People You Meet in Paradise

On the morning of September 11, 2001 I was sitting in my American History class finishing up some homework when the news spread across the school of the morning's attacks on the World Trade Center. I remember being pretty tired that morning and not paying too much attention as the teacher turned on the tv and everyone went silent. Then a message came over the loud speaker saying that my stepfather was at the school to talk to me and would I please report to the main office. My mom had been out of town for the past few days and being the typical teenager that I was, I hadn't paid much attention to where she was going. My stepdad came to tell me that Mom was ok. She was in Washington D.C., about a block away from the Pentagon where there had also been news of a terrorist attack. I don't really remember how I felt, aside from relief that my mom was ok. But from that moment on, for me and hundreds of thousands of Americans and others around the world, everything changed.

Life went on, as it always does. America went to war, and patriotism became a way of life. Family members, friends, and neighbors got shipped off to Iraq, teachers were fired for speaking about peace in classrooms, and the "Pledge of Allegiance" was given new meaning for all Americans. I was young and self involved, and didn't realize how all this affected me. I also didn't know how my mom had suffered from the things she saw in D.C., she did not feel safe anymore in the U.S.A.. I'm not exactly sure when the search began, but my mom started researching countries where she might want to live; somewhere where she could take her family and feel safe.

Costa Rica went to the top of the list for several reasons including their lack of an army, and in February of 2003, right after we had traveled to California to visit the university I was hoping to attend, my parents went on vacation to the Caribbean Coast of the small Central American country to check things out. They returned two weeks later with a sunburn and happily announced that we were moving to Costa Rica in 6 months. After the initial shock, it took me about 2 minutes to decide that I was going to follow my family down south and I happily kissed my plans to attend film school on the west coast goodbye. We proceeded to sell the majority of our possessions and virtually liquidate our lives. Friends and strangers came over to walk through our beautiful victorian home and sort through furniture and anything else they might want to buy. In the end, each of us was left with two suitcases each and not much else.

On July 1st, 2003, my family arrived in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. Our new business and home was a small hotel called Cashew Hill, and here we were going to begin our new lives. I can say with all sincerity that when I first got to that small Caribbean beach town I hated it. I missed my friends, my life, my old house, and my privacy. I missed having a bed because for the first month or so of living at Cashew Hill there weren't enough beds for my whole family and I spent my nights in a hammock on the porch with a mosquito net wrapped tightly around me. I missed my tv, movies, my car, and I really missed warm showers. I missed living a life where you weren't swarmed by insects every second of every day. Sometimes I can't help but think how differently I might have felt if I had come to Puerto Viejo first as a tourist, instead of arriving there with the intention of staying to live. I'm sure it would have been very different. But, with time, I got used to the heat and humidity, to the bugs and the jungle noises, and the bats in the bathroom. I got a boyfriend and life became about love, and eventually I got a life in Puerto Viejo. I've learned that with time you get used to even the most uncomfortable of circumstances.

Since then, 7 years have passed and I now look back on those days with fondness. Sometimes people ask me if I regret having gone to Costa Rica instead of going to college, and I can honestly say that Costa Rica was the best thing that ever happened to me and my family. With a little heartbreak we sold the hotel this year. A lot of people ask why, and if you have ever owned your own business you would know how much work it is. The time and the place were special, and the memories we will hold on to forever. After we sold the hotel I got out of town for a while. I decided to travel and see if I could find another place that I could love as much as Puerto Viejo. Change is good and I am young and free.

