Coffee

Some mornings I find myself not looking forward to my shower because I have to stop drinking coffee and my cup is cold when I get out of the shower. I know I could probably use some sort of commuter mug in the shower if I wanted, but there's always the danger of getting water in my cup, or worse yet soap or shampoo. I can't take the chance of soapy coffee.

Some of you may be concerned and leave a comment that this may be indicative of an addiction. I appreciate the concern, and would like to point out with that kind of quick-witted amateur psychological diagnosis I am sure Dr. Phil is shaking in his cowboy boots. The bigger indicator to me is that I get a headache in the morning if I don't drink it.

I don't mind that, because coffee makes me happy. There are times when I have a feeling of well-being and peace that comes from coffee,at times, it almost feels like a religious experience.

Henry's Blend from Seattle's Best is my favorite. I do not like Starbucks. Except for their Breakfast Blend, they do not know how to make any kind of mild blend. There are times that all of their coffee tastes like a burnt expresso blend. On the other hand, I do like to hang out in their stores, sit on the leather couches and eat bagels and hang out with friends.

Burritos and Politics

On Friday, a group of about six of us went to my favorite Mexican Restaraunt, Los Gallanes. Now I have my own ideas about what makes a great Mexican restaraunt. Of course, the food should be excellent. There should be a lot of it, and it not be too expensive--'cause I'm cheap.

More than that, the vibe should feel uniquely Mexican. Which perfectly describes Los Gallanes. Its in a supermarket that was renovated from a True Value Hardware Store and painted in bright yellow and green. There is blaring music, and the sort of garish posters everywhere advertising upcoming concerts with guys in big cowboy hats and women with too much cleavage showing.

Then there's the service and the food. I come in one day and order a chicken burrito, and am told "no chicken today". The next time I order Eggs and Chorizo, and they have no eggs. Sometimes we get free appetizers, other times an incredible free black bean and mushroom soup. Sometimes its closed and once we came in and were told they had to wait for a health department inspection (They had just remodeled-its a very clean place).

Some people don't like this kind of uncertainty. But I love it. Its the sort of adventure that living in Latino culture can be like. Nothing runs with the same Gringo efficiency, but the latin charm and good humor makes it worth the trouble. There's enough places where you can go and get the same food for the same price in the same amount of time-go to McDonalds or Wendy's if you want this kind of banal dining experience.

Anyway, my credibility with my friends from work was about shot. They told me this was my last chance and were starting a pool with reasons why the restaraunt would not be open. So I called and spoke to the waitress (and check-out girl) and she assured me the cook would be in before lunch and it was ok to come. We came, we ate and had a great time. The service was slow, but the salsa was outstanding and we were given two great big plates of really good guacamole. The next day at work, my friend Chad and I had the following conversation:

"I had a dream Friday where a burrito came to my house and talked to me. I think that means there is something wrong with the burritos. "
"Really? What did it talk to you about? Was it Chicken or Beef? Did it have the yellow sauce?"
"It had the sauce. We discussed how cold it was, and how John Edwards makes empty promises. Wish I could make stuff up that cool."
"So did it have arms and legs and eyes?"
"It didn't have arms, but it had legs and was wearing tennis shoes."
"Did it have an accent?"
"No, it just sat down on my bed and talked like a normal person. I told my Mom about it, she got mad and told me not to say anything bad about John Edwards."
"Maybe if he would have reached out to the Latino community like Hilary has, he could have got more support from giant talking burritos."
"Yep..."

While he seemed almost blasé about the whole thing, I could tell it was eating at him. I told him he needed to let it all out or the burrito would win. He'd see the burrito everywhere. Finally, he aquiesed and did some informal art therapy and drew the burrito. Here is the burrito in his room. Note the Jarritos Pineapple soda on the nightstand.




It seemed to help a little. So he pushed through the pain and drew the burrito again. This time as a defiant and powerful figure for change, leading this new political revolution against insincere politics. At first, it almost reminded me of Diego Rivera's iconic murals of Zapata, but then I cleaned my glasses and realized it was just a burrito.



Three days later, I tried to talk Chad into going for burritos again today, but he had this haunted look in his eyes and he began to shake visibly. I decided to let it drop-it was still all too fresh...

Juanito

Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band-Cherchez La Femme

You ever find yourself liking something, but you aren't sure why? At first you are confused, then amused, annoyed, then quietly overjoyed over something that is dissonant yet makes you happy anyway. That's how I feel about this video.



So, what is with that outfit she is wearing? Is it a dress, a jacket, a robe, what? The rest of the band is is really cool, and being in the musical instrument business, I love seeing the vibes, timpanis, and brass and woodwind. What's up with that guitarist? He is funky in an almost creepy way, like David Byrne from the Talking Heads.

Anyway, tell me what you think.

Juanito

Bunnee

One of my favorite websites to visit is Found Magazine. They collect all manner of notes, letters, drawings, and any other media that was found. This one really caught my eye.

I find myself afraid to go rabbit hunting alone now...

Juanito

My Nerd Score

It's Coming Closer...

There it is.

Over the horizon, just out of view, but edging closer every day. I can feel it just out of sight, waiting for me. I walk down the streets and I can feel its prescence out there in the shadows. If I spin around when I'm walking I might see a flash as it disappears down an alley. Sometimes I think I hear footsteps, and I stop and then I don't. I know I tend toward a little paranoia, but this is real.

We have to meet someday, but I thought it would be so much later. I've seen other people go through this, but I never thought it would happen to me. I've tried to ignore it, avoid it, but it's no use. There is nowhere I can run, nowhere I can hide. It will finally hunt me down and stare me straight in the face. I'll look away and it will finally grab my face and force me to stare at its horrible visage.

My fortieth birthday will be here on the 31st...

I'm still trying to figure out what to do about it.

