima, but immediately recognised it for what it was.

But she also emphasized teaching so much, while I dragged my heels and was all about the not-aggressively-going-in-with-an-agenda-since-I-am-nobody, but her emphasis made a really big impression on me. They also opened up more than anyone else has to my probing about the machismo that was rampant here years ago, with marriages arranged by fathers and women being forbidden from leaving the house. It all seems surreal to think and hear about, especially due to the passive way with which they talk about it, like it was Cinderella or something but she's okay now. I don't expect whispers about it either, but I do wonder about sensationalism sometimes. I don't know what women would have to gain by sensationalizing the past - maybe some sort of collective strength.

But on the other hand, the machismo here is WILD. I have never in my life been cat called and had so many vulgar things said to me in the street, especially not by so many old men. It was absolutely wild to me the first time I stepped out of the house to take a walk and some deep breaths (it was chaotic getting here to say the least), and suddenly I was surrounded by men breathing down my neck. Obviously I understand that I am a stanger, and that the townspeople know that at first glance, and that it is oh-so-fun to sit and check out ladies and make them uncomfortable, but it still is not something I can let go of easily. Some of these guys I just want to start screaming my lungs out, or push them off the fence post they're sitting on, or spit in their faces.

But that wouldn't be very kind, and in a small town like this it would probably not be very good for business. When we were coming back though, I did get a marriage proposal by ways of translation. Some random 14 year old asked my host mother whether I'd like to get hitched with a real Tico.

What else? Over dinner a gecko ran across the table and ate a beetle that was near my arm. And tomorrow I am going to translate more questions and head over to the CINCINAE to start doing interviews. I need to also go to the clinic tomorrow, if there's time. Which of course there will be, but accounting in the extreme heat as well as the trip home to eat with my host family (ceviche, ceviche!), some hours will be lost along the way.

Before I go!

Whaddup universe.
My nerves are twanging louder than Joanna Newsom's harpstrings and vocal chords combined right now. It's been a whole long time since I've been this nervous. I can't even remember the last time. Eating food finally made me feel at least a little less trembly and feverish, but I still think I might pass out from my heart beating too hard against my chest. Yay, great.
It's basically because I've avoided really thinking deeply about the intensity of the independent project I am setting out for myself for the next three weeks. It is really very, very intense. At the same time though, it is going to be (hopefully) absolutely-fucking-fascinating an fun as hell. But first I have to go, get settled in, and get started. And that is scaring the living daylights out of me right now.
But no one in the world really knows (except for my classmates and professors and some strangers far away who will be receiving me tomorrow) what exactly I am planning to do over the next three weeks. As fun as it sounds, maybe I won't keep shrouding myself in mystery. It's not actually that I've expressly been this mysterious recently, I've just been so overwhelmed! So much is going on, and so much that I want to pay attention to! I finished final exams though, and the last of my projects and presentations and papers, and now all I have left to do is pack. And so obviously I laid all my clothes out on my bed in neat piles and am now avoiding looking at them by coming here.
At least packing is the one constant that keeps me coming back to this blog, right? And how crazy my thoughts get sometimes and how much I now realize I need the time to process through the single-stream-therapy method of writing it all out. Who knew that this is what I've been needing my whole life?
Not I, said the little red-head.
So maybe it's time I just blurt out what I'm doing. Alright. It's making my stomach hurt thinking about it, but I should be repeating it and repeating it as much as I can, til I am as comfortable talking about my proposed project as I am saying the alphabet backwards (thx Mr. Springer!)

