Las Playas

Sunday and Monday were beach days. I can't exactly say that these days were quite as powerful, or moving, but they were fun and relaxing; we all need that every now and then.

Sunday I took a Catamaran to Tortuga (turtle) Island with 7 other volunteers and tons of other tourists and locals. After 1.5 hour boat ride, we arrived at the island and I must say that I was rather disappointed that it wasn't covered in sea turtles. It was, however, a beautiful white sand beach where I could spend the day laying in the sun. While the other girls snorkeled, I opted for sitting in a chair and talking with one other volunteer, and while they all went on the banana boat, I read Pete's "Empty Promises," which I just bought in Spanish. One may say that I am a "party pooper," but I would have to disagree. I think it would be more appropriate to call myself independent. I have been snorkeling a few too many times, and am not crazy about banana boats - especially when I don't know the man driving the boat - therefore the safety of a book was much more appealing.

One activity I did partake in, however, was the horseback riding on the beach; I did this mainly to make my father proud. After having a handful of bad experiences on horses, and being slightly addicted to the illusion that I am in control, horses often frighten me. But because I know one of the things my father wants more for me than anything is to love horses like he does, I, too, want that for myself. So I road the horse. Of course, the crazy Tico man decided to get out a HUGE boa, wrap it around his neck, and walk alongside me and my horse, making the horse's heart beat almost as fast as my own... nevertheless, I survived. And I had a good time. I even got to make friends with a sweet little turtle.







Monday was similar, yet different, when I went to Jaco with two other girls. While Tortuga Island has only twelve people living on it, all of whom are living off of tourism and seemingly happy, Jaco was just about the opposite. Full of tourism, sure, however, also full of locals who were in pretty bad shape. The women wore long faces, and the men did not seem trusty worthy; its was as though you could see the drugs seeping from some of their pores. And though I never felt threatened, I was once again reminded why I don't want to be there at night, and how desperation often brings out the worst in people. The tourist street is semi-decent, yet beginning a street over on either side are the nearly uninhabitable structures these people call home. In no way am I trying to be disrespectful, but the poverty is just so different. Sometimes just a street over exists an entirely different world. And though I know this to be true, it never fails to hurt my heart.

the tourist area

post beach iced coffee with my love :)

The Perfect Day

I cannot imagine a day more perfectly created for me than today.

Before coming to Costa Rica one of the main things I researched was hiking. I was dying to hike through the lush forests that I've heard so very much about, therefore when I heard about Mario's trip to Las Cruces de Alajuelita, I signed up immediately. I wasn't quite sure what kind of hike I was getting myself into, and was quite frankly expecting not to be too physically challenging; it was so much better than I expected.

We drove about twenty minutes to the bottom of the mountain and started the hike around 10:00. The weather was perfect: overcast and a bit cool. Twenty- one volunteers started up this rough, slippery terrain - made even worse by the recent rains - following Mario, our fearless leader. Mario is a 28 year old local Tico who works at Maximo, the organization through which we volunteer. From the moment we began, it was clear that he was in his element, and that if nothing else, he would make for an entertaining hike.

Being the often impatient, and extremely anxious girl that I am, I hiked to the top of the mountain up front with Mario, which was great for three reasons: he is so dang fit that he pushed me physically; I got to ask him tons of questions and get to know both he, and the Costa Rican culture a bit better; he took a bunch of great pics of me :). After about 45 minutes of chatting and climbing, we made it to our first goal: the first cross. This one we could actually climb up - with a little help up and down from Jordan - and the view was absolutely unbelievable.

And then it was time to begin our even more difficult next portion. There were quite a few slips, a shortage of breath as the altitude began to steal it, and lots of fresh cow patties. As we passed the hermit's home, we knew we were getting close. Thighs burning, I watched Mario jog up the steep hill to the top, and for the first time in a long time thought my legs might give out if I tried to keep up. Some people had to sit along the way due to the loss of breath, and there were a couple who I was afraid might not make it, but soon enough... we all filed into the area around the second cross and enjoyed a wonderful picnic lunch. Some of the troops were pretty pooped.