If you want to help, click on the Amazon Wishlist over on the sidebar, because no matter how old I get, I still become an 8 year old gift mercenary between Christmas and January 31st. I'm ok with that. I'll say that my mother spoiled me, because I was the baby, but I'm getting a little too old to blame things on my Mom any more.

Juanito...

Jazzy Little Christmas

It's been a good Thanksgiving holiday. Last night, we stopped at Wal-Mart for some groceries and I made the most incredible buy on a boxed set of the Charlie Brown Christmas Collection, a three cd collection with everything not just the soundtrack from the original TV show, but also a CD with the soundtracks from other Charlie Brown specials and a tribute CD of the same music done by other Artists.

To those of you that may not know, the Vince Guaraldi Trio is responsible for the incredible music on the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Probably their best known piece is "Linus and Lucy" with that incredibly catchy piano riff we all love so well.

I never really never listened to Jazz as a kid. My dad and I would listen to country music most of the time in the truck. My father didn't sing much in the truck, but the times I do remember him singing, he was partial to Hank Williams Sr., who I still like.



We also listened to the other popular country artists, like George Jones, Merle Haggard, Red Sovine and the like. Since we went to CB Jamborees and worked in construction, country music was everywhere around me. At one point I remember owning a silver belt buckle, cowboy hat and boots-but I never really liked horses. I remember every Saturday Night, we would watch Hee Haw, which was torture to me except after the age of 12. At that time, I started appreciating the girls in the Daisy Duke shorts, but I decided it was best not to point that out to my folks. My mother liked Gospel, especially Nancy Harmon, and the Gaithers.

Around thirteen or fourteen I started becoming interested in Rock and Roll. It was the 80's and New Wave was really popular. I started off listening to Blondie, with such greats song as "One Way or Another" and "Atomic Love", and sadly, the disco hit, "Heart of Glass", (I'm not proud of that last one).



Then I remembered hearing the Talking Heads, and I knew I would probably never wear my silver belt buckle again. When I heard "Burning Down the House" and "Once in a Lifetime", I felt like every kid, in every generation, when they finally discover their music, their voice, their symbol for their time--the soundtrack for their time that will always be playing in their memories when they remember being young.



Sure, I rejected Country Music and most forms of Southern Gospel for Rock and Roll, but, I had never been introduced to Jazz. My parents didn't listen to it. No one I knew in my hometown of Bend, Oregon listened to it. The only time I ever really remember hearing it was at Christmas time, when the Charlie Brown Christmas Special came on. But there was something about it that went beyond the simple labels we give music. It was beyond genre and beat and lyrics, and was simply good. It was good the same way that no matter how educated your palate may become to truffles, fois gras and fine wines, you can always appreciate a hot brownie with vanilla ice cream. When I listened to that music as a kid, I didn't know how to express it in words, but I knew there was more to music than top 40 and MTV. I just didn't know where to look.

What I'm getting at is that there is something special about Vince Guaraldi's music that goes beyond image. Look at this picture:

Vince may be one of the least cool-looking guys ever, with his bandido mustache, flat top and nerd glasses. I mean compare him to my earlier pop heroes. He didn't have spinning, fluffy guitars, classic hot rods, and the type of girls that my mother would have never approved of hanging all over them.



He didn't have the kind of ultra, ironic, tongue-in-cheek humor of Devo-not to mention those cool hats!



Vince Guaraldi never had that permanent, hip sneer that the Police had. He never had songs like Synchronicity I where he explored Jungian philosophy.



But you know, Guaraldi's music has the kind of coolness that transcends what I thought was cool just because it was different from my parent's music. Maybe I just don't have the same attention span I did then. Maybe I'm just getting older. I still own CD's from all those bands, and even some new rock from today. I still listen to the music from my generation, but I always seem to go back to Jazz, especially the small combo stuff like the Vince Guaraldi Trio.

If you dropped Vince Guaraldi and any of the musicians I worshipped as a teenager in the middle of a tribe of people who knew nothing about modern music and had them play their best song for them, I would bet real money that Linus and Lucy would be the most popular song.

For me, Jazz speaks a language that is more essential, more complete. The vagaries of lyrics, marketing and trying to outdo the other band, are stripped away. The musicians use a framework of sheet music as a starting point and then seek where the groove will take them, starting with notes on paper and ending with the notes in the spirit.

Have yourself a Jazzy little Christmas...

-Juanito

How Well Do You Know Me? Take the Test...

Useless time wasters about esoteric information-isn't that what the internet is all about?

How well do you know John?

New Photos

I had to change my picture hosting service for my blog. Some of you may not have read some of the older entries, or have not seen the pictures with them. Below are links to some older entries that now have pictures on them. I also added some pictures that were not there before. There will be more to come later.

The Haircut of an Honest Man.
The Day it All Changed
"Remember Who You Are."
I'm Sorry
37 Years Old

John

La Hora Latina, (Living on Latin Time)

"Punctuality Drive to Combat Tardiness."

"Peruvians, Set Your Watches"

(Click the first link above to read a Reuters article about a government program to combat tardiness, and the second link to listen to an NPR segment about the same program)


The NPR Program on this explained that it is normal for Peruvians to be an hour late for business meetings. It also said that it was common for the previous president of Peru to be two hours late for meetings. At the start of this campaign, there were bells and sirens and even a cannon that sounded at Noon. This was the signal to everyone to synchronize their watches and start a new era of punctuality and order and efficiency.

Right...

Here's a quote from the president of Peru:

"We must stop this horrible, pitiful, disastrous custom of failing to be punctual," he intoned in a speech, inveighing against the $5 billion in annual economic damage caused, he said, by being late."~Peruvian President,Alan Garcia,Reuters Article

The NPR reporter explained that most Peruvians ignored the whole thing and life went on with life as usual. A government program is rarely able to make any real changes to entrenched cultural norms. I guess if they started handing out tickets to late people and taxing them for lateness, they might cause some changes, but I'm sure voting out politicians who make dumb laws would be the most substantial change.

