The Concept of Home

I'm officially more than halfway through my year with Worldteach in Costa Rica.  As of right now, I have a plane ticket back to the States at the beginning of January (I say 'as of right now' because, as should surprise no one, I'm not certain what I'm up to next in my life-- where I'll be, what I'll be doing, what language I'll be speaking, any of that.)  I know that I will not be doing Worldteach again next year (for those of you who have asked), but other than that, I am not sure of much. 

So. Let's see.  What has been going on in my Costa Rican life?
Finally, slowly but surely, my relationship with my host family has warmed up a bit.  I have no expectations of love or friendship, but there's a comfortable camaraderie between us now.  I talk to my host mother Yaneth about my life and friendships and relationship, chat in Spanish, English, and Brunka with my host father Oscar (who I also sing with sometimes), banter with my little sister Nashaly in English (which she's learning rapidly) and Spanish, and have become pals with Carlos, the other boarder in the house. 

Though there's no deep connection with those I live with, I've developed a true friendship with another family here in town, who as I mentioned in an earlier entry I now call 'mi segunda familia' (my second family.)  I go over there pretty much every day-- sometimes several times a day-- and talk to them, play with the baby, snack with them, or just hang out together in the hammocks under their rancho.  These are the people I feel closest to in Boruca-- Marisol, Juan, Damaris, Margarita, Sira, and the children. They know more of me and my heart than anyone else here in the indigenous territory (with the exception of Kelly, the awesome Peace Corps volunteer.)  I am blessed to have them and know them. 

I was sick a few weeks ago and had to stay in San Jose going to appointments (don't worry, I feel better now-- the sickness itself was a sidenote and isn't the point of this story.)  The cool part of all of that medical adventure was that I got to explore the city by myself for a few days and discover corners of it to love.  Of course, we're not supposed to do that... wandering about San Jose by ourselves.  There's a high level of crime, and a lone gringa is a pretty typical target.  Maybe I was lucky, maybe I was smart about it, who knows-- but I didn't get mugged, and I loved getting to know the city some more.  I found a beautiful hole-in-the-wall used book store where I've now gone to trade books, and some thrift stores I've since revisited, and a park full of young people and musicians and greenery where I feel at peace.  I finally have a(n albeit imperfect) map of the city in my brain and can use the bus system without getting completely lost.  When I think about how scared I was to take a train from Germany to Austria a few years ago, and compare it to the independence I feel now, it makes me laugh.  I have grown and learned so much-- and I have so much farther to go! 
          
I wonder sometimes about how the people from my village will remember me... what they will say about me when I'm gone, what they will have learned from me, what the kids will think when they have fleeting memories of me as adults.  I'm not the first gringa they've seen, the first tall gringa, the first tattoo'd gringa.  I'm not their first Teacher.  So what impression am I leaving? I hope that they remember my love of music, my laughter, my alternativeness, my interest in their language.  I hope that they remember how to sign 'I love you'. 

...on a slightly random note: here's one of my favorite pictures I've taken here this year.  This wonderful elderly woman's name is Nicha and she lives on the side of a mountain here in Boruca in a hut on a farm.  Her family is also one of the ones I've bonded with most.  She's a natural model:

....so why is this entry titled 'The Concept of Home'? I'm not entirely sure, to be honest.  So let's see where this thought process leads me...! 

Boruca is, in a way, my home.  DC is, in a way, my home.  Germany and Austria are two of my heart-homes. 

But I have moved too much to have one place that is mine.  The one true home I feel in my brain is love, the love that I feel for those most important to me, and that home is strewn across miles and miles and continents and oceans, sent out by internet and phone and letter across the distance.

These past seven months have shown me that travel and saying goodbye doesn't get easier.  They've shown me that I will not be able to continue like this much longer.  They've shown me that I need to have a place, some kind of center, some kind of focus. The more I move, the more I will love, the more I will learn, the more I will ache for tranquility.  I have conflicting needs within my soul-- the need to keep in motion and the need to stay, the need to be free and the need to belong, the need to love and the need to leave. 

It's been a good seven months, an important seven months, and a very difficult seven months.  It's been seven months of sun, rain, rice and beans, bugs, lesson plans, cold showers, chickens, dogs, loneliness, love, and friendship.  I am older, tanner, multilingualer, and more patient.  I have written poetry in Spanish, longed for German, revelled in English relief and connected through music.    