SO: I am going back to Guanacaste, to the town of Pajaros (birds!) also known as Costa de Pajaros. When Columbus (or whomever planted his flag) first landed he was pretty excited about how many albatros there were nesting in the trees. A whole lot apparently - hence the name.
So I am going to Costa de Pajaros to do a series of workshops with young adolescent mothers there. Costa Rica has some of the highest adolescent pregnancy rates in Latin America, as well as the world. Adolescent pregnancy remains the leading killer of women age 14-19, and 99% of these deaths occur in developing countries like Costa Rica. Women's health is an area that still needs HUGE attention worldwide..over the past 40 years a lot of progress has been made, particularly in terms of addressing the health of women of reproductive age (sorry - I'm not going to bother to give ANY of my sources right now. I'll attach the rough draft of my paper proposal as well as bibliography for those who may be interested). But women of old age, or who are post-menopausal, or adolescents continue to receive less-than-adequate attention. And in areas where there is poverty, political or environmental conflict, migration, or natural disasters, the likelihood of women's health coming into jeopardy rises exponentially.
So I am going to an area which has suffered a whole lot of social and political upheaval, as well as environmental degradation, and a whole lot of poverty. Costa de Pajaros is situated in the Gulf of Nicoya, where essentially everyone has lived off fishing since time-immemorial, and where the machismo was so strong that women couldn't leave their houses - in fact, when their husbands left to go fishing they'd have to accompany them on the boats and help repair nets while trying not to make any eye contact with males who might cross their path. Recently, much has changed. The government of Costa Rica officially has been addressing the issue by sending in educators to change the ways that women think about themselves, and in particular how they can contribute to their families. Cause there's no more fish. Not that the same crisis isn't occurring everywhere else in maritime waters, but the citizens of Costa de Pajaros are kind of at a dead-end. When we were visiting, we got a tour of one of the government and UN small-projects fund funded projects (whoop!) which involved creating a butterfly garden to attract tourists, and which also can (or will) give tours of the mangrove forests along the coast, as well as send butterfly pupae to international butterfly enthusiasts. These women created their own small business in order to maintain their standard of living without having to leave their small town (and therefore their family) to work in a hotel, or some other job.
Anyways, beyond that, when we visited we spoke to one of the women about a school that has been set up for adolescent mothers to go back to school at night and obtain their equivalent of a GED. But the attitudes surrounding these women were really interesting, addressing their behavior (having gotten knocked up) as an act of "rebelliousness", and seemingly incredibly problematic. Which it is, but I believe so for an entirely separate set of reasons. Number one: these girls aren't able to vote, don't own property, don't have an education, and haven't necessarily even their own room, but from them are coming Costa Rica's newest generation. Beyond the long list of health risks, these girls simply occupy this negative space (or a blank space, not to get all arty on y'all) in Costa Rican society. They own nothing, except they own the future of the country, in a way. And they're being faced by all these really important issues, which I am 100% sure they have opinions about, though they may not have ever really been asked to think about them before. So that's what I'm doing.
I'm doing a participatory ethnographic project, where with a small group of girls I will discuss different themes of their lives, mainly focusing on body image - meaning how they view themselves and where they are physically and psychologically positioned in Costa Rican society - meaning everything from their family, their town, their church, their school, their work, to their larger government. I want to know what is most important to them, as well as their future goals. I also want to give them the space to tell me, through alternative mediums such as drawing, writing, and lastly doing a photographic project, what is meaningful in their lives. These they will share, not just with me but also with the group, to stem further discussion and reflection. I'd really like for them to come out with several works that they can be proud of, that have given them the time and space to define their own voice and thoughts, and which has nothing and at the same time everything to do with their lives.
Beyond working with these girls (and I think I might do 2 or 3 different small group workshops), I will also be networking in the community, attending the school to see what a sexual education class is like here, as well as interviewing pivotal figures in the community about their opinions about some of the issues these young women are facing. I will also be visiting homes and interviewing mothers and families about the issues these young women face, to gauge what the community sentiment towards adolescent pregnancy (and motherhood) is. Since 1 in 4 of the babies born in this area are born to young mothers (and there is a whole network of factors that can be connected to why this may be, which I'll go into another time), many of these young women end up relying on their families or the families of their boyfriends/husbands in order to take care of the baby. Beyond what happens once the baby is born, undoubtedly the mothers and families of these younger-mothers have opinions about why and how their daughter came to be in this position. I want to gauge more the atmosphere in these homes, and see what these young women might be dealing with on an every day basis.
I don't really think I should write anymore. I need to keep packing so that I can leave in a little bit to spend my last night with my other ICADS students before we all leave for all-corners of the country. I leave so early tomorrow, too! On a bus all by myself! Even though in the end I'm going to be only half-an-hour by boat from two of my classmates..And when I arrive in Costa de Pajaros, after some very vague bus changes in a port city that I don't know at all (Ahh!), I am going to be greeted by the women's association who work in the butterfly garden and present my project to them. Which is absolutely wonderful, since then I will have the beginnings of the social network I need to start completing this project! And hopefully one of them will take me to church with her on Sunday, and another will tell me where I can go to the clinic to meet with doctors, etc. Lots to do. And also luckily I don't really have to begin working on this project until Monday or Tuesday, which gives me two and a half days to situate myself in the town, and literally and figuratively begin mapping out where I am and where I am going from there.
SO exciting and so scary. Not really that scary. But I speak so little Spanish, and I am going to be doing so much talking! Doesn't a smile say a thousand words though? Probably none of them are about teen-pregnancy though. Too bad. Hopefully word travels fast around this small town, and as soon as they see me (the only redhead ever, probably) they'll know to hide their women and children if they don't want me lingering around asking questions. Or the opposite, is actually what I hope...I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. I need to go pack!
I have a cell phone number though! It's going to be super expensive for anyone to call me, but if you want my number let me know and I'll give it to you, especially if you want it in case of emergencies (and you want to call me in Costa Rica and tell me the whole story, ya know).
AHH! Alright. Wish me luck!