The Latino world has always seen time differently than European and Asian cultures. It's obvious that Peru has a larger problem with time than most Latino countries. In fact, the reporter explained that when Peruvians plan to meet someone, and actually want them to be on time, they ask that they arrive on "English Time".

The most common word for "now" in Spanish is "ahora". One of the literal translations of this word is "this same hour". Certainly, there are ways in Spanish you can say this "this very moment",("este mismo momento" is one), but anyone who has been in Spanish speaking countries would agree that time seems to slow down to a certain extent.

When I was in Costa Rica, I was always showing up for everything way too early. If I was 5 minutes early for school, sometimes I would have wait for someone to open the building. Church generally started about twenty minutes late. I finally embraced what expats in Costa Rica call "Tico Time". For once, my life was unhurried, and even if I was a little late, I knew no one would be offended. There was a new social contract I had never known before. You would let me be a little late, and I would not care if I had to wait for you. For a gringo, it felt like I was getting away with something. There was time to smell the roses, time to gossip and drink another cup of coffee. Time stretched out unhurriedly before me, unrolling and stretching out like the endless blue water on the black beach of Playa Samara. It felt good...

I know this isn't just limited to Costa Rica and Peru. Mexico has long has a reputation of being a country famous for "mañana", meaning whenever you ask when something will be done, they off-handedly say "mañana", which means "tomorrow" as an exact translation, but really means "whenever" (cuandoquiera). The times I have been to Mexico, I haven't seen this as bad as uptight gringos describe it, but I have experienced that same time warp I felt in Costa Rica where everything slows way down.

I do remember rolling up to the border one day during the World Cup. Everything ground to a screeching halt as we waited in lines at windows and could hear "Goooaaallll!!!" coming from crackling portable TVs behind the frosted glass windows at the customs offices. We sat around on benches in the stifling afternoon sun, lingered in queues, and fed pesos to the pop machines for Coca Light and Fontana Naranja refrescos, but eventually paid for our permits, got our visas and climbed back into the delicious air conditioning of our Ford Econoline vans.

My own opinion about the Latino concept of time is somewhere between cynicism and romance. I know the attitude about time comes from both good and bad sources. The fatalistic attitude that comes from the conquest of the New World by Spain, continued on through the oppression of the rich and powerful over the desperately poor. The names changed, even the faces of oppressors and crooked politicians looked less and less European, and more and more indigenous. Sometimes things go slow because no one believes they will get better, or sees no reason to pursue efficiency when it only seems to benefit those with more money.

The romantic side of Latin time is this: removing the oppression of time leads to a slower, friendlier world. Over and over, I remember back to my teacher in Costa Rica telling me that people are more important than goals. Time spent building relationships, lingering over another cafecito, another dance, another song with friends, just one more taco, just a little more time with those you love...

I don't care if the sense of Latino time is from an ancient sense of passive-aggressive fatalism, or the prioritizing of people before soulless efficiency. I have lived a long time in the fast-paced gringo world and I find myself wanting a slower world. I know the old saying "be careful what you wish for" is true, but I just wish we could have the relaxed pace of Latino America combine with some of the efficiency of Gringolandia.

It may take longer to get things done, but we could spend that time getting to know each other instead of enjoying a solitary,modern life where you never have to wait more than five minutes for a cup of coffee...

Juanito.

John's Nitrous Oxide Play List

I went to get a filling today. I have a really cool dentist, he has the poshest office you have ever been to. It has gourmet coffee, fresh cookies, bottled water and all other kind of cool amenities.

I like it all except for his obsession with Bruce Springsteen. I have some respect for "The Boss", but I don't particularly like him. He seems like if Bob Dylan was a little taller and from New Jersey.

So I brought my own music. As they put that magic airmask over me, and I started smelling the cold, minty smell of Nitrous, I hit play and was ready for essentially a nap while someone beat on my face.

Its really hard to get the right kind of music for being under anaesthesia. The Police make me feel a little paranoid, and ZZ Top is a little scary. Yanni and Enya work really well, but most other things just sound like a blurry Captain and Tenielle song that wont go away. Then when the dentist actually starts drilling, the music is not that hot unless you turn it up way high, which I really cant do anymore.

Today I was tired of messing with the music and just set it to play all. My player holds about twelve albums or more, so at least I would have some variety if nothing else.

When I started feeling the numbness in my feet and the general feeling of ease, I was listening to the Country Swing Stylings of Charlie Adams singing "In The Army Now." I've been giving Country Swing a real chance lately. This is a mix of jazz, big band, and classic country music. Its happy, doesn't take itself too seriously and I love a good steel guitar. This is a much different and better kind of country music than the pop country stars like Garth Brooks or Shania Twain.

After that, the drilling started in earnest. For this time, the MP3 player started playing "Faint" by Linkin Park from the "Live From Texas" album. Some people dismiss Linkin Park as EMO rap, but I think they have some real talent and inventive lyrics. The hard guitar, heavy synthesiser and rap went perfect with the drilling noise.

After the filling was done, I had to lay there for about five minutes as I breathed Oxygen to clear my head. During this time, I listened to the Bob Marley and the Wailer's classic hit, "All In One." Classic happy music and so incredibly mellow. The album name is "African Herbsman", which leads me to believe it may have been inspired by more than just growing Oregano and Marjoram in the sun.

-Johnito

Why Santa is Wrong.

It's funny that as you get older, you find yourself thinking about things you really never gave a second thought to when you were younger.

Take Santa for instance.

No, it's too late for me, I know that he does not come down the chimney, and he is not getting any more of my cookies and milk. If he did exist, I'd probably be on the naughty list after this! My problem with Santa is not due to the generous mythology that has developed around him. My problem with Santa is that he is a bad symbol to celebrate the birth of Christ.