I've lived.  You've lived.  Life has gone on. 

... I think that I will only truly be able to comprehend this year and its significance in retrospect--if ever-- this is one of those times in my life where I'm feeling myself growing and changing so intensely that it's hard to stop and try to capture it into words. 

But I guess that's the point of a blog, right?

So here I am, writing.  And here you are, reading.

And thank you for that.

Besos!
Raquel

PS apparently when I speak in Spanish, I have a German accent.  My brain likes this.

Of Parents and Primates

Dearest readers!

This entry marks the beginning of the second week of Quincedias (fifteen days), a two-week break from school here in Costa Rica.  The break has been a much-needed one for me so far...I mean, I love my job and students and all, but I was definitely feeling a bit burned out in the days leading up to this vacation.  Not only that, I was also counting down the days until I got to see my parents again... and time does  NOT fly when you are anxiously anticipating something! :)

My parents arrived on the first of July and stayed  for the past week.  We got to travel together and catch up, and it was absolutely  wonderful to see them.

The Sunday that they arrived, we spent most of the afternoon driving from the airport to their hotel, eating dinner, and stuff like that.  Nothing exotic to report for those first few hours together, but here's a picture of me and Mom shortly after seeing each other again for the first time in 6 months:

On Monday, Alex joined us for a trip to the volcano Poas, which is located an hour or two outside of San  Jose. It was a rainy and cloudy day, but the weather gods decided to calm  down for a bit and let us see the awesome crater up close:

aaaaaaaaaand here's a picture of me, Dad,  Mom, and  Alex at Poas (you'll have to take my word for it...the cloud cover  was pretty dense):

Monday night, the  three of us left the capitol and drove through the mountains to Buenos Aires, the closest 'big town' to Boruca,where I live. We stopped along the way to take pictures of the gorgeous sunset:

Tuesday Morning, we  wandered around Buenos Aires and then drove into Boruca (a feat only made possible by  the 4WD SUV my parents had  rented!)... in Boruca we visited the waterfalls and my  classroom  and had  lunch with my favorite family:

(we're eating rice, beans, heart  of palm, smoked meat, plantains, and a salad of green bananas and tomato--  delicious!)

Wednesday, we drove first to one of my  favorite beaches, Uvita:

...and then to Manuel Antonio, where we would stay for the next two nights. 

Thursday morning we took a tour of the national park at Manuel Antonio,which is home to a vast  array of plants, animals, and insects.  If you want to see all the photos, click on this link and scroll to the bottom.  But here are some highlights...


1) tree crab!

2) monkey!

3) giant zebra grasshopper!

4) wild iguana!

aaand we found these three strange animals on the beach:

After a relaxing afternoon Thursday, we drove back up to San Jose on Friday and said our goodbyes.

...It was a whirlwind week, and it was fantastic to get to see them  and hug them and talk to them face to face. I really lucked out in the parent department, and I miss my mom and dad tons when I can't see them.

When I asked  them what they thought  of Costa Rica, they kept commenting on how GREEN it is here... plants and plants and plants everywhere!   They also loved the food and enjoyed listening to me babble in Spanish with the various people we met along the way.  In short, they had a great time. 

ANYway... that's all for now; I'm relaxing and trying to force myself to plan lessons for when school gears up again next week.   Life goes on...!

Love,
Raquelita

Time for some smiles!

Here are some stories and tidbits I've posted to Facebook recently that the rest of you haven't had access to.  Enjoy!

on what it means to me to be successful:

'i walked in on some of my third graders 'playing Teacher' the other day. this consisted of one of them standing in the front of the room and tossing my red and blue bouncy ball to the others, who were seated, asking them loudly WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HOW ARE YOU, HOW OLD ARE YOU, and DO YOU LIKE CHOCOLATE and waiting for their answers. when they responded, she then enthused GOOD JOB! EXCELLENT! VERY GOOD! and gave them a big thumbs-up and grin. ... and it was all done very mockingly, you know? but it made me feel awesome. because honestly, if THAT is their impression of me, i think that i've done my job pretty darn well.'


and

'i can't find the words to describe how awesome it makes me feel when i'm in my classroom cleaning up or grading and i hear students pass by outside singing quietly to themselves the songs i've taught them in English class... such a simple thing, but it makes me feel like i've changed the world'

from an oral exam with one of my 5th graders:

