Welcome to Costa Rica: My first day of study abroad
During college I took a semester to study abroad in Costa Rica. My time there was amazing, life changing and eye opening. I truly feel that I grew personally and learned more during those 5 months than the first 3 years of college combined. I will never forget my first day in the new country. I felt very overwhelmed by everything at the time but looking back, I’m sure many students and people who have travelled have experience the same. Here is my first day in Costa Rica:
Leaving
My body always does this, I thought as I look at my phone. 2:20am, approximately 10 minutes before my alarm is set to go off. How is it that even with the most obscure wake up time my body’s internal alarm clock still goes off 10 minutes before my real alarm? It has always amazed me. I groan as I roll out of my warm blankets into my warmer than desired bedroom. Today is the day. I leave in approximately 4 hours. As I look in the mirror I cringe at what I see: messy hair that can’t be tamed, an unnaturally skinny figure for a girl in college, and dark eye circles reflecting the breakup I had just gone through a few days ago with the guy I had been dating for over two years. Not gonna lie, at this moment I was not ready to leave my home and go to Costa Rica for 5 months. The emotional draining of the past week was still fresh on my face and I just felt like curling back up into my ball of blankets. No, I thought, you have such an awesome opportunity in front of you and some dumb emotions that will pass are not going to stop you. Reluctantly I got dressed and ready to head to the airport.
On the way there I had some good conversations with my mom, who was driving me, about relationships, life, and love. I would share them, but I feel like I want to keep that last hour and a half between just my mom and I.
When we got to the airport I checked my bags, got my plane ticket, and found a spot to sit and talk. My mom bought me a coffee and gave me some cash. We laughed at some funny stories regarding some of her interns at the University she teaches at. Finally the time came where I needed to get through security and wait by my terminal. My mom started to cry, which used to embarrass me every time I went back to school or on a trip abroad, but at this moment I just felt pure love for her. We may have our differences but I owe my independence and adventurous side to that lady. At this moment I needed those genetics more than ever.
The traveling was pretty noneventful. Just a bunch of sitting in terminals, boarding flights, and walking to more terminals. I will say though I met some pretty interesting people on my flight to Costa Rica. As I boarded I saw a scruffy looking man with dreads wearing a reggae shirt. He appeared to be sleeping so I didn’t disturb him. Later I found out his name was Corey and he had actually lived in Costa Rica for a year before going home for a while. He gave me a bunch of advice about San Jose and the culture in general. Corey if you ever read this thank you for your words of wisdom and I’m sorry I didn’t add you on Facebook. I know I shared my olives with you on the plane but aside from that I didn’t know you very well. And to the lady whose bag I watched 3 time while you went to the bathroom, thank you for not having anything illegal in those bags. The drug dogs came by several times and I really did not want to be arrested and questioned for things I knew nothing of. Lesson here: don’t watch other peoples’ bags.
Arriving
As we waited in the immigration line that went out the door I overheard a worker say the line would take about 2 hours. I decided to text the phone number I was given in case there were any delays, informing them of the situation. I got no response.
Finally, after receiving a stamp on my passport and finding my luggage I walked out of the airport into 80 degree (27 degrees Celsius) weather. I was told I would have a driver waiting for me with my name on a sign and my college logo. Easy enough, right? There in front of me were dozens of people holding up signs with names on them. After an initial scan I did not see my name so I stepped to the side to get a better view without blocking the path. ” Un taxi?” a man asked as I was walking. “No gracias,” I replied. “Un taxi?” asked another man. I simply shook my head no to the next half dozen people who asked me if I needed a taxi. Once I got to a clear area and looked again desperately hoping to find my name it became clear to me that my driver was indeed not there. My stomach lurched as I realized I did not even know the address of my host family’s house.
“Un taxi?” asked another man off to the side of the chaos. In my broken Spanish I explained, “No, I am supposed to have a driver from my college pick me up, but he is not here.” The taxi driver said something else in Spanish that I could not comprehend so I decided to pull out my paper that had the phone number of Luis from my university on it. The taxi driver pulled out his phone and dialed the number for me. He talked for a minute and then handed the phone to me.
“Hola?”
“Hola, Valerie. My name is Luis. Your driver left because he waited for you for 3 hours.”
Shit,I thought. “The line for immigration took over 2 hours. I tried to text you, but I never got a response.”
“Your driver waited 3 hours.”
“Can he come back and pick me up? I’m sorry I couldn’t get through the line any faster.”
“Un momento”
I waited with a sick feeling in my stomach for Luis to start speaking again.