Let me show what I mean, here's the lyrics to the popular Christmas song, Santa Claus Is Coming To Town*:

"You better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town

He's making a list,
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town

He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!"
(J. Fred Coots, Henry Gillespie (c) 1934)

If we believed this song, Santa Claus is a combination of the Pope and Homeland Security. He judges our sins and weaknesses with omniscience and infallibility. His agents are lurking behind every tree and corner. There are elves stationed on every rooftop and hill, aiming parabolic listening devices and night vision goggles at our houses and apartments, spying on each child day and night. Out in the community, in coffee shops, bars, beauty shops and other "adult places", out of sight of kid's eyes, are posters telling adults how to report bad behavior to Santa. It's no wonder kids get extra squirrelly this time of year, Christmas must feel like some childhood version of George Orwell's 1984.



This invention of Santa Claus as a symbol of judgment and unflinching righteousness does not seem to be based on any common stories of Saint Nicholas as a person, yet in many of the celebrations around the world, he continues to reward the good children and punish the bad children.Click here to read about the historical Saint Nicholas). I guess that society unconsciously looks for ways to control behavior any way it can.

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast."~Ephesians 2:10

That's what I don't like about Santa. The stories we tell kids about Santa reinforce the wrong ideas about Christmas. He only brings toys to the good boys and girls, and coal to the naughty ones. But when God brought us the gift of Jesus Christ, he brought that gift freely to a world of bad children, stained by all manner of sin and naughtiness.

We did not deserve this gift. Christmas is not about being good enough to deserve God's free gift. Its about God giving us what we don't deserve, and us having the faith to accept it freely.

Merry Christmas.

-John

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

I'm sitting on the couch enjoying one of my favorite holiday specials, that Rankin-Bass classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". I'm wondering what I would look like in a bowler hat, I mean I've already got the plaid Christmas vest. Maybe I could dye my goatee white every year. I love Christmas so much, it could be a two month holiday as far as I am concerned.

Back to the movie, ever since this has come out in the 70's or 60's,(I'm not sure when, I can't decipher that "MCMLXV" stuff on the credits), most people near a TV have watched the show over and over. I love everything in it, from the little poodle pulling Yukon Cornelius' sled, to the "Charlie in the Box" on the Island of Misfit Toys. I also find myself repeating Rudolph's catch phrase, "I'm coot! I'm coot!", you know, 'cause I am.

The music is so memorable. I find myself singing "Why am I such misfit? I am not just a nitwit!", or "Have a holly, jolly Christmas! Its the best time of the year!". The funny thing is, this year I realized this show was actually really subversive for its time. I'm not kidding. This year I realized that Rudolph could have been written by some Liberal-Arts Sociology Professor. Let me explain...


Rudolph and Hermes don't fit in. They are misfits. I love the part in the first part of the show when the elf-boss mocks Hermes for wanting to be a dentist. "Who ever heard of an elf that didn't like to make toys?". It's like he is saying "There is only one kind of elf-you are wrong for wanting to be different", it's classic social-conflict theory. Both Hermes and Rudolph are alienated from the group because they don't submit to its wishes, or they don't appear like everyone else. They in turn, leave the group and make their way on their own and in the end overcome the group stigma and become valuable on their own terms. This is classic sociology theory, when people are unable to submit to the mores of societies, they have to find alternate methods to gain status and resources.

The island of misfit toys is kind of the climax to this thought. Santa finally determines that misfits can be main-streamed throughout society and will be great toys because of their "different-ness".

To take this even farther, Santa doesn't want to be fat, but he is pushed into overeating by other people's images of what he is supposed to be. "Eat, Papa eat! Whoever heard of a skinny Santa?", his wife tells him. He's got food issues I tell you! He could be like a bulimic trying to get in a size 0, except exactly the opposite.

You can even see feminist thought in how Rudolph's girlfriend and his mom strike out on their own to join the search party, even though it was dangerous for women.

With all this in mind, I have formed the skeleton of a thesis and I will start continuing research on a paper I have decided to call "Themes of Alienation as Seen in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". I have checked out the academic search engines, I will be the first to present this ground-breaking research.

Or maybe that's just the egg-nog and cookies talking, I get kind of goofy when I get all sugared-up. After all, it's just a bunch of puppets...

Merry Christmas.

Johnito.

Parent Teacher Conferences

Last Wednesday, I worked as a translator for parent teacher conferences in a local elementary and junior high school. This wasn't the first time I had done this, I did it in January also. It was a pretty good gig, not only did I get to be a help Latinos with everyday problems, but I got paid and a free lasagna dinner out of it. I would have done it for nothing, but I'm gracious enough to take money and lasagna if they want to give it to me.

Translating on the fly, going between someone speaking English to someone speaking Spanish is fairly tough. It feels like the mental equivalent of weight lifting without taking breathers. What's really strange is those first few minutes, its like you are trying to start a car in the middle of Winter. You stutter and stop, and then finally are able to start speaking fluently. I've asked other non-native Spanish speakers, and this is pretty common. The best I can figure out is that bi-lingual thought processes require some sort of mental priming of the pump.

I started studying Spanish starting about 1995, but I still feel nervous walking into these jobs. Each time I'm less nervous, though. I can remember all the other times I translated, or spoke to a group of people in Spanish and it always worked out fine.

Most of the night I stayed with one family going from teacher to teacher. It was a boy of about 13 and his mom that was about my age. This was great, because while we were waiting for the other students to finish with the teachers, we talked about all sorts of things. By the end of the night we were great friends and talking about politics, cooking, the immigration problems and all kinds of things. The great thing about doing translation this way is that you have the time to develop a relationship with the people you are helping.

This is optimal. While it may be irresponsible to make generalizations about any group of people, most people agree(including Latinos themselves), that personal relationships play a larger part in communication to Latinos than to Anglos. In short, trust without some sort of intimacy is not likely. Without some time spent getting to know one another, or giving people reason to believe that you will treat them fairly, things will always seem a little cold.