'me: what is your name?
her: rosa.
me: hi rosa! how are you?
her: FICK AND FABULOUS.
:D'


on the importance of ambition:

'this week's goal: teach every single one of my students how to say 'i love you'.'

a mural some of my students made for me:

on the joys of living in an indigenous territory:

'iiiii just walked out of my room here in Costa Rica and the first words I spoke of the day were the following conversation with my host father in Brunka, the local indigenous language: }

me: 'kak ba ka moren!' (good morning!)
him: 'kak ba ka moren. i shoj cre ra ban? (good morning. how are you?)
me: 'moren moren. i ni ba qui? (good, good. and you?)
him: 'atqui i dosh moren.' (i'm good too.)
me: 'que bueno.... i ni ya tegra 'que bueno'?' 'how nice... how do you say 'how nice'?
him: 'moren gra'.(good.)
me: 'moren gra!' (good!)

ok, i know that this is a tiny thing, but i LOVE learning tiny bits of Brunka and this was an awesome way to start my day. :) little things'



a video of one of my 3rd graders, Wesley, dancing like Michael Jackson:



on living in a tropical country:

'ok, iiiiiiiiiiiiii just spent a half hour running around with my host family in a torrential downpour attempting to sweep out the water which was pooling in rapidly under the walls and doors of our house and putting out buckets under the holes in the tin roof. then we ran barefoot through the rain to their grandmother's house and moved all of her furniture so that we could sweep away the muddy water flowing in from all corners. and then we came back to our house and swept some more. and when I innocently asked 'so, is this what the next five months are going to be like?' my question was met not with words of comfort but with maniacal laughter. Ohhhhhhhhhh Costa Rica............'


conversation with a student:

''Teacher, como se dice 'bonita' en English?'
'pretty'
'Teacher pretty!'
'thank you!'
'Teacher, que significa 'i love you'?'
'te quiero.'
'I LOVE YOU TEACHER!'

♥♥♥ this just never ever gets old.'

aaaaaaand last but not least, here's a picture of me with some of my friends here.  The two gringos to my right are Drew and Graciela, who are fellow volunteers with Worldteach.  The gringa to my left is Kelly, the Peace Corps volunteer who also lives in Boruca and one of my best friends.  We're at her birthday party in this picture... the others in the picture are a band made up of locals who came to serenade Kelly and wish her feliz cumpleaños :)

Aaaaaaaaaaaanyway, that's enough for today.

Besos!
Raquel

After the long silence

I've thought and thought and rethought how to start writing another entry.  So much has happened, so I think I'm just going to start with the thing that keeps on crowding into the forefront of my mind and overshadowing everything else:

My stepcousin Eric, a National Guardsman from Michigan, was critically injured in an IED blast in Afghanistan a few weeks ago.  He lost both arms and has many, many other injuries.  He's now back stateside and beginning what is going to be an incredibly long recovery process.  ... any and all thoughts and prayers and any amount of positive energy in his direction is appreciated.  Here's a picture of Eric taken before the attack: 

...I found out about what had happened day afterwards and it plummetted me into a very difficult spiral.  More than anything, I felt a deep sadness.  I spent a week crying into my rice and beans, with my host family not knowing what to say.  I tried to make it through all of my classes (and my boss was incredibly supportive), but I ended up taking some time off work just to rest because late at night when I shut my eyes I found myself unable to sleep, thinking of Eric and wanting to check my email but being scared to. 

As some of you know, I was in Austria 2.5 years ago when my dear Aunt Carolyn died rather abruptly.  No one expected her to go that quickly, and her death hit me unbelievably hard.  I flew back to the States for her funeral, but it haunts me still, sometimes, that I was not there to spend more time with her in her last days alive.  That I hadn't sent more photos like she'd asked me to.  That I hadn't written more like I should have.  That I hadn't included her as much as I had promised to.

... and now here I am, again, doing the same thing, finding myself so caught up in life here in Costa Rica that I'm not as close to what I love in the rest of the world as I would like to be.  And then, when Eric got injured, it just hit me again... how difficult it is to be away from my family, from my dearest friends, from those I love.  When I know that my nieces are having a hard day and I can't hug them; when I miss my parents and my sisters and so many other people. 

So.  Please, forgive me for not being as in touch as I have wanted to be.   I'm hoping that this entry can be a new start of being more communicative-- I absolutely love to hear from any and all of you, to read your emails and comments and messages, to get your letters and boxes in the mail.