After a few minutes of sitting and eating, the bugs all told each other about our food and were EVERYWHERE, therefore it was time to make it to the final cross. Of course, Mario told us this was the easiest part, and it was definitely the hardest, but it was well worth it in the end. After three hours of hiking/climbing straight up the mountain - with very little opportunity to catch our breath - we were at the top. The final cross is absolutely enormous, and the view from it is by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. One one side of us there were small Christmas tree farms, and coffee plantations with a back drop of the city, and on the other side were more mountains, through which we could see a small piece of the other side of the city. There was a family of cows at the top who let us get close enough to nearly touch them, and seemed quite perturbed that we were walking around in their space. I felt like I was in the sound of music. One boy who is Irish actually pulled out a flute and began playing the most beautiful music; I never wanted to leave. All I could think about was how much my father, a man who raised me to love trees, birds, and untouched land, would love this.

After about thirty minutes of admiring the breathtaking scenery, we took a vote as to how we were going to get down the mountain... we had two options: go straight down the other side, which was the steepest thing I have ever seen, and end at a creek, fresh water spring and waterfall; or go back down the same way we came up, which would be a slippy, slidy mess. We voted on going straight down the other side, and I am absolutely SHOCKED we all made it alive. I slipped and fell on my butt a time or two, some people got a little scratched up and bruised, but the fact that none of us tumbled all the way down to the bottom is unbelievable. We were told to go slow, steady and side ways; I felt like I was part of a little family of mountain goats.

After about an hour of straight down, we made it to the creek. Being a nasty, smelly, sweaty mess, I immediately took off my shirt and jumped right in, going all the way under. It was the coldest water I have ever swam in, and I am pretty sure that every one in my group thought I was absolutely insane. Some of them waded a little bit, but no one was willing to swim with me; it was actually extremely refreshing. Then, we walked another ten minutes and made it to the most amazing water fall. Once again, while everyone else went to sit right at the top of the water fall, I took off my shirt and got right beneath it. I've always wanted to be soaked beneath a waterfall; it was just as beautiful as I imagined. This time, however, one of the girls, Nina, joined me, and then the other girls followed behind. It was just too irresistible.

When we were done here, it was time to make our way along the creek to the little town where we were getting picked up. It was another long walk, but this time it was flat ground, and very relaxing; a chance just to enjoy our surroundings. Around 3:00, after 5 hours of hiking, we made it to the end and had a wonderful little snack at the cutest local cafe. It began to rain just as we were loading the bus.

It is amazing how rejuvenating to the spirit spending time in nature can be - and also vigorous exercise. Being with nature, away from all distraction and pollution - both physical and mental - is so cleansing and brings out such a beautiful side of people. It is times like these that all my doubts, fears and uncertainty seem so insignificant, and all I can do is think how amazing, loving and powerful our God is.

Favorite pic.... made me smile and think of my Papa.

I am in LOVE

It's been a rough few days... until today. I ended my last post with the hopes that I was going to be the only one in my house who didn't get sick, and then Sunday... I got sick. It was miserable. All day Monday and Tuesday I was in my bed, incapable of standing up without being sick, thus didn't even make it to my projects. I will spare all of the fun details, but after taking three doses of an antibiotic, I am now cured and feeling better than ever :)

Today was an absolutely beautiful day. Finally, I was strong enough to run again and indulge in the cool, crisp air and somewhat quiet streets - not too quiet - of Costa Rica at 6:00 in the morning. It's amazing how much better of a person I am when I start the day with a rapid heart beat and a little sweat. 

Then came class, which was absolutely fabulous. Because I would rather not speak than risk being wrong, when I am in a class with my peers, I depend on them to do the talking and remain as quiet as possible. When dying to be fluent in Spanish, this is not very affective. Therefore, this week I am taking two hours of private classes every morning, ridding me of the opportunity to be timid; I can already see an improvement. Today in class my teacher, Ana, and myself had the picture perfect example of language barriers at their worst; her English is worse than my Spanish. We were talking about my farm, and the animals at my farm (in Spanish of course). When I got to the point in which I wanted to tell her about Oliver and Annie, our infamous goats, I forgot what the word for goat was in Spanish, therefore I asked her in English. She told me 'Las Fantasmas."

So I started talking about 'Las Fantasmas' and she was absolutely enchanted. I told her that they were orphans that we found and decided to keep. She asked where they lived, and I told her with the donkeys; she was perplexed, but pleased. She asked me who protected whom, and I told her the donkeys protected the goats. She asked me if we let visitors see them, and a little bit confused, I answered yes, of course. She asked me if they talked, and at this point I became a lot confused. I thought for a moment and decided in my mind that she must mean do they make noise, so I said yes. She asked if they talked to me or the donkeys. At this point all I could think was, "dang, this woman is nuts," but I told her they talked to the donkeys and each other, not me. She asked what they sounded like, and a bit mortified, I said, "Baaaaaa." Then finally, she asked me if they were in the shape of an animal or a human... and I was like WTF!? I told her they looked like animals because they are animals... and this was the moment that it clicked; we were NOT on the same page. We both sat there silently for a moment, and then she realized... when I said Goat, she understood Ghost. A goat is 'una cabra' and 'una fatasma' is a ghost. So while I was sitting there thinking she was nuts, she was also sitting there thinking I was an alien and that Americans really are insane. We were laughing so hard we were in tears...and laughed and laughed and laughed for a good ten minutes. Goes to show how much one word can change the entire meaning of a story.