Broodin'

Maybe I should begin this post sighting the fact that 27 people from Sweden have looked at my blog in the past few days, since there really is no better place to start from. What a thing. Hopefully they all enjoyed themselves reading about my anxieties/+adventures on the other side of the globe. If they didn't know already, it's incredibly beautiful here. However, it's been a while since I've said that - the information they were receiving wasn't exactly up-to-date, hopefully there are no grudges being held.

Meanwhile, here I am...sitting on my bed with still-packed bags, scratching bug bites. It's the late afternoon and I feel deflated, and at the same time like there is an immense pressure on me. I've just come from essentially finishing my Block II of this ICADS Field Program.

Students in my group have been talking about how sad this is all day - - the truth is I really don't give a damn either way. Maybe I'm just too tired to give one. I think it's more that I'm just exhausted with how fast and relentlessly time flies. Always, always, always. And we're always complaining about it, too, like it's some new phenomenon. Like wasting our time by saying how time goes so fast will slow it down. Or maybe let other people realize how much we value the time the time we've already lost with them. Calling it 'lost' time in itself seems fairly morbid, since there is no physical way we will ever get that time back. Ugh.

More than ever in my life I've been noticing how whiny I am these past three weeks. Maybe I should clarify - more than ever I've been noticing how I can't stand to listen to myself whine.

And before I get too deep into this - I know, I should be writing about everything I've seen and done - but I haven't the faintest clue about where to begin...so this is where we're going to start.

Probably it's the closeness with a small group of other students my age, from similar socio-economic backgrounds,which has amplified how much I notice the way I speak about the world, and how I react to it outwardly (and inwardly as well - just as, if not more importantly). Over the past three weeks I have seen more and learned more than I ever did in my entirety of high school, and yet the whole time I probably spoke more about a variety the little things I was dealing with (such as food, mosquitoes, fatigue, heat...the list goes on) more than I did about the actually tough subjects I've come to Costa Rica to learn about.

We culminated the Field program by completing one of the seemingly-longest hikes (in reality probably one of the shortest I've been on). We were climbing up through dry-forest to visit limestone bluffs to see out across expanses of marshland and rice paddies in Guanacaste. Recently, the entire country (continent even, maybe) has been soaking wet from endless rain, meaning the whole way we were swarmed by mosquitoes.

Not to whine yet again (it's endless! I can't believe it), but it was the same whining in my head that ruined the hike for me, and later really stung (more than the bug bites) when I realized how much I've missed just from grumbling over the petty annoyances of day-to-day life during these past three weeks. They held so much sway over me, practically controlling not only what I was thinking about but also how I felt in response. And in general, I'm an agreeable person, who tries to enjoy herself around everyone and everything (that's actually an exaggeration - but I do try). And where does place everyone else I know? What have the other students I was with gathered? What have students from past years gathered?

This anxiety possible comes from the pressure I've begin feeling now that I realize I have learned every single event on our crowded three week syllabus, attended class from 7 AM to 8 PM, and am now leaving with an intense sense of insecurity about how substantial what I have actually come away with is. Or whether I have come away with enough in comparison to how incredible the things I've just seen and done are. For some reason it feels incredibly inconcrete, like I've filled up my belly with food and will be hungry again tomorrow morning, or that the experiences I've had will slowly begin to seep out through my ears until there's nothing left but the shell of the memories. I won't remember the names of the people I met, their shoes, the smell of their houses. Or the shape of the leaves or the stripes on the beetles wings. In fact, I possibly won't remember very much at all from these past three weeks. And I don't think keeping a journal (if I'd ever had the time) could have changed that. Or any amount of sitting and thinking about how beautiful each moment is and how much I want to keep it.

