A Brief Update

For anyone who is still reading and wondering what has gone on, here is a brief update:

I moved to San Diego in late June to teach English to high schoolers from various countries and to look for an apartment and job while Kurt was traveling. The job turned out to be less than stellar and I couldn't be happier that it finally ends tomorrow. I found neither a regular teaching job nor an apartment, but am looking forward to August as "they" say that is when the districts do their hiring. As for the apartment, I will wait till I have proof of income and for Kurt to get out to SD to help me out.

I am flying to Colorado tomorrow night for the much-anticipated, long-awaited reunion of Kurt and me. He got home last weekend, and tomorrow night will be the first time we have seen each other since the day I left Costa Rica, almost 12 weeks ago. I am not expecting or anticipating any sort of proposal, much to my dear friend Breann's dismay, but I am expecting many long nights ahead! It is very lonely not to see your boyfriend for 3 months at a time, so youo can imagine what kind of, ahem, excitement I am feeling!!!

I didn't think anyone was actually still reading this, and truth be told, my own family didn't even read it much while I was gone. Sad!! They said they wanted me to send them emails to remind them to check it. Remind them about their sister/daughter? I am unforgettable!

Home, Sweet (?), Home

Okay. Sorry for the huge hiatus. I came home. To the USA. And have been fighting the cold of a lifetime for the last 5 days.

Home. What is home? Is it the place where “your rump rests”? Or is it the place where all your stuff is? Or is it the place where you feel most comfortable because all of your loved ones are there too? I am wondering about this one. My stuff is all here at Mom’s house, and so are mom and sister, but Kurt is not. He is my home. Not that mom and sis aren’t, but he is my home. My home. We have lived together with little problems for 8 months. Now I am home and won’t see him until he comes back to the US at the end of July. How does one do this? I marveled at my friends in my ITC class in Spain who left long-term boyfriends at home. I left the country BECAUSE I didn’t have someone at home, someone like Kurt. But now, I am in their same position. Gripe, gripe, whine, whine. I used to cringe at girls who couldn’t live without their boyfriends for short times, and practically barf when they had to talk to those boyfriends 83 times a day. But now I am sorta one of those girls. Kurt and I were together in Spain, almost every day, if not every day. Then I moved to Colorado and we lived together for 3 and a half months. Then we went to Costa Rica and lived together for 4 months. And now I can’t see him or talk to him for almost 3 months. Talk about one extreme to the other. This is a good time for us to live separately as a couple (if that makes sense) and to get our lives and goals accomplished but still have the other in our hearts.
I know it is for an ultimate goal (story of our lives), but it doesn’t take away the heart-pulling. The constant wondering about him. The missing. The worst part is going to bed at night and waking up in the morning. Alone. It sucks. I am here. He is there.

I hope I made the right decision to come home. And I truly hope that the adage “absence makes the heart grow fonder” proves true.

So far, it is truer than I ever imagined.

To view our river rafting photos:
http://www1.snapfish.com/share/p=792121147462677561/l=97218650/g=32099010/otsc=SYE/otsi=SALB

A little worse for wear

Okay. Living abroad has its obvious perks. Learning new cultures firsthand, travel experiences (both good and bad), and best of all, meeting new people. That is the best part. Meeting new people and basically having “homes” all over the world. Such is the case with our Australian friend, Dean. Remember him? He was the guy we shared the weekend with on our very first weekend here in Jaco. He had planned to go to Panama, and then back to Australia in the beginning of March. The other night, Kurt and I were going to watch the Clippers/Nuggets game (ps—when did the Clippers start winning basketball????), and Kurt said he had a surprise for me. Hm. I thought for one fleeting second about Dean, for some strange reason. Mainly because we hadn’t heard from him in a long time. But then again, maybe Kurt had arranged a little “going-away” party for me with the Costa Rican friends we have made. A bit far-fetched, but still a possibility. Then, I thought (very romantically), that he had somehow emailed a text or something to the big screen in the middle of the court that was going to flash his very ostentatious proposal to me. Okay, really far-fetched, but very creative!!!! So we headed out to this bar (thankfully not the prostitute-filled Beatle Bar), and Kurt, instead of going into the bar, goes and knocks on a hotel door (there was a hotel behind the bar). I had once again thought of Dean on our way there as we had passed the hotel he was staying at back in February when we first moved out here. Anyways, the door opened, and there was Dean! Very exciting to be reunited with an old friend. Last night we met up with him, and he has very graciously opened his home in Australia to us, whenever we can get down there.
I also have gotten in touch with my Costa Rican family from years past and I am planning to see them before I go home next weekend. And let’s not forget my beautifully fabulous roommate from Spain, Lucia, whose parents have said I have a home there whenever I need/want one. So that is definitely the benefit of traveling. Meeting new people and making new friends. That has definitely made these last 2 years so worthwhile. One can never have too many friends. Especially around the world.