After class I FINALLY went in search for a solution to my bed that is breaking my back. After going to two stores and fumbling around trying to ask for a foam cover for my mattress that would be good for a bad back, I was told to go to a store called Proursa, which was in walking distance, just four blocks down the street. An hour later, I was still walking. Finally I found it, and am hoping I sleep like a baby on my new three inch, firm Espuma tonight. 

This afternoon, I went to Los Cuadros to teach English; it was by far the best day yet. I not only connected more with some of the children, but I also learned a lot about the area, the main teacher, Joan, and the "Boy With a Ball" rep, Sergio, who is in charge of the "Los Cuadros project." To say I fell in love with many people today is an understatement. 

This is the "nice area" of 'Los Quadros.'

First, I fell in love with Joan, when I asked her to tell me more about herself. I learned she moved to Costa Rica with her boyfriend in January; her home is in Guatemala City, Guatemala. After asking her if she liked Costa Rica, we ended up talking a lot about Guatemala. She told me about the fear she grew up with, in an area where deaths are so normal that one grows numb to the pain of losing loved ones, because if they didn't, they wouldn't be able to survive. She told me about the gangs, the corruption, the rape and the murder. Though there were cops on every corner, she was taught to fear the cops, because they're often the worst of all. Three times, she was held at gun point just for her phone, and when I asked her if they really would have killed her, she said yes; it happens every day. She met one young man, of only twenty years, who murdered some one for just $50 dollars. Life there doesn't have the same value as it does here and in the States.

And then she began to talk to me about Sergio. He is under five feet tall, covered in tattoos, and a bit of a "gangster." He speaks little to no English and is very shy, therefore I don't know him well yet, however, through watching him with the children, I can see his kindness and have become very fond of him. When we entered the neighborhood, he ran into someone's house, leaving us in the car, so Joan took the opportunity to share his story. Sergio is also from Guatemala and moved to Costa Rica six years ago; he has been working for "Boy with a Ball" since October. He has never talked to her about  his past, yet through working together they discovered that they have mutual friends/family; she learned his story from her uncle, who Sergio called "his brother." Growing up, he was initiated into one of the worst gang Guatemala at a young age, and only God knows what he has seen, done, and suffered. Six and a half years ago he decided he wanted out of the gang, but was told death was his only option. Until he met a representative who works for an organization that helps young males flee their counties in order to escape the Guatemalan gangs. He left everything he had ever known behind, desperate for a new chance at life, and now he is mentoring children in the largest, most violent slum in Costa Rica. What a story. No wonder I like him. 

And then there is this little princess, Jocelyn. She is 17 years old and 9.5 months pregnant. The majority of the people in this slum are Nicaraguan, and she, too, is from Nicaragua. She came here with her family for a 'better' life, however, this is what she found. Who am I to say it is not better than where she was before, but for someone so smart, so sweet, and so beautiful... sometimes life is just so unfair. Because many of the Nicaraguans are here illegally, and none of them have insurance, she can not go to the hospital to be induced or get a c-section; all she can do is wait and hope that the baby will come soon, and that he/she will be healthy; and pray that she can survive the labor in whichever of these slums she calls home. When I asked Sergio if the father was around, he told me he was not sure. He told me that in this slum, it is very common for parents to decide they no longer want there children, leaving them on the streets to fend for themselves. Often, the young women are taken in by a distant relative or acquaintance, who then begins to rape them. As of now, Sergio is not sure if this is the case with Jocelyn, or if the father is a young man, a good man, or what. When we asked about sex education, he said it does not exist: not in the schools and not in the homes. When one 11 year old girl started her period, she told her mother she got bitten by a bat in the middle of the night, and her mother gave her a towel, told her she would be fine, and left her to figure the rest out for herself. Sergio and Joan asked that I take Jocelyn under my wing, talking to her about my life, be a temporary mentor, and show her an alternate path than the one she believes she is destined to.