All of this sounds ridiculous. And it is. But I'm just throwing a fit since the real intangibility of everything is sinking in - or maybe for the first time I feel dwarfed by how much there is to learn and yet personally responsible for not learning enough. Where the fuck do I go from here?

Well. I'll say where I think I'm going, at least for the next three weeks. But the foundations of everything else seem to be on the wobblier side right now, and I don't think any presumptions should be made on this blog about where I'll be a year from now, or worse, two years from now. Right now, all I can (and should - as I am realizing) be thinking about is right now, with a dash of spice from the past.

Nevermind! I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. I don't have time right now - but I'm around all week doing exams and will write more. For now, apparently I just came to brood and grumble a little. You'll have to wait for the cheery stuff for later.

Now some Neruda for myself

While I am writing, I'm far away;
and when I come back, I've gone.
I would like to know if others
go through the same things that I do,
have as many selves as I have,
and see themselves similarly;
and when I've exhausted this problem,
I'm going to study so hard
that when I explain myself,
I'll be talking geography. 



Dear anonymous public,
If you were worrying, please don't! I'm alive and well, bug-bitten and be-freckled.
I will write about the past two couple weeks as soon as I have a moment to get caught up!
Thanks too for your maintained interest in my ramblings.
xoxo Cady

Medicine and a Museum

Today I received some well-wanted advice telling me that I should write less but more frequently so as to not get too overwhelmed. Like a new diet-plan. I don't know whether that will go hand-in-hand with my program here though - seems like I'm only going to be getting on the world wide web only occasionally over the next three weeks - but it seems a lot more sensible.

I'm packing right now actually, but haven't made progress for hours and would rather procrastinate here than move forward with my baggage. I can't figure out how I'm going to fit everything with this winter coat I have to bring, and need some time to puzzle that together in my head.

So I've been a little traumatized over the past 24 hours by this cold. I decided to stay in last night, thankfully; I've since been plagued by hours of racking coughs and endless bloody noses. But now I'm on the other side of the cold, I just needed to whine since I've been downplaying it to my poor host family who has to deal with me.

I did go to the pharmacy and buy some medicine this morning. After a rough sleep last night and waking up to yet another bloody nose, my host mother counseled me on what medicines to ask for over a breakfast of fried torillas and fresh cheese, giant pinapple slices, bananas, fruit juice, and coffee. She's been incredibly sweet during this whole ordeal. Despite my host aunt Ana recovering from a serious surgery right now, Rosy has been devoting time to feed me strange fish soups and hot ginger and lemon juice teas, and to make sure I don't get my hands wet, all in order to help me get better. My Spanish teacher also had some folk wisdom - make sure my back doesn't get cold or wet.

Either way, what I ended up buying at the pharmacy I dropped on the sidewalk during the 20 meter walk back home, while I was feverishly juggling my umbrella, purse, and bag full of tissue boxes (stocking up for this week's trip). With a sinking heart, I shook the little bag of medicine and heard the liquid sound of a smashed bottle becoming swirling shards of glass. I was already at the red front gates of my home, so I dropped the rest of my things in my room, shook the plastic bag (the corners of which were now leaking clear, smelly Tutti Frutti flavored medicine) for my host mother Rosy, and she lamented and cried "Ohhhh, Cady! No..!" On my next visit, the people at the pharmacy ended up giving me an extra mini-bottle of the foul cough syrup for free, since it's expensive, and I think they felt terrible - I was such a mess and clearly can't be trusted to carry a plastic bag.

Rosy at some point around this time sent my host dad down and across the street to the pharmacy to help me and make sure I didn't drop the second bottle. He asked me a lot of quick questions and started harassing the doctors who work there a little for me, which just made me drop more things in the store. I think that most of the time people tend to assume that since I can't speak Spanish, I don't try to get messages across. Or they guess that people won't understand. The very frank truth is, yes, I don't speak this language. But on the other hand, I'm constantly telling people all the shit they need to know and they're all totally getting it. So the doctors at the pharmacy knew what was up, and despite having dropped the medicine, I was able to fend for myself and get my ailments taken care of. My host mom did spoon feed me the cough syrup though. That one took me by surprise. I thought she was handing me a spoon to do it myself but by then the medicine was poured and on its way to my mouth, "Like a baby!" she said. At that point I was glad to give up my facade of being in control and to let her go wash the spoon and let me curl up in bed and finally sleep without coughs.

