Some more Costa Rica updates: Brittney, Marco, and I spent the past weekend in Manuel Antonio. I hadn't been there before but it was one of the places in Costa Rica that was mentioned in my 1,001 Places To Go book so I figured I should probably check it out. It was nice. Not my favorite place ever, but it was a nice beach town. Smaller than I thought. But nice. The first day we arrived at about 9:30 am (yes, that's correct, our bus left at an ungodly hour that morning) and we found some cabinas to stay at. We opted for the A/C rooms, only shelling out an extra $5 per night which brought the grand total to... $15 per person per night. Gotta love it. We stayed on the public beach (didn't enter the Park) and rented a couple of umbrellas to hide from the sun. We read, we slept, we jumped, we swam. A pretty relaxed day.
On Saturday we wanted to head into the National Park but there was a storm that I can not compare with any other in my life. It lasted for a good six hours with lightning and thunder threatening to rip off the roof of our cabina and suck us up into the sky. Our beloved electricity went out a couple times which not only left us in the dark, but also sticky without the A/C. Finally at about 10 am we emerged from our room only to find a sunny, yet extremely wet, Manuel Antonio. We left for the park and unfortunately had to cross a larger-than-normal river bed in order to enter. I think the only reason that they haven't built a bridge or something is so that the guy who owns the boat can earn a couple bucks shuttling the not-so-brave tourists across about 10 feet of water. We took our chances and crossed by foot. It wasn't too bad except for the polluted water that I'm pretty sure burned my skin with all its contamination. Guácala. Marco unfortunately took a spill and cut his arm and even more unfortunately dipped my camera bag into the water which he was carrying for me. No damage, thank goodness, to my camera; just some cloudy photos until it dried completely.
The park was... nice. We did get in for free: thank goodness for lunch breaks and siestas. We hiked for a while to see the vistas which happened to be all closed off probably due to the rain. I took a nice tumble on our way back down and ended up defacing my Purdue shorts (sorry Mommy). Nothing that a little sea water couldn't wash up. Seeing the beach was extremely comforting after trudging through a jungle that was only too reminiscent of my frightening time in Panama (shudder). We stayed only for a little while, hoping to beat the rain home. I think the thing I was most disappointed about was the fact that I saw no wildlife. Everyone usually sees little monkeys and can get close enough to interact with them. Due to the heavy rain, I just saw the usual collection of hermit crabs. Boring. The trip overall was very fun, catching up with Brittney, getting some color (no, no sunburn this time), and not caring if I was sweating profusely because hey, it's Costa Rica baby.
Unfortunately Brittney's trip was cut short and she left two days early to tend to some family affairs back in the States. I was left alone with little to do in Marco's house, and decided to make friends with his television. Lame, I know. I did go see my host mother, Nela, and spent a couple hours catching up with her and meeting the student that is currently living in the house. The house has changed quite a lot. No more big screen TV, the bathrooms had all been redone (beautifully, if I might add), and Nela had even planted fruit trees in the backyard. Nela hadn't changed much except for cutting her hair. And her opinion counts the most in my mind, so I was ecstatic when she said that I was looking much thinner. Overall, I'm really glad I went back to see her, even after some roughness with my host brother (but even that seemed to be patched over).
Now, to the title of this post. Love and Racism. Heavy, right? Let me explain. First, the racism. I went with Marco to one of his classes the first week I was here. He and his classmates had to travel to a part of San José in order to survey a property where they would be designing a church to be built. I tagged along in order to meet his classmates (cough cough, Margarita tú sabes) and just to understand better what it means to be an architecture student. Not that he hasn't told me exactly what he does for every second of every day, but oh well, this was an opportunity to witness it first-hand. His professor was also there, and this is where the racism comes in. When Marco introduced us, I have never felt so much hatred from one person. He refused to talk to me and wouldn't even acknowledge that I was there. It hurt. I understand the stereotype that most Latin Americans have against us "gringos" but I have never been treated that poorly. I tried explaining it to Marco, but he seemed to only want to defend his profe. He said he was an artist and he didn't mean it, but even intelligent, smart, forward-thinking artists can be assholes sometimes. He agreed with that reasoning. But it still felt awful that I was being discriminated against in such an aggressive way. I have never felt so insignificant in my life. (Needless to say, when Marco invited me to sit in on his class today, I opted out.)
Then there's love. And not the regular kind, but the kind that is shared within a family. Last night, Marco took me to meet some of his aunts, uncles, and cousins and I have never felt so welcome and loved as I was when I was talking with his family. Everyone I met made me feel like I was already part of the family, making fun of how tall I was and that I needed to make Marco start wearing high heels, or how they all wanted visas to come to the United States for our wedding. They were of course joking, and made sure that I knew it, but it felt like they were my family just joking around with me. I knew that I only met a fraction of the family (Marco's mom is one of 11 I believe, so I believe I only met 1/10 of the family... which is to say that it's a big family!!), but I was overwhelmed by how much fun they had together and how connected they all are to each other. They all still live where Marco's grandmother lived when she was alive, and only a couple have left the family compound like Marco's mother did. That kind of family can only be seen in Latin America. It's a beautiful thing, especially when they take you in as an adopted daughter/cousin/family friend.