And then, of course, Cristian. A twelve year old boy who is more gifted than he knows, and has more potential than he could ever dream of. The attractive, kind, smart young man, who supports his peers, encouraging the ones who are lost and afraid, and teasing the ones who are confident and "cool." The adolescent who knows exactly how far he can push the limits, getting a laugh from his classmates, while also refraining from being disrespectful and getting in trouble. I have always had a soft spot for this kind.

And last, but certainly not least, this little angel, whose name I have yet to learn, but whose face and sweet smile I will never forget. She is the little sister of one of two of the girls in our class, and belongs to the family who lives in the 'center' from which we teach. They live there for free, however, have to maintain it, pay there pills, keep it clean, etc... There are five children in the family, and she is the fourth. Both the daughter before her and the son after her have severe mental retardations, yet she and her two oldest sisters are perfectly healthy; they are all absolutely beautiful. This little one, though, has absolutely stolen my heart. The first day we went, she asked me for a pen and a piece of paper. On it she drew a picture of a beautiful home, with flowers, and a smiling family, entirely different from her own. And since that day, she has been my little shadow... wanting nothing more than a smile and maybe a little affection. I may have to bring her home.

It is so refreshing to fall in love with people. There are so many stories about bad guys, tragedy and the world falling to pieces, that we often forget about the beauty. It is times like these, when I am free of pressure, distraction, worry, or fear that I am capable of seeing how magnificent so many people in this world are. There is a lot of bad, but a whole lot more good; we could fall in love with someone new every day.

"I am beginning to think that maybe this world is just a place for us to learn that we need each other more than we want to admit."

Richelle Goodwin

Solitaria

Is it sad that yesterday was one of the best days I have had in a long time and I was alone all day? My family would probably say yes; however, I would have to say no. I am a bit of a loner, and I am totally fine with that. I prefer it that way. At times, I must admit, I isolate myself a bit too much; I think that comes with being a writer, and a thinker.

Here, though, I am rarely ever alone. I share a room with three girls, and a bathroom with five people; it is a very small home for eight people, but it's perfect. And when I'm not at home, I am either taking Spanish with people, walking to a project with Jordan, teaching English, or wandering around with other volunteers. It is great, nevertheless for a loner, it's a bit overstimulating. Therefore this weekend, I decided to spend some time alone. While all the other volunteers when to Manuel Antonio beach to party and stay in a hostel, I decided to take a day trip to a different beach, Jaco, alone. Jaco is a beach just an hour and a half away from San Pedro, and the closest beach available. I was forewarned that it is a huge drug and prostitution spot at night, thus I made sure to pre-buy a ticket for the 5:00 bus home, assuring I left before dark.

Being a type A like my father, I planned on leaving my home stay at 8:00 to ensure that I had enough time to find the bus station, and my bus. Unfortunately, she had planned on making a "special" breakfast since one of the girls in my room was leaving, which wasn't ready until 8:00, therefore I didn't leave until 8:20. Long story short, I was running all around downtown San Jose trying to find the bus station, and everyone I asked told me a different direction. When I finally found it, my bus was pulling out of the station... Thank God the driver was nice enough to stop as I chased the bus through the parking lot and then let me on... I was off to a good start.

The bus ride was totally fine, and ended up taking two hours, but wasn't bad. When we got there, it was exactly as I expected. A janky, shady little town full of surfers, Ticos/Ticas (locals), and some tourists here and there. All the shops had the same tacky stuff, except for a few gems I found, and walking down the street people were honking and whistling seeing as I was probably the first blonde they'd seen in a while. After looking through all the little shops, and finally finding somewhere to buy a huge iced coffee, I made my way to the black sand beach. I must say, I am not used to these, and prefer the white sand in Destin, however, the ocean with mountains in the background is absolutely breath taking, and the waves were bigger than any I have ever seen before. 

I fell asleep for about two hours - with my legs over my bags so that no one could take them - and then watched people take surfing lessons for a while. Beside me was a group of local teenagers who were drinking and smoking pot - all I could think was how very different their life is from mine. I ate an enormous and WONDERFUL lunch at the local Taco Bar, and then when it started to rain, decided to treat myself to a massage. The first place I went to was a bit dark and scary, so I left, but across the street seemed clean and beautiful. It was a very nice massage. When I was done with my massage I had about an hour, and decided to go searching for a bar I'd heard about called Beetle Juice, which is where the men go to find prostitutes. I was told that the place is FULL of men, and that the "waitresses" are both beautiful, and not so beautiful women who can be bought for $100/hour. I ran out of time and never found the place - probably a good thing - got to my bus at 5:00 and headed back to the safety of San Jose. 