I slept most of the day. It took 9 hours to upload one 45 minute episode of Mad Men, and I can't figure out what it was about beyond Bob Dylan and homosexuality in the 1950's. But it's a pretty show, and it cheered me up a little, even though I've decided it was a silly idea to try to watch any tv. I sent a few half-assed emails, and read the Russian novel I picked up on a bookshelf at ICADS called "The White Guard". It's about fear and frustration waiting for the effects of World War II in a city in wintertime. Every chapter begins talking about the hoar-frost, and there's a lot of drinking, lamps, and warm weather clothing.

Which brings me to my second (umpteenth) thought. Yesterday I went with friends to the Museum of Contemporary Art in San José. We all met in the central "Cultural Plaza", where giant flocks of hundreds of pigeons circled just feet above our heads, and ended at this museum, located in a shockingly clean and open area full of museums and other serious institutions. But this museum was great! Small, though clearly a well funded and well connected institution. There was a wonderful Japanese collection there with a lot of nice pieces, such as a number of aesthetically crispy photos and sculptures, some modern societal-caricature-through-calligraphy, and a couple electric fish harps. But what struck me most about this museum was its small corner in it's top floor, where there was a a collection of photos of colorful Japanese festivals, and of the survivors of the recent earthquake and tsunami. One wall had a tv playing on loop the testimony of the miraculous survival of several people who were nearly swept out to see in the backwash of the tidal wave in their cars or homes, and who somehow managed to escape being carried out and lost to the ocean.

As I watched these testimonies alone in sadness, snuffling through my stuffed nose, I realized that there was a Japanese woman snuffling behind me, in tears as she walked through these ten to twelve photographs. In that moment, in this strange attic exhibit in this empty museum in Costa Rica with this crying woman who I also know did not belong there - but at the same time belonged there more than I, I felt incredibly lost and out of place. There was something so deeply sad about these two people who have uprooted themselves (who still have strong roots to what we were looking at, roots through our families and friends) looking at photos of people who have lost their homes and their families and their friends.

I don't in any way mean to trivialize the experiences of those we were observing by focusing on the two of us instead, rather just wanted to try and convey my personal reaction.

What was so clear was the connectedness of it all - of the earthquake, of this woman, of why we were both there. There was so much more as well, a connectedness to the people who miraculously survived and who lived to show the bridges and cars that saved them on tv so it could be played in loops in a museum in San Jose, as well as a connectedness to those who were swept into the sea, to the people I meet on the street, to the people back in every home I call home, to me. And I was more aware of this connectedness than I have in a long time.

It's so easy to allow oneself to get boxed up into one's own small, conditioned life that you become blind to how relevant every single thing is to who you are. You can never keep up with it all, no, but you also never have to limit yourself, or blind yourself into thinking in terms of what interests you've decided upon at that time, or what priorities seem the most important in that moment, or what future goals seem the prettiest. I think that traveling - never mind it's other nice qualities - quickly is able to snap the boundaries we've created (or accepted) for where our life ends and other's begins, and at least for me, I suddenly remember my own values beyond final papers and rent checks, in terms of what really means something deeply to me. I kick myself every time I feel this happening, too, because I should be able to this to myself. I should be in control of my own vision. As we all should. I'd say that maybe that's something that comes with age, but on second thought, there are many older people who've let themselves be blinded by accepting different rules and concepts of what is right and how we have to be, and what we need to want in life in order to ever go anywhere. It's probably good for the economy, or something.

I have no idea how this turned from me whining to such a long post. Hopefully it makes up somewhat for how short the rest of my posts will be over the next couple weeks as I travel..

My host sister sounds like she's crying in the next room with her boyfriend, the bus that got wedged in the intersection in front of my house finally got unstuck after several hours, and the karaoke bar across the street has finally turned down it's disco music. I think I need to sleep. So much for writing something short.

Une Adresse Générale Au Public Français

So she had passed her childhood, like a half-wild cat. Philip Pullman
































La semaine derniere, j'ai trouvée un facon de voir quelle, de toutes les pays en ce grand monde, lisent mon blog, et quien veulent apprender un peu plus de ma vie costaricien. Tous les jours, il y a au moins sept personnes francais qui lisent. Et de voir cette statistique me rende trés heureuse - j'ai toujours peur que j'y vais perder mes amis francais au passage du temps; les changements d'age, de charactere, ou simplement de lieu. Je sais personellement que est super difficile de guarder contacte avec amis qui vivent trés loin. Avec chaque année qui passent, je peux voir sur Facebook comment mes amis changent, et comment, peux a peux, ils divient de plus en plus loin de ces jeunes que j'ai eu la chance de connaitre en France - maintenant il y a presque six années.