But the more I travel, the more I realize how special a place it really is. I think about the people that I know there and how exceptional they are. I have met so many amazing people there who have so profoundly impacted my life. Puerto Viejo really is a sanctuary for free spirits who want to live an extraordinary existence away from the rat race, commercials, and consumerism. And there we are all just a bunch of jungle nymphs frolicking along the beaches, waiting for the next barrel, the next sunset, the next season. And I realize that when we are there and because we are away from all the chaos and the traffic, the shopping malls and the never-ending subliminal messages that feed the masses the feelings of wanting more and bigger and better, we are much more free and naked and real and down to earth. I think that's what I miss most about that place is just the feeling of walking down the beach and appreciating the sand under my feet, and knowing that this place is real even if it looks like a dream. I realize that maybe it isn't so much Neverland at all as it is the way things should be. And the people are more beautiful there because they go outside and feel the sun on their face and ride their bikes and swim in the salty water. People don't watch much TV there because they'd rather be outside surfing and they smile a lot and say hello to strangers. I guess that's why they call it the Caribbean. And even though it has it's problems, well... everywhere has problems.

So, to all my friends from Puerto Viejo (whether you are still there or not) and the many beautiful strangers that I have met along the way, thank you for doing your part to make it such a special place. My life has been touched by each of you in your own way, and I don't have the words to tell you how grateful I am to know you all.

Culture Shock

The past three months have given me much time for reflection. Now, looking back on how the year has flown by, I can only say how grateful I am for such an amazing past 343 days. 2010 has given me so many things; a chance to start over, to move on and grow, to reach out and test my wings. This year has given me freedom... and let's not forget, love. 


I arrived in Buenos Aires in mid September: my first time in South America. In a little over two months I had traveled through Europe, the US, Costa Rica, and finally to Argentina. And after 9 weeks of backpacking on the other side of the world, I can't begin to express how exhausted I was. There's nothing like partying for 60 days straight to take the wind out of your sails. It was cold when I got here. And I'm sure I'm not the only one to notice that often times, especially in cities, the colder the weather the colder the overall disposition of everyone and everything. It's only now as the weather's getting warmer that I can feel the heat of the city and it's inhabitants. And as the Jacaranda trees started to bloom left and right and their purple blossoms illuminated the city streets, I finally came to realize what everyone was talking about. Yes, there is love to be had for Buenos Aires. 


As wickipedia defines it: "Culture shock is the difficulty people have adjusting to a new culture that differs markedly from their own. The shock of moving to a foreign country often consists of distinct phases, though not everyone passes through these phases and not everyone is in the new culture long enough to pass through all four." 


According to wiki, the first phase of the four is called the HONEYMOON PHASE, during which the new culture is seen in a "romantic light" full of observations and new discoveries. I can say from my personal experience in this particular case of culture shock that I did exactly fall in love at first sight with Buenos Aires. With places, much like with people, I try to be less quick to judge. I have learned too many times that the first impression is not always the best impression, and even though it's hard sometimes to not pass judgment on a person or place based on that first encounter, I struggle to keep my mind open. But I can also say that I didn't exactly like Buenos Aires at first either. 


For just about the last decade of my life I have lived in a town built around tourism, where new people come and go all the time. This has given me what I would like to think is a fairly open minded demeanor and has allowed me to meet new people from all sorts of different places and cultures. I have come to enjoy asking people where they are from, striking up conversations with strangers, sharing a surprisingly delightful encounter with a newcomer and realizing our common interests and goals. In Buenos Aires, however, for the most part I was not received with the same warm and welcoming attitude to which I am accustomed. I found myself in many a social situation where I was almost ignored by the majority of the group, which I obviously became quite frustrated by. This was one cultural difference I hadn't counted on. And I was disappointed to say the least, not only in the people around me but in myself for not being more outgoing.


I suppose in large part the language has also been an big impediment for me. Although I do consider myself fluent in Spanish, the difference between Costa Rican Spanish and Argentine Spanish is not to be underestimated. For just about the first six weeks of my stay in Argentina, every time I found myself listening to a conversation between two people from Buenos Aires, I just didn't get it. I would listen intently and try to focus, all the while thinking to myself, "What the fuck are these people talking about!?" There was no end to the vexation I felt while with a group of my boyfriend's friends, wanting more than anything to fit in and chatter along with the everyone else, only to be left in the dust by the endless conversation filled with Argentine slang. I felt as though I had been reverted back to 18 year old Emily when I had first moved to Central America and didn't speak much more than the numbers 1 to 10 in Spanish. Oh me oh my!!! 