It was a miserable ride home; I literally thought I was going to die for multiple reasons. First of all, the bus driver decided to take a different route through the mountains instead of on the highway. Not only did it take an hour longer, but they drive SO fast, the roads were incredibly windy and there are NO street lights. The fact that I couldn't see the road out the front window, made me wonder how on earth the driver was going to get us home alive. But he did, and I made it home in one piece, and was very pleased with my successful excursion.

At this point, life is still GREAT and I have only two complaints. First, I think my back may be ruined when I return to the states from the bed on which I am sleeping. The mattress is so old and thin that I can literally feel every single bar of the bed frame jamming into my bones all throughout the night. I think my spine may actually be bruised. Second, every single person I am living with has had the stomach bug except for me and my house mom. The other SIX have been in bed, or on the toilet over the past few days. Fingers crossed that I am not next.

Pura Vida y Mucho Amor,

Caroline

Estoy Contenta

I am happy; I am content; I feel so free.

I can't tell you the last time that I went through a whole day without feeling the least bit stressed, rushed, worried or anxious. That is the life we live in the U.S. We get angry in traffic, because there are a million other things we "should" be doing; we feel bad laying on the couch and resting, because there's a list waiting for us on the refrigerator; when someone has a question on the street, it is an inconvenience to stand and talk to them. Yes, this is a huge overgeneralization, nevertheless, that is the general culture from what I come.

Now I am not going to lie and tell you that here there is never any stress or rushing around, but I am definitely growing accustomed to the "Pura Vida." When it took an hour and a half to get home tonight from my job due to traffic, for some reason, I was still so peaceful. When I am supposed to have a meeting at 11:00 and it doesn't begin until 11:25, I don't take it as an insult, but rather accept that things happen, people are late... "Pura Vida." I am in love with this place.

So the last two days have been amazing. Tuesdays and Thursdays I am working at Los Cuadros, the slum about an hour away from where I am staying. Because it is a very violent area, and I am afraid of offending people, I have yet to take any photos, but don't worry, I will sneak one when I get a chance. But I will tell you this much, in class yesterday I sat next to a girl who is 16 years old and NINE AND A HALF months pregnant. Due to a lack of nutrition in the area, all the adolescents and teens look years younger than they really are, therefore she looks like an entirely too pregnant 13-14 year old girl. She is learning English in hopes that she can earn a couple of dollars more to provide for she and her child, nevertheless, she is so kind and smiley. I've got a soft spot for that one.

Though we have yet to do any formal teaching yet and have just been helping teachers and working in small groups, yesterday we were told that we would be teaching the children how to write a sentence on Tuesday. After one little girl calling out yesterday (in Spanish), "teacher, teacher, she has bad handwriting," thinking I couldn't understand, I am a little nervous... but I know it will be fine - especially with a 6'11 dude by my side :) What worries me most is that in Latin American countries, they believe in embarrassing the students. Therefore if anyone is late, we have to embarrass them; if someone doesn't do their homework, we must embarrass them. Here, embarrassment equals learning. And coming from a world where embarrassing is forbidden and growing up the child who more often than not wanted to crawl under my desk and cry, that is going to be very hard for me. Other than that, I know it will be great. They are eager to learn and so much smarter than I anticipated; I finally understand what my teachers meant all those years when they told me how rewarding it was when their students finally understood.

Wednesdays and Fridays are extremely different from Los Quadros. The neighborhood, El Triangulo, is further outside of the city and built out of scraps from the landfill... It is down in a hole by the "highway" and you literally feel like you are standing in a pile of trash. The smell is nearly unbearable; the houses look like Jordan could knock them over just by flicking them, and ironically, many of the "homes" have huge Sky satellite dishes on their roofs.

The picture is from the window of the building in which we teach English. This building was donated to the community in order for the kids to have a safe place to go in order to stay out of trouble. The building is made of cinder blocks and is very simple, however, it is relatively nice, too, with plastered walls inside, and two stories. Someone from the neighborhood rents the bottom floor and runs a bakery. It is incredible. Three teens from the neighborhood made fresh bread and walk around the community selling it every day. It's an amazing thing for the community, as well as for the three teens who have been given the opportunity to learn a skill as well as make a little bit of money. The upstairs is where our classes are. There are 15 students in the class and they are from 17-30. It is an entirely different experience here. Unlike the children, these English Language Learners understand the value of speaking English in a country whose primary profit is tourism. They are extremely hard working and excited to spend time with us and learn with us. And at the same time, we are all more or less at the same age/stage in life. Though I know their world is unbelievably different than mine, there is a connection being built after just two days due to the fact that we are - more or less - peers. There are two girls, Jenifer and Estefanie, and one boy, Miguel, who I have already taken under my wing. Jenifer is 18, shy and beautiful; Estefanie is 20 and has a three year old child at home; Miguel is 18 and is so smart, kind and humble. They are the three that run the bakery, and they are the three that melt my heart.