An extended get-to-know-you session may not be possible every time, but even in those rushed times, you still stop and shake their hand, tell them your name, and generally take time to be pleasant and human. It's never wasted time.

Juanito

Costa Rica Entries Are Totally Complete Now...

I have finally finished linking all of the entries from my Costa Rica trip together. To read them from start to finish click the link below:

The Big News

There is a link at the end of each entry that will take you to the next entry. I have added all of the pictures to the posts. You can look at all of the pictures at once if you go to my on-line photo album-click the link below:

John's Photo Album

There is also a new post in the middle of July, with lots of pictures, it's called: The Art Show

Juanito

Home at Last

At 10pm Monday night I finally walked into the South Bend Airport and saw my wife after three weeks out of the country. I was tired, smelly, but happy nonetheless. We stopped at Taco Bell on the way home and I had two tacos with hot sauce.

This morning I slept until 11 am and crawled out of bed to a big breakfast of eggs and toast, with the only thing from Costa Rica being the coffee I brought back.

I'm glad to be home.

Juanito

Atlanta Airport

Upon landing in Atlanta I was told that I had to do the following in one hour and thirty three minutes:

1. Go through immigration.
2. Pick up my luggage.
3. Take my luggage through customs.
4. Re-check my luggage to get to my flight for South Bend.
5. Go through a security check-point.
6. Make it to the other side of the airport.

I also wanted something to eat, but I thought that was not possible. So I actually started at pace somewhere between a brisk walk and a jog. I think there may have been actually 5000 people at immigration. They opened up a bunch more lanes and moved us through in about 30 minutes. Then I ran to get my bags, that took about 10 minutes. Luckily, customs did not go through them and Delta had people all along the way pointing us in the right way. The longest part was going through security. Everyone automatically took off their belts and shoes to get through. After that I put my shoes and belt back on and took off for the subway that links all of Atlanta. I started in concourse D and had to get to concourse B, luckily it went from D to C and to B, and not the other way around. I came up the escalator and saw my gate within sight and I had 30 minutes to spare. I headed to Popeye's chicken for some dark meat, a biscuit and some red beans and rice.

I sat at the gate and enjoyed the flavors of cumin and red cayenne pepper which no one in Costa Rica had considered using in any of the dishes I ate during the last three weeks. I wanted to grab someone next to me and say, "Do you realize how incredible this chicken is? I have not had chicken like this for a month-it's a beautiful thing!" I decided my culinary preferences would be lost at best on my fellow travellers.

I had also spent the last hour running like a rat in a maze. Being back in the US reminds me how incredibly stressed we are, and how incredibly efficient we are. I never saw anything like this in Costa Rica, it was like coming off of the farm and going back to the big city. I was stressed, but I was where I needed to be with an incredible piece of chicken in my greasy mitts. The employees of Delta and the INS were not overly friendly, but they knew their jobs and were good at them.

In the end, that's one of the trades between life in the US and life in some parts of Latin America. The US is efficient, fast, has everything you need or want, but leads to a group of people that are stressed-out, impersonal and can come off as kind of rude.

I was reminded of something one of my professors at the language school in Costa Rica told me. She said that people are more important to Latinos than goals. People come before efficiency. That really stuck with me. I don't know how to combine that with gringo-like efficiency. I don't know where that fits in my own job, or my own goals, or who I want to be.

I do know its something I want to be a part of my life...

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Home At Last

The Airport at Liberia

Thankfully, the road from Nicoya to the international airport in Liberia is on a federal highway and there were none of those bone crunching potholes that the country suffers from.

I was glad that I got there two and a half hours early because I had to really jump through hoops to get out of the country. First, I had to stand in line to pay my tourist tax of $26, then I had to check in with Delta, then I had to get something to eat, because Delta does not think coach passengers deserve a full meal for a four hour flight,(I'm a little bitter on this-I would have paid for the meal), then I had to go through immigration and security, finally, I was in the lounge ready to board the plane.

It was really rough being thrown into a pile of gringos again. We are so rude and self-absorbed that I felt kind of sad. I actually preferred the ultra-nice, leisurely pace of Costa Rica, that it was shocking to have to leave that cocoon while I was still in the country itself.

Finally, we boarded the plane and were greeted by the twangy Georgia accent of the flight crew from Atlanta and the cool breeze of air conditioning. Trading air conditioning for Pura Vida is not really a fair trade, but its nothing to scoff at either, especially because it will come with hot showers and real tacos.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Atlanta Airport

Leaving My Host Home

(Near Santa Cruz on the Road to Liberia)

My host mother made a rather large breakfast on my last day in Costa Rica. The standard Gallo Pinto and scrambled eggs made an appearance, as did the the fresh pineapple and banana, but it was followed up with a red delicious apple and a rather large piece of pound cake. My host mother appeared to have some fears that I would faint from hunger on the way, that and she knows I enjoy my food.

She managed to snatch my dirty clothes on Sunday night and wash them and presented me with a going away present of a sculpture made of shells and two packages of Costa Rican coffee,(I already had four packages, I'm drinking some right now). I was overwhelmed. She told me any time I am in Costa Rica to stop by and I will have a place to stay.

(Road to Liberia)

My ride showed up, I threw my bags in the back and gave my host mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I was gone.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Post: Airport at Liberia

Packing

(Ranch in Rosario)

Not much to report today. Went on a lovely outing with the family to a wild animal park and to a ranch. I'm back home now packing to go home. I´m making a real effort to not bring any roaches or spiders back with me. I probably won´t blog again until Tuesday.

Here's some pictures from my outing today.