Ici en Costa Rica, je ne parles pas souvent de mis amis et famille en France. Je reconais enfin la chance que j'ai eu (et que j'ai) d'avoir pu faire une sejour si longue en un pays si magnifique, et je reconais aussi que ici, beaucoup de monde ne peuvent pas engager avec ca. D'aller en Europe est comme une reve - et c'est la meme chose aux Etats Unis, mais j'ai eu la chance de realizer cette reve. Je parles de mon sejour d'un an seulement quand je veux m'exuser pour mon accent terrible (je n'arrive jamais a faire le "R"), quand quelqu'un me demande en quelles pays j'ai deja voyagée (es surprenant combien de temps j'ai deja respondu a cette question), ou si ils demandent si je me sens seule parce que je suis une fille unique (aussi, trés rares ici). En realité, je me sens trés, trés loin d'etre une 'fille unique', mais c'est une histoire pour une autre fois.

Malgré tout, le voyage et les rencontres que j'ai fais en France a la jeune age de seize y dix-sept ans sont en ma tete quasiment tous le temps. En los Etats Unis, j'ai peux me separer un peu de la parte de me espirit qui voulaient retour en France, et qui parlaient en francais en les ombres de me pensées, et pensaient toutes les jours a ma maison et famille francais, parce que je ne pouvaient pas continuent de vivir en deux pays a la meme fois, sans me perdre dans le monde que j'ai vecu physiquement.

Il y a un livre, je pense que c'est "La Bousoulle d'Or" en francais (au fait, je l'ai vu en France avec ma soeur d'accueille, il y a maintenant beaucoup des années). Je ne me souviens pas completement de la livre, car mon pere et moi le lisaient quand j'etais tres jeune, mais dedans il y a une petit fille, et su espirit se manifeste a l'exterieur d'elle en la forme d'un animal. Son pere, un homme trés inteligent et trés mal, est en train de faire des experiments sur d'autres petits enfants, de voir et capter l'energie quand les enfants et leurs espirits sont separés. Je devrais le relire, parce que je croix il y a beaucoup de choses que je n'ai pas apercu en lisant la premiere fois comme jeune fille, mais en ce moment seulement je voulais montrer le parallele que je vois (un peu!) avec l'histoire - de laisser une culture, un lieu, et une facon de vivre et penser derriere est comme de perdre un morceau de son espirit, et tous que nous perdons avec ca, ou d'apporter les deux a la meme temps et d'essayer de faire une sorte d'equilibré..

Je ne sais pas ou je veux aller avec tous ca, je croix que peut etre j'ai voulu seulement partager un peu comment je me sens en ce moment. Et ce n'est meme pas avec l'addition de la culture costaricien de plus..Tous est trés, trés déconcertant en ce moment. A hier Antonio, la chef de mon programme a ICADS - Le Institut de développement de l'Amérique Centrale), parlait des ponts. Il disait que nous sommes maintenant (et peut-etre etions deja) des ponts entre deux cultures - et que la chose qu'est dificile pour los ponts est que ils ne sont jamais d'une cote de la riviere ou l'autre. Je croix que meme avant de partir en France, je me suis toujours trouvée avec deux pieds en deux mondes diferentes: entre multiples maisons, etats, parentes, amis, écoles. C'est un peu du coté dramatique, mais c'est la verité. Et maintenant, meme plus que quand j'étais en France, ou depuis quand je rentrais en Maine, je n'arrive pas a trouver ou j'ai mis les pieds ou l'equilibre que je tenait avant d'intoducir ce nouveau pays et culture.