After a few minutes or so, “Ok Valerie, your driver is going to come back to get you. You need to go to the right of the airport to the restaurant called La Malinche. It is the only restaurant there. It may take 20 minutes for him to get back to the airport, but his name is Victor. He will be driving a red…” I have no idea what kind of car Luis said and even if I did I wouldn’t know what it looks like.
“Thank you so much!” I replied in an exasperated tone. With that Luis hung up the phone.
I looked back at the taxi driver and thanked him for letting me use his phone. He looked back at me expectantly. Of course, I thought, he wants me to pay him.Reluctantly I pulled out my wallet full of American money. I looked and saw I had several 20’s, a 10, a 5, and two 1’s. After debating in my head whether to pay him a 5 or a 10 I pulled out my 5 and handed it to him. Later I realized I probably didn’t have to pay him at all and if I did a 1 would have sufficed, but I was a stupid gringa.
I walked down to the restaurant and sat on my suitcase. There were people going in and out of the café and I felt my tummy rumble a little. Some workers with bright neon vests were eyeing me. I looked the other way to show I was not interested only to meet the eyes of another young man staring at me while smoking a cigarette at the café. With my light skin and blonde hair I stuck out like a white dot on a black piece of paper. Nonchalantly I turned my gaze towards the street while keeping an expressionless face.
A big group of American college guys walked to the left of where I was standing. They were the typical American stereotype: loud, cursing, wearing American brands with logos, and all had their phones out taking pictures of each other completely unaware of their surroundings. Don’t get me wrong I am proud to be an American. I just don’t like the negative stereotypes we have in other countries and it sometimes bothers me when I see people contributing to it.
I strolled down the sidewalk a bit away from the group of guys and stood at the other end of the café. A red vehicle. His name is Victor. Crap…I thought as I saw that the majority of the taxis were in fact, red. On top of that the taxis were not all one type of vehicle. It was like the company had bought a bunch of random vehicles and had them painted red, which they probably did. The good news was most had a yellow triangle on the side. I sat patiently and finally a red SUV pulled up to the curve.
“Victor?” I asked
“Si, Si!” was Victor’s reply.
Thank Jesus!
Victor helped me put my suitcase in the back of the SUV and we both sat up front. As we started driving Victor explained that he waited for 3 hours and thought I did not come. I apologized and explained the immigration situation. Soon we were zooming through traffic and I started to get excited again. It was a clear day so I took in the surrounding lush green mountains while Victor asked me where I was from, what I thought of Costa Rica, if I spoke Spanish, and a bunch of other questions I half understood. Even after nearly 7 years of studying Spanish in school I still did not have the firm grasp on the language that I wish I had.
Home
After driving an hour through loud honking cars, vehicles stacked with seemingly impossible amounts of fruit, and slamming on the breaks a few times we pulled off to a quieter neighborhood of brightly painted homes with delicate iron work over windows, doors, and on balconies. I stepped out of the SUV and Victor knocked on an iron door. Loud barking and the sound of small scampering feet welcomed us. Soon the door opened and a short lady yelling in Spanish at her 3 little dogs greeted us with a big smile.
“Buenos dias! Come in, come in!”
Victor helped me with my suitcase and said goodbye leaving me with my host mother. My host mother told me to call her “Mamatica” because that’s what all host mothers are called in Costa Rica. She then proceeded to show me my room, the bathroom, and rest of the house including a cute little patio. Of course, everything was spoken in Spanish, so I naturally had to ask Mamatica to repeat herself a lot of the time. Every now and then she would recruit her son, who spoke very broken English at the time, to explain a topic I could not understand even after being repeated several times.
A few things I did understand was to put all my money, passport, and valuables into the safe that was provided to me because the cleaning lady sometimes had sticky hands, DO NOT FLUSH THE TOILET PAPER OR FEMININE PRODUCTS, and several stories that made me laugh. One of which included a time where a student of hers in the past was dropped off by a taxi driver into the grass of their neighbor’s yard after getting drunk and passing out in the taxi. I understood most of her story through various hand gestures and facial expressions.
By this point my brain was on overload with the immigration situation, the new environment, and trying to communicate in Spanish. My Mamatica brought me to the nearby grocery store to get some essentials that I had not brought with me because I knew I could buy them once I arrived to Costa Rica. After, I went up to my room and started to unpack. Dinner was another whirlwind of conversation, questions, and storytelling. By this point my brain had finally awoken and I was able to speak and understand a little better.
After dinner I went almost straight to bed after talking with my family back in the U.S. It was 8pm, but I was exhausted. There was so much to process, and I knew that for the next 5 months I would learn much more than what those 7 years of Spanish classes had taught me. Not just the language, but the culture and environment would consume the current me and spit out a new person by the end. I was nervous, gitty and excited. What would tomorrow bring? Certainly, a new day and new experiences. Welcome to Costa Rica.