(Crocodile)
(Parrot)

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Leaving My Host Home

Bus Trip Back to Nicoya

After getting sun burned and spending more money than I intended to, I got on the bus to go back home to Nicoya. I sat next to two ladies from Nicaragua, who worked as vendors selling things to tourists up and down the beach.



They missed their home a lot and told me its a great place for tourists to come and is getting better. They told me about their typical foods, and how the chicarrones(pork rinds) in Costa Rica are inferior because they are cut by machine.

We talked about the American Dream, they would like to go to America to make money, and they like America and Americans. They said that President Bush has actually helped out their country alot.

They said something that I have heard repeated quite a lot here, from several different sources, that is that Americans and Canadians are better tourists than Europeans. We are more polite, We don´t haggle to the point of being jerks, and we tip well. Germans, French, Spaniards, and people from Great Britain are seen as rude and cheap. Americans are also more likely to know some Spanish.

Speaking of opinions about America, my host mother has not only hosted American students, but she went to Long Island for a trip and had a great time. She said all of the people were lovely and treated her very well.

There´s a lot of people in Costa Rica that like America and Americans. I think they wish we´d get out of Iraq as soon as possible, but they do understand that Muslim terrorists are not the kind of enemy that you can have any type of dialog with, like other enemies.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Packing

Playa Samara

(Playa Samara)

It was sort of shocking to be in such a touristy environment. I heard English and German being spoken everywhere, and people charging four times the prices they charge in Nicoya.

First, I walked along the beach to check everything out and see if I could find my friends from the Institute who were supposed to have been on the bus with me, but did not show.

I had been hoping to collect some rocks while I was here, and this was the place. Not only rocks, but all kinds of pieces of coral washed up on the beach. I soon had to transfer my prizes from my pocket to a zip-lock bag.

(Playa Samara)

I finally decided I was ready for lunch and went to a great little restaraunt that was right on the beach. I ordered a watermelon shake and a plate of rice and shrimp. It was all very good. I had a diet coke with lime after that and lingered.

Since my friends had not shown up, I was not sure how I would go swimming. I mean, Ticos are mostly honest, but I don´t think leaving my bag out on the beach with my money, my MP3 player and my camera is particularly wise. I decided it was time to do a little social engineering.

First, I left a big tip. Most people do not tip in Costa Rica, tips are included in the price. I still do, because I want to get better than average service and also I have this weird feeling of duty to be the nicest American that any Tico meets. I´m on a mission...

So, I walk up to the counter and pay my bill and talk to the owner. "Hola, I really enjoyed my meal. You have a great place here."
"Thanks, glad you liked it."
"Hey, my friends never showed up, and I need to find some place around town that I can stow my bag while I am swimming. Do you know any place where I might be able to leave my bag at?"
"Oh, you can leave it behind the counter with me. No problem at all."
"Oh, that´s great! Thanks a lot!"
"Con mucho gusto!"(You´re very welcome)

I finally got on the beach and smeared myself with bullfrog and jumped in the water. I tasted the salt on my beard, and the water was like a warm bath. No shiverring, no getting in little by little, the Pacific Ocean was my salty bathtub and I frolicked like some great hairy manatee.

(Playa Samara)

First, I went out to about 5 feet high and jumped into the waves. I got salt water in my nose, and soon realized I could lose my trunks doing this. I came back closer to the shore and sat in the surf as it rolled up around me. I got sand in my pockets, and I did not care.

Later, I returned to pick up my bag, and this time had a fresh banana and pineapple shake,(outstanding), and followed up with another diet coke. I walked around town and looked at the souvenir shops and finally lined up for the bus.

I could feel the sun burn all over my body...

Bullfrog had let me down.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: The Bus Trip Back to Nicoya

The Bus Ride

As the bus got up speed and started heading out of town, I suddenly remembered all of those newscasts where a bus somewhere in Latin America plunges off of a hill and everyone aboard dies and then they put up a big Catholic shrine there with lots of candles.

I found that I had to exercise that new travelling skill I have developed since I have been in Costa Rica. I call it, "think-only-happy-thoughts". It works really well, but you have to really concentrate. I really honed it in the bathroom in my house, when I kept having these mental images of huge, scary spiders all hiding under the toilet. I have found it works good for a lot of things, at least until one of those things actually happens, then I don´t know what I´m going to do.


I soon forgot about the fiery heap of metal at the bottom of the hill and enjoyed the incredible scenery. Being in this kind of countryside is like drinking peace in through your eyes. It is every shade of green, with huge mountains, valleys and rivers. There are little farms and lots of those hump-backed cows that seem so popular here, I think the hump is like a heat sink, thats just a theory. Then there are little pastel colored houses and schools and soccer fields in-between.


The bell to ring the driver that you want to get off does not work, but everyone knows this special whistle that makes him stop. He stops anywhere, he also picks people up almost everywhere. People come on and get off the bus with big bags of groceries and bags of wheat, luckily, no goats on this trip though.


I had travelled this road by car before and the potholes are incredible, but they weren´t that bad by bus. It sort of took the shock away. Of course the bus is probably the reason for the potholes, but thats another point.

One hour later, and I was at the beach.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Playa Samara

The Bus Station

I looked about as touristy as I have since I got here. I had my backpack and my camoflage boonie hat and my shiny blue swimtrunks on,(no, they are not those ones that Richard Simmons wears, you know, where half his butt is hanging out, thankfully someone in the garment industry had the wisdom to not make those in my size.). Besides that sterling outfit choice, I had that confused big galloot look that I really try to avoid when I am in Latin America, but keeps showing up from time to time.

I went to the ticket counter and asked to buy a ticket to Playa Samara,(Samara Beach). The lady told me in Spanish that I needed to buy my ticket from the bus conductor and not her in a tone that said I was stupid. I wanted to ask her why she had a job sitting behind a counter that said "tickets" if I was buying the tickets from the driver? Was she just there to put ignorant gringos in our place? But, like so many other times, I just grinned the big galloot smile and said "Gracias".