The bad part about traveling are the crazy, mysterious illnesses or travel woes that creep up. For example, the one-day stomach problems that creep up and leave you to wonder why your belly is suddenly filled with this gas pressure that will not go away, and makes you look about 8 months pregnant. All I did was have some beers! Okay, 8 beers, but still. Was there some sort of disease in one of the bottles? Thankfully, it was only a one day problem, unlike Alyssa’s stomach problem that lasted the last 3 days of her vacation and prompted 2 trips to the pharmacy which ended with 1 injection for nausea, 2 bottles of water, 3 bottles of pedialyte stuff, 6 packets of dissolvable powder to kill any virus in her system and 3 more antibiotic-antidiarrheal pills later.

So stomach ailments aside, let’s go to the other problems, well inconveniences, I am
experiencing, have experienced or am bringing home.

Mosquito bites. I have been to the pharmacy a few times asking for something very fuerte to take the uncontrollable itch out of the horrific mosquito bites that I constantly have. Boy I sure am glad I decided not to take any of the malaria pills I bought! $80 not well spent. Both of my legs, mostly from the knee down, are covered in bites right now. To the point that when I went to the pharmacy this morning, the woman said “Madre mia”, (oh my God). Kurt seems to think that scratching them off and leaving a big gaping hole in his skin or a scrape not unlike a bad time with a razor is a good idea. “They don’t itch anymore”, he says. But anyways, now my legs are COVERED in calamine lotion. Which I leave in the refrigerator for a little extra comfort and cooling when I put it on. I have never had the chicken pox, so I am not used to this incredible itching. The American guy downstairs said this area where we live was one of the big dengue fever areas last year. Fabulous. I look like I have pink tights on that only go up to my knees. Wow, nothing says sexy like that!

Hair. Cutting my hair short years ago has done wonders for me. I have received more compliments on it in the last several years than I ever did up until I started cutting it. Until I moved to Jaco. Where I can’t put on makeup (on the rare occasions I actually try) without standing directly under the fan because it is approximately 9000 degrees in our bathroom. Needless to say, using a blow dryer to get my hair to its cuteness stage has been out of the question. Now, it looks like an overgrown boy’s haircut nonstop. Again, not too sexy.

Toenails. I love getting pedicures and having my toenails look pretty. I have learned how to have to do them myself here with the lack of funds to support my habit, and lack of salons. So I do them myself. They don’t look half bad. Alyssa even asked where I had gotten them done here when she saw them. Proudly I said I had done them. There is one problem though. When we were climbing down the volcano for those 5 ungodly kilometers, my 4th toe on the right foot was constantly jammed into the top of my shoe. It hurt for a while, and I attributed the slightly darker color of the nail under the polish to a bruised nail. Now, there is no color under the nail. There is skin. I know this because I can see straight down into my toe! The nail itself feels like a loose tooth waiting to come out. I am really hoping the nail doesn’t fall off.

Feet. Being in the hottest climate I have ever lived in, I have been living in flip flops. While at the gym back in Colorado last fall, one of the trainers who works there had diagnosed me as having flat feet that over pronate and that I needed a certain type of sneaker to correct this to prevent shin splints. Or just some sort of orthotic. So, living in flip flops has taken its toll on my feet. Namely, my arches. For the last month or so, I have had this horrible pain in my arches when I stand, walk, or just basically do anything upright. It is especially bad in my right foot. So I have no idea if I have done permanent damage (I sincerely hope not), or if this will fix itself when I get home and start wearing sneakers and regular shoes again. In the meantime, does anyone know a podiatrist who does work pro bono?