On Saturday we wanted to head into the National Park but there was a storm that I can not compare with any other in my life. It lasted for a good six hours with lightning and thunder threatening to rip off the roof of our cabina and suck us up into the sky. Our beloved electricity went out a couple times which not only left us in the dark, but also sticky without the A/C. Finally at about 10 am we emerged from our room only to find a sunny, yet extremely wet, Manuel Antonio. We left for the park and unfortunately had to cross a larger-than-normal river bed in order to enter. I think the only reason that they haven't built a bridge or something is so that the guy who owns the boat can earn a couple bucks shuttling the not-so-brave tourists across about 10 feet of water. We took our chances and crossed by foot. It wasn't too bad except for the polluted water that I'm pretty sure burned my skin with all its contamination. Guácala. Marco unfortunately took a spill and cut his arm and even more unfortunately dipped my camera bag into the water which he was carrying for me. No damage, thank goodness, to my camera; just some cloudy photos until it dried completely.
The park was... nice. We did get in for free: thank goodness for lunch breaks and siestas. We hiked for a while to see the vistas which happened to be all closed off probably due to the rain. I took a nice tumble on our way back down and ended up defacing my Purdue shorts (sorry Mommy). Nothing that a little sea water couldn't wash up. Seeing the beach was extremely comforting after trudging through a jungle that was only too reminiscent of my frightening time in Panama (shudder). We stayed only for a little while, hoping to beat the rain home. I think the thing I was most disappointed about was the fact that I saw no wildlife. Everyone usually sees little monkeys and can get close enough to interact with them. Due to the heavy rain, I just saw the usual collection of hermit crabs. Boring. The trip overall was very fun, catching up with Brittney, getting some color (no, no sunburn this time), and not caring if I was sweating profusely because hey, it's Costa Rica baby.
Unfortunately Brittney's trip was cut short and she left two days early to tend to some family affairs back in the States. I was left alone with little to do in Marco's house, and decided to make friends with his television. Lame, I know. I did go see my host mother, Nela, and spent a couple hours catching up with her and meeting the student that is currently living in the house. The house has changed quite a lot. No more big screen TV, the bathrooms had all been redone (beautifully, if I might add), and Nela had even planted fruit trees in the backyard. Nela hadn't changed much except for cutting her hair. And her opinion counts the most in my mind, so I was ecstatic when she said that I was looking much thinner. Overall, I'm really glad I went back to see her, even after some roughness with my host brother (but even that seemed to be patched over).
Now, to the title of this post. Love and Racism. Heavy, right? Let me explain. First, the racism. I went with Marco to one of his classes the first week I was here. He and his classmates had to travel to a part of San José in order to survey a property where they would be designing a church to be built. I tagged along in order to meet his classmates (cough cough, Margarita tú sabes) and just to understand better what it means to be an architecture student. Not that he hasn't told me exactly what he does for every second of every day, but oh well, this was an opportunity to witness it first-hand. His professor was also there, and this is where the racism comes in. When Marco introduced us, I have never felt so much hatred from one person. He refused to talk to me and wouldn't even acknowledge that I was there. It hurt. I understand the stereotype that most Latin Americans have against us "gringos" but I have never been treated that poorly. I tried explaining it to Marco, but he seemed to only want to defend his profe. He said he was an artist and he didn't mean it, but even intelligent, smart, forward-thinking artists can be assholes sometimes. He agreed with that reasoning. But it still felt awful that I was being discriminated against in such an aggressive way. I have never felt so insignificant in my life. (Needless to say, when Marco invited me to sit in on his class today, I opted out.)
Then there's love. And not the regular kind, but the kind that is shared within a family. Last night, Marco took me to meet some of his aunts, uncles, and cousins and I have never felt so welcome and loved as I was when I was talking with his family. Everyone I met made me feel like I was already part of the family, making fun of how tall I was and that I needed to make Marco start wearing high heels, or how they all wanted visas to come to the United States for our wedding. They were of course joking, and made sure that I knew it, but it felt like they were my family just joking around with me. I knew that I only met a fraction of the family (Marco's mom is one of 11 I believe, so I believe I only met 1/10 of the family... which is to say that it's a big family!!), but I was overwhelmed by how much fun they had together and how connected they all are to each other. They all still live where Marco's grandmother lived when she was alive, and only a couple have left the family compound like Marco's mother did. That kind of family can only be seen in Latin America. It's a beautiful thing, especially when they take you in as an adopted daughter/cousin/family friend.
Tomorrow I return home, just in time to clean clothes, pack them all up again, and head off to my next adventure in Minnesota. Things seem to be moving a lot quicker now in my life. But trust me, I couldn't be happier about that fact.
Peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment