Costa Rican Summer
It was always going to be Spanish. Okay, that's not entirely true: My mother pushed for me to learn Korean before I started elementary school but by then, between the memory exercises and learning to write before kindergarten (with my off-hand, might I add!), I was already starting to feel burned out. I'm not a parent but I'm willing to bet kids probably shouldn't feel burned out at the age of six. I remember standing pat that I didn't want to learn something as difficult as Korean that young with a gentle but firm resolve that caught my parents off-guard; they relented but the compromise was that I would learn Spanish instead. In a lot of ways I do have some regrets about not learning Korean at that early an age but, again, burned out. This was before I was learning Tae Kwon Do and piano too. Probably explains why I don't like an excess of free time.
Anyway, in a funny twist of fate, we had just moved to Fairfax from Falls Church and the elementary school we moved within walking distance to had an experimental foreign language program where students would spend half their day taking their math and sciences (Supporting Argument #37 why I may be terrible in STEM subjects) in Spanish with the humanities taught in English. I spent the entirety of first through sixth grade like that and by the time I got to middle school, my Spanish was pretty good; my teachers would remark conversationally adept with a strong vocabulary but a lot of work that needed to be done in terms of grammar. By the end of high school, I had remedied this and scored quite well on my placement exams, starting college with 12 credit hours already under my belt, all in Spanish.
Having said that, I took my first year of college off from studying any foreign languages (Coincidentally, my worst year of education academically?) though, even then, I knew I wasn't done with Spanish; just wanted a break after 12 years straight of studying it. I leapt into foreign language study in a big way the first semester of that second year taking advanced Spanish alongside introductory courses in French and German because most of the communications classes I wanted had filled up too quickly and I wanted to challenge myself a bit after a year of that freshman ennui instead of settling with easy electives. By the end of that first semester, I knew Spanish would be more than just a minor as originally planned and French and German would figure into the remainder of my time in college in some capacity (with Italian entering the equation later) but to make that all work, I would have to do more than 18 credit semesters, I would have to take summer classes to get it all to fit with my primary major in communications. The answer for this already seasoned world traveler was to study abroad and close the credit gap while finally test driving my languages in the field; apart from a couple trips in high school to Mexico, I hadn't really stretched out and seen what I could do. My academic adviser in the Spanish department (who also happened to teach my first and last college Spanish classes in another cool twist) was organizing a trip that summer to Costa Rica so everything just kind of fell into place.
The thing about CNU-sponsored study abroad trips is that you would basically do this guided grand tour of the country spending a stretch of days in a different locale learning about the local culture trying to get a fuller picture of the nation. The first and last stop of this odyssey would be the capital of San Jose which was in a bit of social upheaval. Recently re-inaugurated President Oscar Arias was pushing for Costa Rica to enter CAFTA (Central American Free Trade Agreement) which was facing vehement opposition domestically; it was not uncommon while walking the streets of San Jose to come across demonstrations or see graffiti scrawled across buildings declaring "No TLC" (Tratado Libre Comercial or Free Trade Agreement). And we were set up right in the heart of the city where all the historic buildings, museums, and theaters were amassed.
This was really the trip where I fell in love with the Spanish language, South American wine (which was cheap as hell and easy to come by especially for this 20-year old college student), and just fell in love in retrospect but that's a whole other story I won't really talk about. The San Jose intro really was a great primer into the culture because you would quickly notice how amiable and polite the Costa Rican populace were; their usual toast of "pura vida" (pure life) really was a national mantra for the Ticos (Costa Ricans) to live life to its fullest and most honest. I never really ran into any hostility in Costa Rica despite the language barrier and was pleasantly surprised that my grasp on the language was decent and became less self-conscious of it pretty early on. I also took note that at almost every meal, you would get the option of rice, beans, pineapple, and plantains; the staple of the local diet. And it was good, the cuisine being some of my favorite in all of Latin America alongside a strong cup of coffee no matter the time of day. You also got a sense of the weather: It was the wet season in Costa Rica so right around 2 every afternoon there would be a torrential downpour that would last anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and stop suddenly like nothing at all. It would also rain almost every night, steadily until the early hours of the morning.