I asked my boyfriend one day while we were sitting on the bus if he thought that I could pass for a girl from Argentina. 


"Not really", he told me. "You're way too foreign looking to be from here."


"But there are other blonde girls in Argentina, girls who were born here but maybe their parents aren't from here. Why couldn't I be one of those girls?" I argued. 


"You're just too... Gringa, babe."


I'm just too Gringa. And so I sat on the bus and watched the people occasionally stealing glances at me, probably wondering where I was from and what the hell I was doing on their bus. 


Wikipedia's second phase of culture shock is called the NEGOTIATION PHASE (This one I feel like I can relate to a little more.), during which the differences between one's old culture and a new culture become apparent and may create anxiety. In this period people may feel as if their lifestyle is totally influenced, their biological clock is a mess, they might find themselves feeling sick and lazy and may get tired doing anything no matter how easy it is. 


I came to Buenos Aires to visit my boyfriend with the intention of staying for three months. We met in Costa Rica the previous January and after several months of being friends and flirting we became rather inseparable. But he had plans to come back to Argentina and I had plans to go backpacking in Europe, so with more than a few tears we bid farewell in July and hoped to see one another again soon. After a couple weeks of traveling and missing him I bought my ticket to Buenos Aires, two months later he picked me up at the airport. 


You can love someone all you want but I don't think you can really know anyone until you've lived with them. Admittedly, my boyfriend and I moved a little bass ackwards in our relationship and moved in together after only a few months of dating. But it made much more sense for me to live with him in his apartment in Buenos Aires for three months than to rent my own place and spend all my time at his. All at once we were each introduced to each other's annoying tendencies, daily rituals, personal laziness, grooming habits, etc.. And the worst part was, there was no escaping each other. I had no place to go to escape for a few hours, and no friends to call to get away with. He works from home so he was always there with me in the background, and didn't feel right going out with his friends and leaving me at home alone. If there was ever a test of our friendship or relationship, this was it. 


As time went on we had a few bumps in the road, and I contemplated leaving early once or twice. But I hung in and eventually things started to get better and better. We went on a week long trip to Patagonia and found ourselves in a tiny little town called Puerto Piramides where we got lost in nature for a few days. We went on a mission to see the whales and were pleasantly surprised that there were still quite a few mama whales left tending to their new babies in November. I hadn't realized how badly I had needed a breath of fresh air after being in the city for the past two months. There's nothing like the silence of the country and the feeling of being on a beach totally and completely alone. And as we walked for miles and miles down the breathtaking beaches, once in a while we could see the bursts of whale's breath off in the distance as they came up for air, and my reservations about Argentina and relationships faded ever so gently away. 


Wikipedia's third phase of culture shock is the ADJUSTMENT PHASE, during which one grows accustomed to the new culture and begins developing a routine. Usually by this time one knows what to expect in most situations and has developed problem solving skills for dealing with the culture, things start to make sense, and negative responses and reactions are reduced. 


By the time we got back home from our trip I had begun to miss his apartment, which I have affectionately started to call home. Both of us are internet junkies, so during our week of escape we had made it a point to be online as little as possible, and I was pleasantly surprised when several of his friends from Buenos Aires had written me to say they had missed my face around. And as the countdown toward my departure slowly approaches, I have begun to feel a sort of panic that I am leaving. Who knew after all that I would fall for this place? Who knew that I would fall in love?? 


The fourth and final phase of culture shock is apparently what they call the MASTERY PHASE. I can't say that I feel like I can write much about this phase as of yet, at least not when it comes to Buenos Aires. But there just may be and bright and shiny future waiting for me in this city. And so I will not close the book on Argentina, just the chapter for now. And hopefully I'll be seeing you in 2011. Don't forget me.