Six weeks have passed since my last entry, though it seems way longer than that in my mind. I feel guilty for not writing and keeping up to date with all of you, and I hope that you know that even though I haven't been as communicative, I think of you often and am thankful-- especially right now-- for your continued support.

This is all worth it.  This is who I am, this is me, and being in Costa Rica is what I want to be doing right now.  It's just really, really hard sometimes. And I guess that what I remind myself in those difficult moments is that the reason I hurt is because of a good thing: it's because of love.  Because I love my family, I love my friends, I love other countries, I love languages, I love travel, I love to teach.  And I would not trade those loves for anything, even when they pull me away from the people nearest and dearest to me. 


Anyway.  That's enough seriousness for one entry, isn't it? Time to move on to a few positives:


1) I now speak Spanish!  Like, really.  Like, I just finished a 797-page novel in Spanish.  Like, when I remember conversations from the past that I had in English or German, they're now in Spanish.  My dreams are in Spanish, my life is in Spanish, and I love it, love it, love it!



2) My job at the school is a great source of happiness for me.  The second trimestre is well underway and I have a comfortable routine with my students and lessons.  Planning has gotten exponentially easier, and I feel at home in my classroom.  Here's a video of me and some of my students 'cleaning my classroom' after school (by which I mean, dancing around like the silly people we are):




3) My parents will be coming to visit me for the first week of July, and I am super excited. 


4) I spend lots of time at the house of the family across the street... I call them my 'second family' here in Boruca and they're incredibly warm and welcoming.  In fact, after writing this entry I'm going to go over there for a birthday celebration (the second one they've invited me to in a month.)  After school I stop by before going home to just sit under their wood-and-leaf Rancho (outside wallless structure very common around here) in a hammock and catch up.  Here's a picture of two of them, Damaris and Margarita:

 

Alright, enough bullets.  The last news of this entry is that I am loving it so much here in Costa Rica that I am giving serious thought to staying here for a while after the end of this school year in December.  To be honest, I want to stay with Worldteach (the volunteer program that I came with), but it is looking like it would be unfeasible to try to raise another $4,500 by December.  (THANK you to all of you who have asked about this and have told me you would contribute again if need be-- it measnt he world.)  Therefore, I might very well end up looking to see if I can find a job here at a different school... with the TEFL certificate that I will have completed at the end of my service, I should be able to work at a private school.

Either way, before a second school year started, I would be able to come back to the States for a while and visit :)

I will keep you all posted.    
Much love and again... thank you.
Raquel

Feliz Mayo! :)

Alright, world, where did April go? How is it May already? How is it somehow possible that my parents will be here to visit me in TWO MONTHS? .... man oh man,this time is a-flyin' by. :)

I am............ in a really good place, right now. And this isn't a fluke, this isn't 'just because I'm in Costa Rica': it's the result of having spent the last month of my life working, working hard, every single day, at making Costa Rica into a place that I love.

You see, about a month ago I hit a bit of a slump. Ok, that's a lie: I was in fact slipping towards a pretty deep depression. This was partially because I hurt my back and couldn't go running for a while and partially because I really, truly was in dire need of a bit of a mental shift. I had a good bit of misery, tears, and negativity. I was scared because I was lonely, and I wasn't able to revel in myself, in the world, in others, in the Spanish language, in the joy of sharing and volunteering and learning in this awesome country. All of the positive feelings that I had been loving and living since getting here were being hidden by my general angst, and something needed to change.

So what did I do?

I made a list. That's right, I made a list-- a list of all of the things that I wanted to change about my life in Boruca, about the things I want to accomplish here, about the things I wanted to add into my Costa Rican life on a day-to-day basis. And then, after I made the list, after I'd checked it twice.... I put it into action.

Here are some of the things I've changed and implemented and done these past four weeks:

-I've made a better effort to live in Spanish:reading a novel in the language, speaking with more people here in Spanish, avoiding speaking in English whenever possible, listening to Spanish music
-I've gone out and gotten to know the community more: I now go over to my neighbors' house daily to chat, play with the baby, and listen to the grandmother tell tales (in Spanish, of course) of what life was like here when she was a child... I've met and talked to more and more parents of my students, met more people my age, and played cards and soccer and hide-and-seek with the locals.
-I've tried to make a mental shift more towards fitting in here instead of trying to 'be myself' here-- this means, for example, being mroe open to drinking coffee, trying to revel in the glory that is the cafecito (cafecito being when you go to someone's house, planned or unannounced, to sit around talking-- or not talking-- for an indefinite period of time, drinking tea or coffee, just being relaxed together instead of working)
-when my students say 'te quiero', I now say 'te quiero' right back. (te quiero is hard translate into English-- in English we just have 'I love you', but in Spanish there are several levels of it. 'te quiero' is more like'i hold you dear'/'you are awesome and important to me' as opposed to 'te amo', which is a distinctively romantic thing.)
-I MILKED A COW!