The first place we stayed outside of San Jose was an island off the Caribbean coast known for being a haven for sea turtles appropriately named Tortuguero. During the day, we would venture deep into the rainforest either on foot or horseback observing all the flora and fauna and visiting active volcanoes and mountaintops (occasionally ziplining off them!) while avoiding poison dart frogs which seemed to be prevalent. By dusk, we'd return to the island and watch sea turtles come in to lay their eggs along the beach before calling it a day. It was then that I learned Tortuguero had another resident(s): howler monkeys. Just before dawn, a chorus of howler monkeys would crow to the impending sun like roosters and if you've never heard a howler monkey before it's like if a doom metal singer and the ghosts from The Grudge fucked and produced primate offspring. You hear shit like that and it not only wakes you up straight away, you'll never forget it in your quietest, most private moments.
Tortuguero was followed up by Sarapiqui, another reserve in the middle of the rainforest but this time back on the mainland. This led to more expeditions into the wilds but the rain was starting to make the landscape noticeably muddier, especially inland where it would take longer to wash out to sea. This meant more downtime back at in our living arrangements which had a bunch of board games and I would pass the time playing chess, sometimes engaging in as many as 3 games at once while playing solitaire on the side waiting for my opponents all under the steady cadence of that Central American precipitation.
The last two legs of the trip were at Arenal, a town at the base of a volcano, and Manuel Antonio, a town located right there along the Pacific coast. Finally back in civilization, I would pass free time during the day in Arenal getting ice cream in town before hanging out at the hot springs at Tobacon unwinding under these small waterfalls heated by the nearby volcano meditating like some damn martial arts guru. Coming back to the bungalow every night, I would grab a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a glass and watch the little bits of lava spurting from the summit as I quietly drank Casillero del Diablo from a comfortable distance. Manuel Antonio was a bit different, certainly less introspective. I was at the beach! I got in that Pacific Ocean every chance I got practically running straight from lectures letting those waves crash over me and carry me to shore. Tired, battered, and still grinning from ear to ear because of how relaxing those days were just walking barefoot along the sand with a girl from the trip and eating at restaurant that was partially a hollowed out B-52 bomber right there in a coastal tangle of trees feeling like something straight out of Indiana Jones. It was paradise and I knew every summer from then on I would have to study abroad somewhere else. It would be five years until I returned to Latin America, at a different place along my academic career. In the interim, I would return to Europe on four separate occasions, a different locale each time. But those are different stories for different days.
Anyway, in a funny twist of fate, we had just moved to Fairfax from Falls Church and the elementary school we moved within walking distance to had an experimental foreign language program where students would spend half their day taking their math and sciences (Supporting Argument #37 why I may be terrible in STEM subjects) in Spanish with the humanities taught in English. I spent the entirety of first through sixth grade like that and by the time I got to middle school, my Spanish was pretty good; my teachers would remark conversationally adept with a strong vocabulary but a lot of work that needed to be done in terms of grammar. By the end of high school, I had remedied this and scored quite well on my placement exams, starting college with 12 credit hours already under my belt, all in Spanish.
Having said that, I took my first year of college off from studying any foreign languages (Coincidentally, my worst year of education academically?) though, even then, I knew I wasn't done with Spanish; just wanted a break after 12 years straight of studying it. I leapt into foreign language study in a big way the first semester of that second year taking advanced Spanish alongside introductory courses in French and German because most of the communications classes I wanted had filled up too quickly and I wanted to challenge myself a bit after a year of that freshman ennui instead of settling with easy electives. By the end of that first semester, I knew Spanish would be more than just a minor as originally planned and French and German would figure into the remainder of my time in college in some capacity (with Italian entering the equation later) but to make that all work, I would have to do more than 18 credit semesters, I would have to take summer classes to get it all to fit with my primary major in communications. The answer for this already seasoned world traveler was to study abroad and close the credit gap while finally test driving my languages in the field; apart from a couple trips in high school to Mexico, I hadn't really stretched out and seen what I could do. My academic adviser in the Spanish department (who also happened to teach my first and last college Spanish classes in another cool twist) was organizing a trip that summer to Costa Rica so everything just kind of fell into place.