So, although Kurt wrote in an email to my mom that he was “returning Bridget in better condition than Bridget returned Alyssa in”, I have to wonder. What part is the better condition?

Ahh, traveling. Gotta love it.

Reflections on 2 years well spent

After a brief absence, I have returned to live out my final weeks in Jaco. Wow, that sounded like a death note. But, in reality, these are my final 2 weeks in Costa Rica. Maybe forever, maybe not.

I will look back at these two years in the following way: Spain changed my life. Costa Rica was something I did.

In Spain, I was determined to stay for the whole year, no matter what. Spain changed my life. In so many ways. I grew up, I learned about the world, people, and mostly, myself. Spain was truly the first time away from home where I was really on my own. College counts as being away, but when Mom is still paying all the bills, it isn’t really independent. I had to search for an apartment, jobs, learn the grocery store system (do I pay for bags? Will they arrest me because they didn’t take the cheese sensor off and I set off the store alarm?), learn the metro, and basically start a whole new life, in a foreign country. Everyone I met in Spain was there for a reason: to see where the experience would take them and “stick it out” for as long as they could—emotionally, financially, mentally. I complained about everything there: the cold, the people on the streets, the workers at El Corte Inglés, the supermarket workers, the strange system they had where they made everything twice as difficult as it could be…. I was happy to go home, but when the day came to leave my apartment in Madrid, I was beside myself. I couldn’t believe the best year of my life was coming to an end. I wanted to see my family, friends, dog, house, life in America, but was so sad that my life in Spain had come to an end.

With that in mind, Kurt and I had already pretty much decided to come here to Costa Rica. We thought, hey with that awesome Spain experience, why not try it elsewhere? We still had the itch to come and teach somewhere else (okay, live somewhere else and have to teach English to make it work). So why not here? It is closer, they still speak Spanish, and since I had been here before, I was pretty sure we could make it work.
We prepared like we thought we knew how: we packed “teaching clothes”, games, raincoats, bug spray, books…..all like we were headed back to Madrid, only to a climate more tropical. We learned, VERY quickly, that Spain and Costa Rica are about as alike as apples and oranges—meaning, both are fruits, but other than that the similarities stop there. The two countries speak the same language, but they are so different in so many ways.
For all the complaining about Madrid I did, it is a charming city. As are most, if not all, cities in Europe. San Jose, I have decided, is probably the ugliest city I have ever seen. The filth, grime, smell, and overall disgusting-ness of the city are appalling. There is nothing there that I would be proud to show to someone who comes down here.

So that’s why we headed to the beach.

Living at the beach was something I always wanted to do. The weird thing is, we moved here on Feb. 7. By that weekend, I had already decided I was going to come home in May. Our return tickets were for July 22. By Feb. 11, I had decided that I would not last until July. I had only been down here a month, and I was already deciding to go home. It is hard to explain. But I will try.

I left June 24, 2004. I came home June 24, 2005. One full year. Then I was home off and on throughout the summer, trying to see if Kurt and I were for real, or just something that was part of our Spain experience. Seeing as how it continued to work, and how we decided not to come to Costa Rica until January, and how I was still not ready to return to teaching, I moved to Colorado. A new life, but still in America. Then I was home for a little while during the holidays, and then I left again. So, when I get home in 2 weeks’ time, I will have basically been traveling for about 22 months. With only the equivalent of 2 months or so actually at home. That is a long time. And I am tired. Tired of packing and unpacking, tired of gross hostels, tired of sharing hair-filled, peed-on toilets, tired of wearing shoes in the shower, tired of not being able to go to the beach without our backpack being stolen (read Kurt’s blog about that one), tired of having the water be out for hours at a time, tired of crunchy clothes from hand washing, tired of scrimping and saving, tired in general.