-I now hang out with my host family more. This means, in effect, that I now watch a lot more TV than I did before.. but at the end of the day, it means that I'm bonding a tad more with them... and hey, the TV also helps my Spanish.
-I now drink tea almost every day... tea has always been a big comfort for me, but it's expensive and difficultto make here because my family doesn't have a microwave or stove or water cooker, so I have to go next door to make it... but I've decided that it's worth the effort. An added benefit is that I've gotten to bond a bit more with Doña Paulina, the ancient old woman living next door whose microwave I use each day (she's actually my host grandmother.... and she's pretty awesome.)
-each week I take the bus into town and buy myself a big bag of fresh fruit so that I will have a piece to eat every day
-I began to teach my classes immersion style, which not only makes me feel like a better teacher but motivates me, motivates my students, and shows them how much they have learned (we make a game out of it every day, Teacher vs. Students, and keep track on the board, to see who can go a whole class without speaking Spanish.)
-I've returned to my old habit of making lists in my head of things that I am thankful for. I wake up in the morning, and I try to have my first thoughts be ones of peace. When I go to bed at night, I try to think about the good stuff about the day that has passed and about what I'm looking forward to in the upcoming days.

The effect of all of this has been overwhelming: my Spanish is better, my classes are better, my relationship with my family and community is better. I've made new friends, and I'm content in this tiny pueblo in the jungle. When I leave for the weekend, I'm excited to go-- and now, also, excited to return. In fact, when I was in San Jose this weekend, I mentioned to Alex (one of my Tico friends) something I wanted to do 'when I was home'-- and realized that, at some point in the past few weeks, I have naturally started thinking of Boruca as 'home'.. and it feels good.

Speaking of Alex: a couple of weeks ago, I got to accompany my him to a rural car race in Guanacaste that he was covering (he's a professional photographer here in Costa Rica.) It was SO beautiful that I'm actually giving some thought to living there for a while:

...anyway. This is getting long, so, I'll stop for now. Moral of all of this is that I'm doing alright. In fact, I'm doing great. Thank you to all of you for your patience with me, for your support, and for your thoughts and prayers :)

Besitos!
Raquelita

'...if we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.' -Mother Teresa

I did not come to Costa Rica thinking that I knew how to teach. If anything, after three years as an assistant teacher, I came here knowing that I did not know how to teach— but also that I had a talent for winging things, learning fast and working under pressure. I knew that I thrived on challenge, could learn languages well and rapidly, and that I liked adventure.

It’s true that I had lived abroad before, for years at a time. I had had language immersion experiences before and had emerged from them with fluency and confidence, and I had been away from my family before for long stretches of time. I was confident that all of those things would help me during my time in Costa Rica, and as it turns out, I was right.
But it’s also true that I had never lived in a culture so vastly different from the one I was used to. I had never lived in a climate so vastly different from the one I was used to, and I had never worked a fulltime job before. I had never agreed to live as a boarder with complete strangers for a year, giving up my daily personal independence along the way.
And now, here I am in this 700 person pueblo in Costa Rica, listening to the rain pour down and digesting a bellyfull of yucca and mango. I’m here in Costa Rica, living this life that I have chosen, waking up before 6 AM each day and starting to teach at 7, eating three plates of rice and beans and taking cold showers and going for runs in the sweltering Tican sun on a dirt and rock path through a jungle full of palm trees and jicara, speaking Spanish to my family and colleagues and neighbors, planning and teaching lessons and writing and giving and grading exams for 150 students, and all the while trying to forge new relationships here while cultivating those I have in the other homes where I’ve lived and loved.

……..and I still haven’t been able to find the words to describe it.

The thing is that every single aspect of this experience has been a challenge. It’s tough. It’s a neverending riddle. It’s fantastic, and intense, and awful, and I have had days where I wake up with a smile on my face and joy in my heart and days where I wake up and just want to groan and where the last thing I want to do is eat gallo pinto and go face a hoard of 26 2nd-graders all screeching TEACHER TEACHER TEACHER!!!!.......... I have had moments of intense pain and loneliness, moments of overwhelming happiness, moments where I feel like an inept failure and moments of accomplishment and confirmation where all I can focus on is the sheer thankfulness in my heart for having had the amazing luck to land here, in this place, with these people, doing these things.

So, yeah.  It's tough.  It's amazing.  I feel lucky, I feel crazy, I feel lonely...so I guess the moral of the story is:

I’m here.
I’m alive.
I’m doing my best.

Thank you for caring. 

Love!
R

Saturday Morning in Costa Rica: An Essay

8:40 AM, Costa Rica. Rice and beans eaten, waterbottle filled: all systems go. I step out onto the dust and rock road at the center of Boruca, turn left, and start walking.

The first few meters are blissfully flat, a ten or fifteen second tease. Then the ascent begins. One foot after another, one meter after another, I climb. The sun burns bright overhead as I pass the shuttered police station, occupied only once a week, and then the pulperia on my left and the bus stop across from it, teeming with the relative life of four or five people standing, sitting, buying, and watching me, the gringa in orange sunglasses making her way up, up, up.

The road does not flatten out after the pulperia—it gets steeper. The incline is at least 30 degrees, an estimate which to my out-of-practice brain and aching calves seems pathetically conservative. A shout—HELLOOOOOO, TEACHER!— is answered automatically with my response of HELLOOOO into the cluster of tin-roofed houses to my right. And I keep climbing.

The already scorching pre-noon sun is blissfully off to the side in the sky, allowing for several of the trees towering over the road to cast arching shadows into my path. Several, but not many. Even now, at 8:50, the vast majority of what lies ahead is unprotected, uncovered, bleached by the power of the giant ball of energy pulsing above me, waiting for my Tevas to crunch in, crunch on, kicking ambitious pebbles loose to tumble back down to the center of the pueblo below.

I pass the last of the houses, then the blue-roof clinic, then the energy compound. The incline increases. I can feel the sweat starting to drip down my back and my arms, feel my pulse pounding in my fingers and the pads of my feet, hear the roar of blood in my ears. I think of the Hunger Games, think of Katniss Everdeen and how she lost the hearing in her left ear as she fought for her life. I am lucky to not live under the rule of tyrants. And I am lucky to hear. And I am lucky to be alive.

I keep climbing.

9 AM. The road curves again to the right and I stop to catch my breath, resting my hands on my thighs and leaning down as I gaze back over Boruca. I have been hiking on a steep incline for 20 minutes without respite and my shirt is damp with sweat. From this altitude the houses look like toys, the giant cross in front of the church a dainty white figurine against the rolling backdrop of the mountains stretching as far as my eyes can see. These mountains are majestic in their enormity, their endless peaks reminding me of stiffly beaten eggwhites atop a lemon-meringue pie. Dark green, leafy eggwhites. I find my brain again thinking of the Hunger Games and Katniss, again thinking of her struggle for food and the fantasies of meat and water that haunted her, then thinking about my own thirst and the water and cookies in my camera bag. I promise myself that once I reach the top of the mountain, I will take a break and refuel.

But I still have quite a way to go.

Up, Up, Up. I round a bend and come up short—this is the curve, this exact swath of dirt and rock, this exact precipice over a valley—this is exactly the place where, three weeks ago, the bus broke down and began to slide backwards, backwards down the incline, first in a straight line and then in a curve, the driver unable to control it and the wheels rolling further and further until—suddenly, blessedly, and diagonally across the road—the wheels had come to an abrupt stop on the edge of a steep drop. I remember the knuckles of my fingers grasping the seat in front of me, remember searching for a way out—windows too small, door closed— remember the shriek of nervous laughter that had escaped my lips as I wondered what would be the safest position to crash in, what I could grab that would give me the best chance of survival, and then it was over. Over, and then we were out on the side of the road, waiting for an hour in the shade of the bus for a pick-up truck to come and drive us up the mountain. Waiting, as men dug a path in the mountain around the bus so that a car or two could get by—waiting, waiting, in the dust and rocks. The same dust and rocks that now slip under my feet as I climb.

