Today marks the halfway point to my trip as scheduled. However, walking through Tikal this week, I realized that I don't want to leave here until I can actually speak the language which I think will take me quite awhile. So now my mission is to figure out a way I can make money down here so that I can extend my trip past my original March 2nd departure date.
My middle-mark day started with a few of the others in the shared dorm room getting up bright and early to take their bus. There was also another guy (I'd spoken to him the night before) in the room traveling alone just for the long weekend from Texas. He couldn't decide whether to join the others and appeared to have a lot of anxiety about it. In the end he didn't go with them but then asked me about how to take a bus to the nearby volcano. He appeared to have a lot of anxiety about that as well, saying that he knew no Spanish and wondering if they were safe.
Ummm, what is it with American's? Do I look like I know all the languages of all the countries I've traveled to? Maybe I need to have a stronger fear reflex too. But what about all the people from these countries picking up and moving to the states? What about our ancestors when they first moved to America? Do you think they knew any English? Get over yourselves!!! Especially if you're going to travel all the way down here. Are the hotels and tourist attractions really all you want to see of this country?
Sorry for my tirade. I did actually feel for him. I even thought about taking him under my wing and going with him somewhere. But then I remembered how relieved I had been to finally have a day on my own to just chill out and I told myself "What are you thinking?!?!?" So instead I left him to his own devices and went for a walk through San Jose. I went up through a couple parks (Parque Espana and Parque Morazan) and walked further south to the beautiful Teatro Nacional. This was the same area that April and I had walked through the first night in San Jose but a little more low key midmorning on a Sunday. It was interesting seeing so many fewer traditionally dressed indigenous people as in Guatemala as well as the much less elaborate clothing.
I was looking for the right bakery to have my breakfast in but ended up walking in circles for quite awhile. Eventually, after over an hour of wandering around, I finally found one that seemed good enough. I examined my map and devised a plan for other things I wanted to see but then realized I would have to just head back since check-out was at 11am. I did manage to walk through what I thoughts was the main market area. Night and day difference between this market and those in Guatemala. Though they appeared to have the same set up with a combination of food stalls and clothing and miscellaneous stalls, the crowd was nowhere to be found. Where were all the people that had filled the Guatemalan markets?
Walking back, I took more of a direct route through less pretty parts of the city. Also like night and day from the pedestrian areas I had been walking through earlier. Once back at the hostel I packed up my things and checked out, then headed up to the rooftop restaurant with my giant backpack to wait for my ride for 6 hours. Sometime around 1pm I ordered some lunch. I was pleasantly surprised at the quality after my terrible fajitas there the night before. I ordered chicken "gordon" blue. Interestingly it was covered in a tomato sauce and served with rice and salad. It was a good size portion and quite filling.
At 10 to 5 I headed down to meet my ride. I got off to a bad start with my homestay. My host dad, Marcos, was quite upset with the doorman because he had asked for me and the doorman said I wasn't there. He said that they had been waiting since 4:30. Marcos had his girlfriend with him as well as his 10 year old grandson, Christopher. I sat in back with Christopher. He was playing a game on an i-pad and talking to the game in English. A sudden wave of tiredness washed over me as I tried to make sense of the Spanish in the front seat and answer as best I could when I was asked a question.
Christopher said a few more things in English such as "I have a headache" but it didn't appear he was talking to me. I'm not sure if he actually thought in English or if he was just doing it for my benefit. Either way I was impressed. What if we as American's started our second language education at a young age instead of waiting until high school? After all, I had taken a few Spanish classes back in first grade and some of what I learned actually stuck. Mom, what didn't you have me continue with those early morning classes?
Otherwise, Christopher pretty much ignored me. He did help me out a couple times speaking to me slowly in Spanish when I appeared confused about something. Definitely a different experience with an older child than it was with the younger child in my last homestay. Christopher has a better grasp of me not understanding while the child in my last homestay still spoke to me in and expected me to understand Spanish. It seems crazy that less than a year ago a child his age was living with me as my foster child in Chicago. In this case, little Christopher seems so much more innocent and sheltered than J~ was in her very difficult 10 years of life.
Eventually we arrived at the house in the suburbs. I would have never imagined I would ever say this after my summer living in the fancy suburbs of Marin County, but I felt more sense of relief at the quietness of the suburb. Perhaps I just need an opportunity to recuperate after my many weeks among cement streets and building and tons of people.
As I was shown to my room as well, a sense of relief. All this time, I hadn't realized how much I've been missing until I suddenly have it once again. I have a wardrobe here! I haven't had a drawer to put my clothes in since the first house in California for a month back in July! I have a real desk, a headboard, nightstands!
Though things are still basic here and there are still cracks in the walls there is a definite difference in standard of living between here and the places I lived in Guatemala. The cars out here in the suburbs are nicer but the kitchen was still basic. A real drying rack for the dishes while the Guatemalan homes just had a plastic basket. However, I don't think they go crazy with all their remodels and needing the newest and best as we Americans do. No granite counter tops though they do have a stainless steal refrigerator. But basically, only the necessities, the things you need. A few cupboards, a stove, an oven.... Similar to the kitchens I saw when I lived in Germany years ago.
Eventually, Marcos' irritation about my pick up wore off. He is awesome! So sweet and worried about my cough that still seems to linger. I'd worried about too many people speaking English in Costa Rica during my tourist stint, but he doesn't speak of lick of English!
I'm certainly paying for this higher standard of living. If only it cost less I might stay longer. But for only a short time perhaps the money I'm spending to stay here is well worth the week of recuperation. These were my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep with both a top sheet, bottom sheet, a blanket, and a bedspread on my comfy double bed (this combination is also a first since being down here). It's the little things you take for granted....
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