As I was walking out today with Jordan, I was thinking about how dangerous I have been told this area can be, and how grateful I am that I have a giant by me at all times. And then I stopped, and thought about the children who live in there, and the young girls who are powerless in the machismo culture. There is nowhere to run or hide... no safety or security for the powerless. If I can help touch the heart of one of these young adults or children, perhaps they will be able to do the same for someone else, and maybe one day, there will be a chain reaction that saves these beautiful people from such a toxic place.

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."

Mother Teresa

Rice and Beans

It's amazing that less than 72 hours ago I was arriving at the Mendez family home and immediately texting my father, telling him that I may not make it, and now I am absolutely loving life. I think it's just a prime example of how we are innately afraid of what is different. Walking into the modest turquoise home with a locked gate out front, and into a family whose culture, and language I still know very little about was extremely overwhelming, therefore the first thing my instinct told me to do was RUN!!!! But then, I gave this country, my "home," and my "family" a chance, and now I couldn't be happier.

Yesterday was my first real day... no orientation, no Mama showing me how to use the bus... Woke up around 7:00, had a sweet breakfast, caught the bus to Maximo (the "center" for our program), then began my first Spanish lesson. I have two hours each morning from 9-11 with a guy from Utah named Jordan, who is also the only volunteer at my placement in the afternoons. My teacher is a tiny, precious woman from Mexico, who moved her many years ago. I kind of wish she was my grandma. She is so sweet, kind and patient and I am thrilled to be thinking and speaking in Spanish again.

After class, I hung out and talked with Kim, the Maximo director, about my project and about the situation in Costa Rica. Of course, I had to ask her all about drugs, violence and prostitution in the area. In terms of prostitution, she said the situation is pretty terrible. In the city, it is more women working the streets at night, outside of the city, however, it is mother's selling there daughters for a couple hours at a time in order to put food on the table. And because this country is an extremely Catholic and "machismo," most men won't allow the women/girls to wear condoms, and thus all the young girls are pregnant. I love where I am, but I can't lie, my heart is being PULLED by this situation and I would do nearly anything to help those children.

Violence on the other hand, is nearly non-existant in the city; there is just a lot of "petty theft." The slums are a different story, as most slums are. Desperation, hunger and fear brings out the worst in people and that is exactly what these areas are comprised of. And because the children in Costa Rica only go to school half of the day, they have nothing to do and therefore do what everyone else is doing: cause trouble. Hence the creation of the NGO with whom I will be volunteering: Boy With A Ball. This program was started by a wealthy American who visited, saw a huge need, and had a great vision. The entire program focuses on keeping adolescents (12-17) in the slums busy and offering them activities in the afternoons, with the hope that this will keep them out of some trouble. They go into several different slums and offer several different activities, but their most recent, and the one I am helping with is the English lessons. Knowing English in Costa Rica equals money, and therefore the children are dying to learn.

It took us about 20 minutes on one bus, then 20 on another to go from the wealthier area in which we live to the dirt poor slums. And on of the saddest parts, is that the transition wasn't gradual.... It went from decent, to poor....and then there is a distinct line between the poor and the slums. Therefore the children in the slums look longingly all day at those whose situation is far better from their own, nevertheless they are stuck. It is nearly incomprehensible for me as an American that they are stuck. Automatically I think, why don't they just get a job? Why do they drop out of school, they need to be educated? Nobody is ever STUCK! But their world doesn't work that way - just like the "slums" of Nashville.

So when we got there, I allowed myself a minute or two in silence to digest and accept the babies teetering in the street alone, the homes made of pieces of tin that were falling apart, and the dirty and dark feeling all around. As soon as the kids saw the blonde girl, and the 6'11 white guy (Jordan), they swarmed, and were eager to begin their classes. It was so incredible to see children so eager to learn. Of course, some of the older ones were "too cool" and goofed off a bunch, but they were ALL interested in whatever we had to say. They even gave J
ordan a pet name, "Hercules." Some of the kids were in pretty bad physical shape, one child had severe birth defects, and two of the girls had their babies on their hips, however, what was most amazing to me was how clean they ALL were.
It was amazing, they were amazing, the teachers (from Boy With A Ball) were incredible... and I can't wait to go back tomorrow.

For reasons beyond my knowledge, we will be going to this slum, Los Quadros, on Tuesdays and Thursday and another one, El Triangulo, on Wednesdays and Fridays. I am anxious to see this other area, and love on these other children this afternoon.

Though I have had rice and beans for nearly every meal, including breakfast today, and anticipate myself HATING them by the end of my time here, I am very content... especially because I started my day with a run at 6. Though the streets are pretty rocky and cracked due to frequent earthquakes, it was an awesome run, giving me a little time alone to both clear my head and explore... Don't tell my dad, but I did get a little bit (or a lot) lost on my way home, ended up in another neighborhood, and had to ask a nice gentleman for directions to the bar across the street from my home. Thank God I speak Spanish, and thank God that Costa Ricans wake up ridiculously early and the nice man was there to assist me. I look forward to exploring more, and not getting lost soon :)

Tonight we are going on a tour to the top of a mountain where we see a show, have an incredible view of the country, and have a huge buffet... Can't wait to show pics.

All my love from Costa Rica... y Pura Vida!

Caroline

"Pura Vida"

  Saying goodbye to this little man was definitely the hardest part yet... There were many tears shed, from both him and me, and I'm pretty sure mutually broken hearts. I've always been told that dogs have zero sense of time; I am really hoping that is true. The good part, though, is that he is sleeping over with the two biggest dog lovers I know: Christina and Jan. From there things got a bit easier, however, I must admit, saying goodbye to Rodes and Page was pretty tough as well, reminding me how very lucky I am. All the same, the huge lump in my throat that appeared when I turned the corner and they fell out of sight reminded me how important it is that I continue going on these "adventures;" how important it is that I find myself outside of the beautiful Hart family; how important it is that I keep pushing myself.

It was a long day of travel, but easy. Spent a lot of time in my head, worrying about and imagining all of the worst case scenarios that lie ahead. The woman I sat by on the airplane gave me a similar sermon to the one I have heard from my father many times: keep your eyes open, don't go anywhere alone, make good choices, remember you're immersed in a different culture. As if my nerves weren't already wild enough! Nevertheless, I was encouraged by how friendly she was.

I arrived, was reminded how far from fluent I am by the man at customs drilling me about the purpose of my visit, and immediately embraced by a friendly couple who then took me and another volunteer to my home stay. When the first greeting I received was from this precious angel, I knew my family was going to be a good one. But then, they lugged my two HUGE suitcases up the stairs into a tiny bedroom with two bunk beds and three girls awaiting my arrival (Robin, from Canada...Sophie, from Australia...and Melissa, from Chicago); my spoiled heart sank. I am flooded with privacy at home in an apartment with just me and Coop, and now I was being thrown into a home where I would share a tiny space with three other strangers, and a bathroom with an additional four. Some anxious texts went out, many prayers were said, and I even came to the decision that I was going to ask to change homes, but then when I shut my eyes, and asked God to give me peace and take over from that moment, I, the girl who doesn't ever get a good night's sleep, slept like a baby. If that wasn't a clear enough message that I am in the right place, I don't what could be. 

Throughout today, I have become more and more at ease with where I am, and more excited about my upcoming experiences. I have the sweetest house mom ever, Maria Elena Mendez, who walked me to orientation, taught me how to use the bus, and made me a beautiful breakfast, lunch and dinner (fresh squeezed pineapple juice, homemade strawberry jelly, scrambled eggs, rice, spinach tortes...yum)! I learned that I will be working with an organization called "Boy with a ball" that goes into different slums and teaches English to adolescents who can't afford schooling - I can't wait for my first day tomorrow. I have met many volunteers, some of whom I absolutely adore already. I have even found a gym :) Things are looking up!

One of the first things I was told at orientation today is that the answer to every question in Costa Rica is "pura vida." When someone is talking to you and you don't understand, reply with "pura vida;" when someone says thank you, respond with "pura vida;" when talking to a friend on the phone, end your conversation with "pure vida." The literal translation for "pure vida" is "pure life," however, it was compared to the saying "hakuna matata" from the Lion King. It is the life motto here. Things are slow, simple, easy, carefree. Everything is moderate, which is so foreign to a girl that lives in a world of excess. I have a basic understanding of this term, "pura vida," but I can't wait to live it, and really feel it. 