Up, up, up. It is now past 9, and I have yet to see a car, a motorcycle, or any other sort of vehicle. I pass a horse chewing its way through the high grass beside the road, contained not by a fence but by an overabundance of food. It whinnies what seems disapproval and continues to chew, chew, chew as I climb, climb, climb. The sun climbs, too, but I do not welcome its company.

I hurt. My legs hurt. My lungs hurt. My throat hurts. My lips are dry, my gaze does not want to focus as well as it did a half hour ago. My face and body are wearing a mask of sweat. There are three shadow-patches ahead on the final stretch of mountain, and I force myself to trudge up from one, to the next, to the next, waiting a few seconds in each and savoring the treat of an instant of shade. I think about each step, think about the distance I am putting between myself and where I have been, think about where I am going. I think about music, about the birds, about death, about the absence of humanity, and about nothing at all.

Have you ever noticed how some birds have a wingspan as large as a human? A huge shadow grazes over me as a vulture swoops down close over my head, and I think not only of its size but also of how, were I to collapse in the heat, the vultures would soon return, gleeful and wanting to pick my bones clean.

Up, up, up.

I can see it now. I can see the curve of the road that promises relief, shade, and a stretch of flat path before hills begin again—and I know that I will make it, can almost taste the sweet water in my thermos, can barely contain my relief as I round the bend and find a swirling, cool patch of air under a copse of trees where the wind seems to be caught in an angry loop, furiously swirling around my aching body.

Finally.

There are no benches here. There is no curb. There isn’t even a stump of a tree or a big rock that could serve as my chair, so I plop down unceremoniously on the road, sending up a small cloud of dust into the mountain air.

For a few seconds, this is my dream, this is my heaven. It takes no effort to block out the entire universe save for the rise and fall of my chest as I gulp air, the ecstasy of every exposed inch of skin as the wind—ohhh, the wonderful wind!—dances across it and lifts away the heat. I am purely, entirely happy, aware of my life and knowing my ignorance and full of love.

My fingers trace over the cool metal of my thermos and I crack it open,
sipping down life in short gulps. I break into my honeycrackers, chewing them slowly and letting the flavors sit on my tongue. My pulse and breathing slow and a rooster crows somewhere nearby and I imagine a camera, zoomed in on me, then slowly panning out, out, out, and I wonder how long it would take, how many seconds of film, how many hundreds of meters of dirt road, before that camera would arrive at the first houses, the first people, the first signs of civilization. Quite a few, I think.

9:20. I smile, stand back up, dust off the back of my shorts. I am almost there, now, I know—only a few small hills left to go—and I start walking again, this time quickly, pushed forward by the knowledge that I have almost accomplished what I set out to do.

I crest a hill and come upon the place where I once found a recently dead puppy in the road. I can still see its paws and empty eyes and sleek hair, and I want to cry, and I feel thankful, and I force myself onwards. It’s not far now. I come upon a few small houses-- a radio is blaring out—and first I think it is Pearl Jam, then I think it is Madonna, then I realize that it’s more like an awful cover of a Celine Dion song and I speed up even more. The music cuts a harsh wound into the stillness of the mountaintop.

To my left and right, valleys spill out around me, rolling hillside dotted with palms and fruit trees. Smoke rises from where a farmer is burning off the remains of last year’s crops and the air has a faint scent of barbeque.

The rumble of an engine far off announces that I finally have company on the road. From behind, a car struggles up, followed by billowing dust in the air. It pulls to a stop next to me and I get in with two strangers, two men, two Ticos, a thing I would never have dared to do in the States but that here is so commonplace.

Only one more hill, less than a minute in the backseat as palms flash by, and then I am stumbling back out into the sun, murmuring my thanks, and slamming the door a little too hard behind me without wanting to. The car pulls away and I am left on my own at a place I have only been once before.

I enter the store, walk up to the counter, and explain who I am and what I am doing here. The woman I speak with is small, round, and obliging, and at her direction, I enter the attached house through a small wooden door in the back.

I follow the short body of the boy who is my guide through the labyrinth of rooms and corners until he motions to the right and there it is—the room— and I can almost taste sweet success. I enter, I rummage, I unlock, I reach in, and AAAHHHHHHHHH. There it is. My fingers close over its reassuring weight as I pull it out, open it and inhale the enticing smell of pages and binding. After all that work, after all that sweat, after all that incline, I have it: The second book in the Hunger Games Trilogy.

It is 9:35 AM. I exit the store, wave my thanks, and start the hike back to Boruca.