The bus station is really cool, because there are all these little stores and restaraunts and vendors walking around selling things. This short chubby guy that was selling potato chips came up to me and said in very clear Spanish, "You-are-going-to-Playa-Samara-Right?". I felt like Forrest Gump for a minute. I replied, "Si, a Samara." My big galloot brother then said, "The-bus-leaves-at-10-am-ok?", Then he held up ten fingers to make sure I got the point. I grinned the dumb grin again and said,"gracias."

So I waited around for about 30 minutes and the bus finally showed up. The chip guy came back:"This-is-the-bus-for-Samara-OK?", and he proceeded to point at it. "Gracias, maje! muy amable!",that's Costa Rican Spanish for "Thanks Dude! You´re one of the good ones". Seriously, though, it touched me that he went out of his way to help me, he didn´t even know me and he was not an employee of the bus lines. He was just a guy selling potato chips.

I took a seat in the back by the back door. I was not shocked that there was no AC or bathrooms, but there were snacks. First the jello guy came on the bus, they call them "Gelatinas", and they are in plastic bags, you rip them open with your teeth and suck the icy cold jello through the bag. I decided against this. Then the chip guy came on, it was my Big Galloot brother who had got me on the right bus,(its a secret organization, click here to read more). I felt I had to buy a package of chips from him, it was my duty, and they were only 200 colones, which is less than 50 cents.

Finally, we were off to the beach.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: The Bus Ride

Graduation Day

(Receiving My Diploma)
Today I finished my classes. We had a little graduation ceremony. The other 2 students and I received diplomas and had some cake with our professors and took pictures. I reached the level of Avanzado II. I have 60 hours of class time in Costa Rica, besides living with a family that speaks no English. I feel sort of strange about ending it all. It took forever to just get here, and it felt like forever when I finally got here, and now it feels like it was no time at all. I´m a little sad and a little happy, and a lot relieved.

Tomorrow, I´m heading for the beach, and will leave for Indiana on Monday.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: The Bus Station

Spanish Classes En-Vivo

Today after classes, the institute made us a great lunch of salad and sandwiches and then we took a ride out to a farm about 30 kilometers from Nicoya. The farm belongs to Teresa and Edgar. Teresa is the directora of the institute, and is a great teacher and really keeps an eye on the students to make sure we don´t have any problems with our families. When I was sick last week, she was on the phone to my host mother checking on me.

Teresa and Edgar´s farm is about an hour´s ride up and down mountains on some beautiful Costa Rican roads,(that is sarcasm in case you weren´t paying attention). Bumps aside, the view was outstanding. The mountains are dramatic and high, but covered with every shade of green, just touched at the top by the white mist of the clouds.

When we got to their finca,(farm or ranch, it´s called a rancho in Mexico), they showed us around. They have a building that they do not use that is home to hundreds of murcielagos,(bats). As we walked through the dark rooms, the bats flew above our heads. It was a little un-nerving, but they were fruit bats, so its not a big deal.


(Fruit Bats Living in Teresa and Edgar's Ranch House)
I learned a little about bats here, there are as many bats in Central America as there are half of the number of total mammals. Out of 30 species, there are only two that feed by sucking blood, and only one that would attack humans. They normally eat fruit, and insects. They are very important to control the insect population, especially mosquitos who can spread many diseases such as Dengue Fever.

My two classmates went on a horseback ride and I chose to stay in town. I don´t like horses. I had one evil horse try to kill me when I was 16. Since then, I have come to the conclusion that they are large animals with the intelligence and disposition of a toddler, and we all know all toddlers are not nice...

So Teresa showed me around the little town and we sat down in a Pulperia,(the ubiquitous corner store, there is one within 1000 meters of any vague address here). I drank pop and I practiced my Spanish on all the people in the village.

(Pulpería San Rafael-My favorite pulperia near the school. I stopped here most days for snacks or Coca Light-that's what Diet Coke is called in most of Latin America)
Schmoozing, joking and making new friends is probably my favorite thing to do in Spanish. I also tried a new soft drink called Maxi. Its a non-alcoholic malt soft drink. It was tangy and refreshing, it reminded me of Vernors Ginger Ale a little bit.

It was amazing to see how the pace in the village was even more laid-back,(I did not think that was possible), than in Nicoya, which is not a big town. But it was, everyone sat around, and shot the breeze and came to meet the new gringo. It was a very nice day.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Graduation Day

Bull Fights-Costa Rican Style

A bull fight is called a corrido in Spanish. In corridos in Spain and Mexico and other parts of the Spanish-speaking world, the bullfight is a highly stylized drama that pits the strength of the bull against the skill of the matador. Matador literally means killer.

It is normally common that bull is killed by the end of the bullfight. There are men on horses with spears and the matador himself has a sword to deliver the final blow. It is common for people to get injured or die in bullfights because to the danger of the very large animal with horns and hooves.

Last night I went to a fiesta in the barrio of Los Angeles where they had a corrido. I haven´t said this about many things in Costa Rica, but it was pathetic. The bulls had no horns. There was no matador with silk stockings and a sequined bolero outfit. Instead, there were teenage boys and men in dirty t-shirts and tennis shoes, who were paying to get in the ring to run away from the bull. So there were about 20 people paying to play keep-away from a bull without horns. The bull looked annoyed and scared, and was not very angry.

Now, after awhile the cowboys would come out and on their horses and lasso the bull and take him back to the pen. They were good at what they did and even did some tricks with the rope. Cowboys in Costa Rica are called Sabaneros and not Vaqueros, which is the more common word used in Mexico. The word Caballero literally means "horseman", it was the word used to describe knights in the middle ages. It is used now to refer to a gentleman, or someone who is very polite, such as, "él es muy caballero.",("he is very polite"). Language lesson aside, there were also some bull riders who were very good and interesting to watch, but the corrido really left a bad taste in my mouth.