Comfort

I keep finding myself in the same position...the day before another adventure, full of nervous energy, tingling with anxiety, overcome by a rush of bittersweet sadness and excitement. Each time I am here again, I wonder, what is it that brings me back to this place time and time again? What is that repeatedly draws me away from everything I love most in this world, and into the unknown? Why do I crave these adventures?

To tell you the truth, I think I am finally figuring out the answer: I am just too comfortable. Now don't get me wrong. There is nothing that I love more in this world than the security of my Nashville nest: the security, the love, the acceptance, the peace. I am twenty-two years old and have something here that people spend a lifetime searching for: a place where I am known and loved unconditionally. But still, I find my soul growing restless, longing for something.... and its pretty simple, really. After enough time feeling comfortable, blessed and loved, what I need is to go out and be challenged, and share my blessings and love with the rest of the world.

If you talk to Christina, she will tell you about her day-to-day experiences loving in the most uncomfortable places, nevertheless right in Nashville's back yard. She doesn't need to fly overseas to find what I am looking for; I hope I can say the same some day. But for some reason, today, the distractions of my day-to-day life here keep my heart from reaching that moment of complete and utter fullness. There is something about dirt floors, filthy children, desperate living conditions, and a culture so foreign from my own that finally allows my heart to overflow with love, joy and gratitude. I go to these places, I love on these people, and I experience a high unlike anything I have ever felt before; a high that comes from nothing more than vulnerable hearts and raw love. A high that I don't think we are capable of experiencing when we are too comfortable.

So tomorrow, I am going. I am going with the hopes that, as cliche as it sounds, I can be a small light in a dark place. I anticipate that the hardest part of this next journey will be that I am going to a place that my culture considers one of the best destinations for a vacation, to love on some of the most hopeless people. I am going to an island full of rain forests, mountains, and the most beautiful beaches - and believe me, I plan to visit them all on my days off.



But I am also going to a place where outside the resorts and National Parks are slums filled with poverty, addiction, neglect and abuse unlike anything I could ever imagine. The dichotomy will without a doubt be heart wrenching, but if I can leave a mark on just one life, it will be worth it all. And I am certain I will return with a stronger sense of faith, a clearer sense of self, a more definite sense of purpose from spending the next six weeks "Going and Loving."

10 Days

It feels like just last week that I tearfully hugged my precious papa goodbye and boarded the plane for a semester abroad in Spain. I will never forget the car ride to the air port, when I managed to stop crying only long enough to tell my dad that there was no way I was going to make it; I couldn't possibly spend 4.5 months away from him, and away from home. But I did make it, and to this day I still look back on that semester as the bravest thing I have ever done, and one of the most powerful experiences I've ever had.

And now I am right back where I was a year and a half ago. I am anxiously counting down the days until I step out of the safety of my life in Nashville, and take a leap into the unknown. Though I am overcome with excitement, I am equally terrified. Terrified of living with a family about whom I know nothing, who doesn't even speak English; terrified of spending 6 weeks outside of the routine I love so very much; terrified about not having my little Coop to snuggle with when I'm cold and lonely in the middle of yet another sleepless night; terrified that I won't have any clue how to teach English to a classroom full of Spanish-speaking children in the slums of San Jose. But as I take a deep breath and allow myself to feel the power of my fears, I remember the topic of my small group not too long ago: the paralyzing power of fear. Scripture states that the opposite of fear is faith; we can choose to walk by fear, or we can choose to walk by faith. Today I choose to walk by faith. My dad puts it perfectly when he frequently recites to me a mantra he learned in AA, "I can't; God can. I think I'll let him."

I can't control what happens on this next adventure, much less this evening. I can't control the poverty of the children I will meet in Costa Rica, or the hopelessness of their parents who can't provide for them. I can't control whether the next six weeks are a life changing adventure, or if I break my foot the first day and have to be sent home. I can't control if my host family serves me some foreign meat the very first night, or if my showers are a little bit cold. So if nothing else these next few weeks are going to cause me a bit of discomfort, which is exactly what my Spirit needs; forcing me to find comfort in Him and lean on Him rather than on the luxuries of home. I think it will be that and SO MUCH MORE... and I can't wait for the challenge.

"When you find your path, you must not be afraid. You need to have sufficient courage to make mistakes. Disappointment, defeat, and despair are the tools God uses to show us the way."
Paulo Coel