The last 2 years have taught me more about myself and my tolerance for the world and my general mental health than anything ever could have. I NEEDED to get away. I had to get out of teaching where I was. It was a bad place for me. I had to see the world. And I had to do it when I did, or else I never would have and I would have woken up at 35 years old, an old spinster and grumpy about everything. I had thought LA was the end all and be all of my existence and that I probably would never leave California, let alone LA. I knew, somewhere deep down, that if I ever did leave LA, I would leave the country. So that is what I did. And I know now, that life does exist outside of LA.

I feel refreshed and energized about the new life I will have for myself when I get back. I am excited to go back to teaching. Kurt and I are moving to San Diego. I am excited and nervous. I am happy and apprehensive. Isn’t that normal after being gone for so long? And isn’t it normal for me to feel this way to move to another new city? Of course, and in some ways it might be easier because it is my own country and if I can start a new life in a foreign country, then I should be able to do it in my “home” right? I have read a TON of books in the last 2 years, and there was one about traveling and living abroad that really struck me. It is called The Sex Lives of Cannibals. The title alone screams read me. It is about a couple who move to this tiny little atoll (island) on the equator. And they are there for 2 years. It discusses many of the same things that Kurt and I (and everyone else who stayed in Spain and made a life for themselves) have experienced—the new culture, grocery shopping, transportation (or lack of), receiving and sending mail, telecommunications (again, or lack of), and the apprehensions of going home after all that time. What hit home with me most was this: after living on this tiny little place for 2 years, and going back to the hustle and bustle of America, the couple couldn’t handle it. They discussed going to the grocery store, and staring at the butter and margarine aisle, or the peanut butter, or syrup. The boyfriend was shocked, and actually stood mesmerized for 2 hours in the grocery store. So they left America, went to Fiji for a while, and are now back in America and have been able to adapt once again to being Americans in America. That was how I felt coming back home last year. How would I feel being American, and actually living in America once again? It was odd, and reading this book, I completely related to the grocery store thing. And just being home in general, where life went on without me, and as much as I want people to understand what I have done in the last 2 years, unless you were here with me, or us, in Madrid, or in Costa Rica, it will be incomprehensible. You can’t ever explain what it was like, no matter how good your descriptions are. But that is a part of the experience, too. If I wanted everyone at home to truly understand, I would have stayed there. But I needed to get away and have this experience, away from home, family, friends. I have definitely missed everyone at home, and everything, but the beauty of this experience is that it has made me appreciate everything and everyone I have at home. The emails and overall curiosity of what I am doing has actually made this experience even more worthwhile for me. I wish I could share my feelings more so with everyone, but some things just can’t be put into words. Just know that I am returning home with new eyes. And in some ways, a new heart. A new feeling of compassion and tolerance for people. And if that doesn’t say the whole thing was worth it, I don’t know what will.

Alyssa Arrives Tomorrow

My sister arrives tomorrow morning. This brings a whole new set of apprehensions and worries. It is a different feeling than when Kurt’s mom was coming (which ended up being a very nice visit).

Like most sisters, we fought when we were younger. But probably unlike most sisters, we still fight. Fairly regularly, when we are together. About really dumb things most of the time. And it makes me very sad. I don’t know what happened along the way to make us never get close. Last year, for her spring break, we went to Italy. By ourselves, while I was living in Spain. We met up in Rome, and spent 9 days together. I felt the visit went well, and as it turns out, we both held our tongues on occasion. But overall, it was a nice visit. I am not sure why, but it has seemed in the years that I went away to college that our relationship is good when we are away from each other, but not when we are together. I am really hoping that will change. I may never understand her or she may never understand me, but I am truly hoping we are finally at the point where we can have some fun together and enjoy each other’s company. Since I have been down here, my communication has been slightly sporadic, only because I can not use the phone card to call home regularly like last year, and I still have to pay minute by minute on Internet because our apartment here in Jaco doesn’t have wireless. So in other words, I am not entirely sure of what has been going on in my sister’s life these last few months. I know she is very busy at school with her counseling groups and her trip chaperoning for the second summer in a row, but I don’t know anything else.

Is she happy?

Is she stressed?

Is work okay? Bad? Horrible? Wonderful? All of the above?

How is her social life?

Is she seeing anyone?