Mais je veux pas me plaigner, j'ai tant de chance de pouvoir venir en Costa Rica pour 3 mois et demi. Je ne sais pas comment je suis arrivée ici, il y a beaucoup de choses qui marchaient ensemble, mais maintenant je me trouve en un pays practiquement désigné pour tous que j'etudie a la fac - la justice environnementale, la biologie, et l'histoire de la conquete et les droits des Amerindiens, et tous les jours je rencontre plus de choses fascinantes...Pour la premiere fois dans ma vie, je suis dans un pays qui a la majorité de tout qui m'interesse en forme brut. Je ne sais pas ou commencer.. Tous les jours, en la rue ou en mes classes, je suis écrasée par toute l'information que j'apprends. Mais a la meme fois, je ne suis pas trés heureuse en cette ville, ou necessairement en ce pays. Bien sur que c'est magnifique ici, et j'adore ma famille d'acceuille, la nourriture, la langue, et l'histoire et charactere unique de Costa Rica. Peut-etre c'est seulement parce que nous n'avons pas encore voyager beaucoup en Costa Rica - autour del capital San José est tout. Nous verrons, parce que pour la prochaine 3 or 4 semaines, je vais voyager partout avec ma classe en la 'Programme de la Campagne' de ICADS, rentrant les weekends pour laver nos vetements sales. Nous allons voir et aprender de agricultores, de profesors d'histoire, la politiques, et la science, de gens qui travaillent pour des associations importantes ici en Costa Rica, de immigrantes et autre gens qui n'ont pas du voix ici....C'est trés possible que apres trés semaines d'avoir vue beaucoup plus de ce pays, je vais avoir une autre (et peut-etre plus réel) comprehension de ce pays. En ce moment c'est plutot concontrée autour de San José, une ville moche (comme celles des Etats Unis!) qui est dangereuse - plus pour les femmes plutot que hommes. Honnetement, la chose qui m'embete le plus est que je ne peux absolument pas me promener en la nuit, et comme j'ai toujours venu dans des lieux trés isolées mais quand meme sans danger, c'est etouffant pour moi de vivir ici, en une vallée polluée qui est loin de la mere. Heureusement, j'ai eu la chance de me trouver avec une famille d'accuielle ici qui tiene deux petites fermes autour de la ville - une dans les montagnes de Cartago, l'autre je ne sais pas ou encore.

Je sais que a peu pres juste 1 en 5 arrive a comprendre toutes mes pensées normalement quand j'ecris en anglais.. et je sais aussi que ce n'est pas juste de ecrire seulement en anglais, seulement pour les gens en ma vie qui parle cette langue. Mais en ce moment honnetement pour moi le travaille est de me forcer d'ecrire et de penser a tous les choses que je rencontre tous les jours, et la fait que les gens peuvent lire mon blog est un peu bizzare pour moi - especialement si ils parles anglais et peuvent comprendre tous mes pensées intimes. En ce moment, tous est trés confondu en ma tete, et maintenant le monde entier peux partager cette sensation avec moi. C'est assez etrange..Mais c'est pour ca que je veux dire que si jamais il y a des personnes qui voulent que je fais plus de traductions (je ne peux pas tous le temps - ils sont super dificiles maintenant que j'apprends espagnole), je serais plus que contente de les faire. Je ne veux pas excluer les gens - c'est exactement pourquoi j'apprends espagnole en ce moment! Pour pouvoir communiquer avec tous! Si ambitieux! Je sais! Mais je suis jeune, et de d'etre jeune signifié que je peux essayer de faire l'impossible. Et si je n'arrive pas, bah - je vais essayer de faire autre choses encore plus dificiles.


Last week I discovered how to see which, of all the countries in this big world, are reading my blog, and who is trying to learn a little more about my Costa Rican life. Every day there are at least 7 French people who read. To see that statistic makes me very happy - I'm always afriad that I am going to lose my French friends to the passage of time, development of age and character, or simply a change in location. I personally know how very difficult it is to keep in touch with friends who live dar away. Every year that goes by I can see on Facebook how my friends have changed, and how, little by little, they become something further and further from the young people I had the luck to grow to know in France - now almost six years ago.

Here in Costa Rica, I don't speak often about my friends and family in France. I finally truly recognize the luck that I had (and have) to have been able to stay for so long in a such a magnificent country, and I also recognize that here, very few people can engage with that opportunity that I had. To go to Europe is like a dream here. And it's the same thing in the U.S., but I still had the opportunity to realize this dream and make it a reality. I speak of my year-long homestay only when I want to excuse myself for my terrible accent (I never ever can make the "rrrr" sound), when someone asks me what countries I have visited (it's surprising how often I've been asked this question), or if they ask me if I am lonely since I am an only child (also, very rare here). Honestly, I feel very, very far away from being an "only child", but that's a story for another time.