The thing about CNU-sponsored study abroad trips is that you would basically do this guided grand tour of the country spending a stretch of days in a different locale learning about the local culture trying to get a fuller picture of the nation. The first and last stop of this odyssey would be the capital of San Jose which was in a bit of social upheaval. Recently re-inaugurated President Oscar Arias was pushing for Costa Rica to enter CAFTA (Central American Free Trade Agreement) which was facing vehement opposition domestically; it was not uncommon while walking the streets of San Jose to come across demonstrations or see graffiti scrawled across buildings declaring "No TLC" (Tratado Libre Comercial or Free Trade Agreement). And we were set up right in the heart of the city where all the historic buildings, museums, and theaters were amassed.
This was really the trip where I fell in love with the Spanish language, South American wine (which was cheap as hell and easy to come by especially for this 20-year old college student), and just fell in love in retrospect but that's a whole other story I won't really talk about. The San Jose intro really was a great primer into the culture because you would quickly notice how amiable and polite the Costa Rican populace were; their usual toast of "pura vida" (pure life) really was a national mantra for the Ticos (Costa Ricans) to live life to its fullest and most honest. I never really ran into any hostility in Costa Rica despite the language barrier and was pleasantly surprised that my grasp on the language was decent and became less self-conscious of it pretty early on. I also took note that at almost every meal, you would get the option of rice, beans, pineapple, and plantains; the staple of the local diet. And it was good, the cuisine being some of my favorite in all of Latin America alongside a strong cup of coffee no matter the time of day. You also got a sense of the weather: It was the wet season in Costa Rica so right around 2 every afternoon there would be a torrential downpour that would last anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and stop suddenly like nothing at all. It would also rain almost every night, steadily until the early hours of the morning.
The first place we stayed outside of San Jose was an island off the Caribbean coast known for being a haven for sea turtles appropriately named Tortuguero. During the day, we would venture deep into the rainforest either on foot or horseback observing all the flora and fauna and visiting active volcanoes and mountaintops (occasionally ziplining off them!) while avoiding poison dart frogs which seemed to be prevalent. By dusk, we'd return to the island and watch sea turtles come in to lay their eggs along the beach before calling it a day. It was then that I learned Tortuguero had another resident(s): howler monkeys. Just before dawn, a chorus of howler monkeys would crow to the impending sun like roosters and if you've never heard a howler monkey before it's like if a doom metal singer and the ghosts from The Grudge fucked and produced primate offspring. You hear shit like that and it not only wakes you up straight away, you'll never forget it in your quietest, most private moments.
Tortuguero was followed up by Sarapiqui, another reserve in the middle of the rainforest but this time back on the mainland. This led to more expeditions into the wilds but the rain was starting to make the landscape noticeably muddier, especially inland where it would take longer to wash out to sea. This meant more downtime back at in our living arrangements which had a bunch of board games and I would pass the time playing chess, sometimes engaging in as many as 3 games at once while playing solitaire on the side waiting for my opponents all under the steady cadence of that Central American precipitation.
The last two legs of the trip were at Arenal, a town at the base of a volcano, and Manuel Antonio, a town located right there along the Pacific coast. Finally back in civilization, I would pass free time during the day in Arenal getting ice cream in town before hanging out at the hot springs at Tobacon unwinding under these small waterfalls heated by the nearby volcano meditating like some damn martial arts guru. Coming back to the bungalow every night, I would grab a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and a glass and watch the little bits of lava spurting from the summit as I quietly drank Casillero del Diablo from a comfortable distance. Manuel Antonio was a bit different, certainly less introspective. I was at the beach! I got in that Pacific Ocean every chance I got practically running straight from lectures letting those waves crash over me and carry me to shore. Tired, battered, and still grinning from ear to ear because of how relaxing those days were just walking barefoot along the sand with a girl from the trip and eating at restaurant that was partially a hollowed out B-52 bomber right there in a coastal tangle of trees feeling like something straight out of Indiana Jones. It was paradise and I knew every summer from then on I would have to study abroad somewhere else. It would be five years until I returned to Latin America, at a different place along my academic career. In the interim, I would return to Europe on four separate occasions, a different locale each time. But those are different stories for different days.