How are her gym sessions going?

Does she want to talk about all these things or does she just want to let everything go since she is on vacation?

How can I help with any of the things she might be stressed out about?

I guess these are all questions I can ask her, but somehow in a way where I am not forcing our relationship.

I just want to have a normal, sisterly relationship where we can laugh and talk and share and be friends.

I hope I do all right.

Link to Nicaragua Pix

http://www.snapfish.com/share/p=212111144779424182/l=91241865/otsc=SYE/otsi=SALB

Nicaragua: Part II and Beyond

So, we are back in Jaco after spending 5 nights in Nicaragua. How many people do I know have been to Nicaragua? What does one think of when one says the name of this country? I had thought danger, danger and danger. Having heard such awesome things about it, we decided to head there on our visa run instead of Panama. I haven’t visited Panama, and looks like I won’t be going there anytime soon, but I do know that whatever vision I had previously had of Nicaragua was totally dispelled. The city of Granada is beautiful. It has none of the dirt and filth and smell and shantiness that San Jose has. It seems as though the people are actually proud to take care of their city. Nicaragua as a whole is very Spain-influenced, with several cities named the same as those in Spain. I truly enjoyed this city. We ended up staying 3 nights in Granada before heading out to a little island called Isla Ometepe.

To get to this island, you have to obviously take a ferry. OR, you can take what is known as a “barf boat.” This is a tiny boat, holding about 80 people and as much cargo as possible, including about 50 bags of fertilizer, a refrigerator and a mattress. Since the next ferry wasn’t due for over an hour, Kurt, Gunny (Kurt’s friend, whose real name is Clint, who is traveling through Central America right now), and Ezra (a guy Gunny had met down in Quepos, also from Fort Collins, where I lived in CO, and where Kurt and Gunny are from) and I got on a barf boat. One would think a lake would be calm, but not Lake Nicaragua. It had more whitecaps than the average ocean. I never thought lakes had currents or tides or whatever, but this one does. So we get on (oh, by the way, we had to sign our names on this sheet with ages and where we were from cuz one of these boats sunk about a month ago, just in case we would need to be identified as being a passenger), and yes, it was rocky. I thanked my lucky stars that my stomach is on the stronger side. We got in a taxi for an hour ride to this Finca (a farm house) that had been recommended to us that was at the base of the volcano we planned to climb. Lemme reinforce this to you. Me. Going to stay on a farm. To climb a volcano. Yes. Ladies and Gents, your eyes are not deceiving you. I was going to stay at a farm house to climb a volcano.

So we get there, and the place is like this. You sign your name, and basically run a tab of everything you do there. Room, food, drinks, even the guide up the volcano. Then you pay when you check out. Kinda cool, especially since the rooms were only $2.50 per night per person. YES. TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. Can you even buy a Coke for that is the US anymore? But lemme explain the rooms. We were 4, and said we would do a “colectivo”. A dorm room. Okay, having done these in several places, including Granada where we had just come from, I was okay. She shows us the room, and I about fainted. Cots. Yes. Our beds were not bunk beds like other dorms. They were cots. In a farm house, converted now to a fully functioning “hostel”. Grossed out but not wanting to be the girlie complainer, we set our stuff down, got a gigantic beer, and proceeded to drink and play cards.

How many people do you know that have climbed a volcano?

Not many. Well, I don’t know anyone, at least.

Now, how many people do you know have climbed a volcano------hung over?!??!?! Yes, while trying to keep up with the boys, I had about 1 liter too many of beers, and felt like crap for about the first 2 kilometers.

Out of a 5 kilometer hike. Up 5 km. Down 5 km. To a full ascent of the equivalent of about 4000 feet. Straight up, not zigzagging back and forth. Straight up. Hung over the first 2km.

I AM A CHAMPION!!!!

And did I mention the mud? It got really muddy somewhere in the 3rd kilometer. Unavoidable, slippery, suck-your-shoes-off type of mud. On my white running shoes. Bummer.

But we did make it, and made it to the lake that is a crater inside of the volcano.