One of the more interesting things about Costa Rican bull fighting is that they are not allowed to kill the bull. There are very strict laws here that say that you cannot kill an animal for sport, and that you must have a good reason, such as the animal is a danger to others or you are going to have a barbeque.

I have mixed feelings about corridos. The bulls are going to die anyway, so its good to see them get a chance to take revenge. I also think that too many people think that meat comes from some mysterious place already wrapped in plastic. People rarely think about how violence is still a part of the food we eat every day. On the other hand, the corrido is hardly a humane kill.

I think the Costa Rican corrido is an example of the struggle between machismo that is inherant in Latino culture and Costa Rica´s determination to be a progressive country that respects all life. You can´t have it both ways. You can´t be old-school macho and still be educated and progressive.

Something has to suffer...

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Spanish Classes en-vivo

The Fiesta de la Patrona

My host family invited me to come to their family party to celebrate the patron saint of Costa Rica, the Virgin of Los Angeles, also called La Negrita. Here´s some other blog entries if you want to learn more about this holiday:
La Día de la Patrona
La Romeria

We drove over to my host mother´s daughter´s house. They have a large tiled patio with beautiful peach colored walls and the standard iron gates everyone else has. There were chairs set up facing a table with a white tablecloth, flowers and a shrine to the virgin that included candles and an a replica image of the virgin that is in the basilica in Cartago. When I got there, two nuns had arrived and they were setting everything up for the service.

When most everyone arrived, we all stood up for prayer. After prayer the nuns would read about the miracles in the life of the virgin Mary and Jesus as a child, then different people would say what I think was the rosary,(I was raised protestant, so I was pretty lost during the whole thing), then other people would say responses, and then were songs that everyone knew, but me. But it was nice, and it was pretty amazing to see how much everyone had committed to memory.

There are people that say Catholicism is a lazy religion, but I don´t agree. Everyone knew these long sayings and what to repeat when and what to sing when. It was impressive. Finally the service ended and the part of the party started that I could participate in more fully: the eating.

Now, I consider myself a pretty progressive guy, but in Costa Rica, the men stand around and the women serve everybody. My host mother gets a little annoyed if I try to do more than scrape my dishes, so I am ready to do my part for cultural sensitivity and let women bring me food. Its tough, but no one said learning another language and culture would be easy.

The meal started with a really good glass of Horchata, which is a sweet rice drink made with spices. Its very refreshing on a hot day. Then they brought out Elotes, which is corn on the cob. Its actually not bad with some lime and mayonnaise, but it´s not great. Its very different from corn in the US though.

I´m not impressed with Elotes in Mexico or Costa Rica. I know the smaller kernels are more accurate of what maize was when the pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, but after you have tasted a big, ultra sweet, butter soaked, genetically modified piece of sweet corn, you just aren´t satisfied with anything else.

Then they brought a plate full of rice and barbequed chicken and roast beef and a cold pasta salad. The salad was my favorite part. Ticos do some very good cold salads. Then we had flan for dessert.

Everyone was very friendly, and had a great time. It was a wonderful evening.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: Bull Fights-Costa Rican Style

El Día de la Patrona

I walked into Cafe Daniela and there was almost no one in there, just me and two other patrons. Many of the businesses were locked up and there are very few people on the streets. The owner of Cafe Daniela confirmed my suspicions, he said that everybody is at home celebrating La Día de la Patrona.

Today is when Ticos celebrate their patron saint, La Negrita, the Virgin of Los Angeles. I wrote earlier about La Romeria, which is one of the things many people do to celebrate the virgin. Click the link above to also read the story of the Negrita.

The local news here reported that there has been over 2 million people that have made the romeria. In a country this size, that is a considerable amount of people. Some of the books that I read before coming here said that Costa Ricans are really not that religious, but I´ve decided to not agree with that.

At least here in Nicoya, and from what I can see on the news, people here are as religious as they are in other Catholic countries. Other religions are represented here as well. I attend a protestant church, but I know there are a lot of Mormans and a lesser number of Jehovah´s witnesses.

I have to leave the internet cafe soon, my madre tica told me I "debe estar en casa a las tres para ir a la fiesta en la casa de Cecillia",("you better be home by three so we can go to the family fiesta at Cecilia´s house!"). I´ll let you know how that goes, I´m looking forward to it.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: La Fiesta de la Patrona

Safety and Security in Costa Rica

A sense of security is very subjective. Asking about how safe a place is like asking how the economy is doing: the answer is extremely biased and based on perception more than fact.

I flew into the country in Liberia and had no problems. I was also picked up by someone from the school and did not have to deal with a private taxi or bus.

My classmates from Montreal flew into San Jose and they weren´t so lucky. One lady had someone rip her gold chain from her neck and then had a taxi driver drive them double the distance for a small ride.

Happily, they have had no problems since they arrived in Nicoya. They have rode the bus to the beach many times and they go out to parties and have no problems with security. I walk around here at night with no problems, and have not had any problems with crime.

That said, I´m tall and very large and am not an easy target. But there are deperate people with knives and guns in Costa Rica, just like anywhere in the world, so I would give them my money without hesitation.

I still use common sense. I don´t walk around after 9 pm. I stick to main streets and always keep an eye on my surroundings. I cross the street if I am nervous about someone. I only carry about ten to twenty dollars on me at a time and carry a copy of my passport. Everything else I keeped locked up at home.

I feel safer here than I felt in Mexico. Especially in Nicoya, because there are not a lot of tourists here, so it has not drawn an element looking to take advantage of people. The locals are very proud of how safe Nicoya is, but all of there houses have pretty pastel colored steel bars on the front of the house with big locks on both sides.

They are proud of how safe their town is, but they aren´t stupid. I think that´s the key.

Juanito

Next Costa Rican Entry: El Día de la Patrona