Despite everything, the time and the encounters that I made in France at the young age of sixteen and seventeen years are in my head nearly all the time. In the United States, I was able to separate myself from the part of my spirit that wanted to return to France, which spoke in French in the shadows of my mind, and which thought every single day of my house and family in France, because I could not continue to live in two countries at the same time without losing myself in the world I actually inhabited. Which I did a little anyways, perhaps one of the side effects of having gone abroad so young.

There's a book called the "Golden Compass" (in fact, I saw the film in France with my host sister several years ago now). I don't remember the book completely, as my father and I read it when I was very young, but in it there is a little girl, and her spirit manifests itself outside of her body in the form of an animal. Her father, a very smart and very evil man, is conducting experiments on children, to observe and capture the energy released when the children and their spirits are separated. I should reread it, because I believe there are a lot of aspects I missed reading the book as a young girl myself. For the moment I only wanted to show a parallel that I saw (just a little!) with the story - - - to leave a culture, a location, and a way of living and thinking behind is like losing a bit of one's soul, and everything that we lose with that, or to try to live the two at the same time and to try to create a sort of balance..

I don't know where I want to go with all of this, I believe that possible I just wanted to share a little of how I feel in this moment. And that's not even with the additional of the Costa Rican culture on top.. Everything is very, very confusing right now. Yesterday Antonio, the head of my program at ICADS, spoke about bridges. He said that be are (and possibly already were) bridges between cultures, and that the thing with bridges is that we are never on one side of the river or the other. I think even before I left for France, I have always found myself with two feet in two different worlds: between different homes, states, parents, friends, schools. It's a little on the dramatic side, but it's the truth. And now, even more than when I was in France, or after when I returned to Maine, I can't seem to remember where I put my feet, or how I managed to put them there, or what balance I had before introducing this new country and culture and language.

But I don't want want you to think that I am complaining - I am so lucky to have been able to come to Costa Rica for 3 and a half months. I don't even know how I came to be here, there were many things that worked together, but now I find myself in a country that is practically designed for everything I study in university: environmental justice, biology, and history of conquest and the rights of Native Americans. And every day I encounter more and more fascinating things.. For the first time in my life, I am in a country which has everything I am interested in, in a much more raw form. I don't know where to begin. Every day, in the street or in my classes, I am crushed by how much I'm learning. But at the same time, I am not very happy in this city, or even necessarily in this country. Of course it is magnificent here, and I love my host family, the food, the language, and the unique history and character of Costa Rica. Maybe it's only because we have not yet traveled much within Costa Rica - outside the capital city San Jose is really it. We'll see, because for the next three or four weeks, I am going to travel everywhere with my class in the Field Program, coming back only for weekends to do laundry. We're going to see and learn from farmers, professors of history, politics, and science, from people who work for important Costa Rican associations, from immigrants, and others who do not have strong voices in the country. It's very possible that after three weeks of seeing so much more of this country, that I will have a totally different (and possible more realistic) understanding of this country. In this moment it's rather concentrated in and around San Jose, an ugly city (like US cities!) which is dangerous - for women more than for men. Honestly, the thing that bothers me the most is that I absolutely can't walk around at night, and as I've always lived in very isolated places where there was no risk, its stuffy to live in a polluted valley full of cars that is far from the sea. Happily, I have had the insane luck to land in a home with a host family that has two little farms outside of the city - one in the mountains of Cartago, the other I don't know where yet.

I know that just about 1 in 5 french people are able to understand my thoughts when I write in english..and I also know that it isn't fair to only write in english, only for the people in my life who understand that language. But at this time, honestly for me the work is to force myself to write and to think about all the things that I encounter on a day to day basis, and the fact that people can read these thoughts on my blog is a little strange for me - especially if they're english speakers and are able to clue right into and understand all (well..maybe) my personal thoughts. Right now, everything is a little crazy in my head, and now the whole world can share that confusion with me. It's pretty weird. But that's why I wanted to say that if there are ever people who would like me to translate (I can't do this all the time - it's super hard now that I am learning Spanish - otherwise I'd already be doing so), I'd be happy to. I don't want to exclude anyone without even realizing - that's exactly why I am learning Spanish at the moment! So I can communicate with everyone! So ambitious! I know! But I am young, and to be young means that I can try and accomplish the impossible. And if I can't, well, I'll try to do something even harder.