Kurt’s analysis was this: “Guys. We are sitting at a lake, in the middle of a volcano, on an island, in the middle of the 10th largest lake in the world, in the 2nd poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.” Wow.

Let’s ponder that one for a moment.

The hike back down was a little better, but my knees were crying and we still had 2.5 kilometers to go. All in all, the hike took about 7.5 hours. But it was worth it. I haven’t run a marathon, I only did my first 5K in October, but I have climbed a 1400 meter (~4000 feet) volcano. It was a big accomplishment, and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. And I have the bruises to prove it! And the pain in my legs was enough to make anyone cry.

We had a very long day of travel back to San Jose the day after the hike. From the Finca, we had the taxi ride (the window burst when the driver was opening it. CRASH! Just busted into shreds. Freak accident. Just another adventure), then the ferry ride, then another taxi, then an 8 hour bus ride (where border crossing was 2 hour excursion. For what reason we are still confused), then another taxi to a hostel, a walk to find food at 11:30pm on a Friday night in a huge city where nothing was open, and then finally, bed. At last.

We got back to Jaco on Saturday afternoon, just in time for the big rush of Semana Santa. Every Catholic country celebrates the week before Easter as Holy Week. Which means lots of people, lots of traffic, and lots of crowds. Thankfully, we live far enough out of the town center to be completely immune to these crowds.

Alyssa (my sister) is coming to visit on Thursday. We are going to a few of the same places as when Kurt’s mom was here, but that is okay. Maybe I won’t almost die on the zip lines this time.

Nicaragua Part 1

Greeting and Saludos from Granada, Nicaragua!

We arrived in San Jose on Saturday evening to catch TicaBus to Granada Sunday morning. Upon our arrival, we were told that there were no buses to Granada until Monday at midday. Crap. We went to another company and they were closed, but were told that we could come at 4am (yes, 4am), to see if there was room on the 430am bus.

We checked into a hotel/hostel right across the street and headed out for some beers. To the hooker bar, no less. After several beers and me acting as the translator between Kurt and Clint between 2 hookers for their upcoming excursion to South America (they were trying to arrange guides through Colombia, right), we got back in time for about 2 hours worth of sleep.
Having slept in our smoke filled clothes, we got up at 345am to try and see if we could get on a 430am bus. No luck. A taxi ride later, we were back at the TicaBus station by 430am for a 6am bus to Granada. Passports and money exchanged hands, and tickets were presented. Sweet.

We got on the bus, left a bit late around 620am. We were about 2 minutes from San Jose airport, about 25 minutes outside San Jose when our first big problem occured. I felt the bus swerve, and then crash! We hit a car. Awesome.
The front bumper of the car that was hit was half on, and half off the car. Of course, the ticos/nicos had to get off the bus and be lookieloos. After a 20 minute delay, we were on the road again. The bus was comfy, and had advertised that it was air-conditioned. More like Arctic-conditioned. Holy cow. After sweltering in Jaco, this was seriously the Arctic chill. I was frozen. Luckily, the car accident allowed me access to the 1 long sleeve shirt I had brought.

Around 11 something, we arrived at the border. Swindling was definitely occurring here. You step off the bus to get your passport stamped, and are immediately bombarded by millions of Nicaraguenses trying to get you to exchange your colones for cordobas. There had been a guy on the bus doing the same, and honestly, but when I wanted to exchange my $30 worth of colones, he had run out but promised he could give me my 495 cordobas when we got to the border. Some other swindler (probably related to the Moroccan swindlers of another trip) tried to give me only like 192 cordobas I said forget it. I got stamped, exchanged, peed and back on the bus.

Then we went about 100 feet and had to get off again, this time for bag check. They aren't kidding at these borders. Passports were collected, bags were checked, more money exchanged, individual names called by passport to get back on the bus and then again on our way.

Granada came about 1.5 hours after the border. We found a dorm room for $6 each, and that is where the 3 of us are now. We are going on some island tour in about half an hour, and then a volcano tour tomorow morning. Then to Ometepe Island tomorrow afternoon or Weds morning.

So, greetings and saludos from Nicaragua, which, by the way, is way nicer than San Jose by far!!!! Very European and charming, and we're having a great time so far.