Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 6, Part 2-- Don't Walk, Dance

Unlike our 90-degree Thanksgiving Day-in-L.A. weather, Costa Rica had constant rain.

On our sixth day there, the clouds stopped crashing into each other and causing downpours around 1pm, just in time for us to head into town and visit an elementary school. I hate admitting it but since I am an educator, I was interested in comparing a Central American school to all I knew of my own education and career in the States. Plus, I was excited to see the promised traditional Costa Rican dances that the children were going to perform. I wanted to see how similar they were to the Mexican dances I studied and took part in during my college years. 

Finally enough clearing to view Volcan Arenal on our way to the lobby.

The students were eagerly awaiting us in customary folklore attire. As we descended the bus, a child took two of us in each hand and guided us to their computer lab. During our short walk, they introduced themselves and asked our names. I asked my little guide, a wild girl whose name I've now forgotten, what grade she was in and she said fourth. 

A very friendly welcome.

Computers were aligned along the perimeter of the classroom with chairs facing towards the center for us to use. Then, a teacher introduced all of the children and they came around for a meet and greet.  

We were impressed with the level of professionalism the children had demonstrated thus far. They were organized, cordial, and welcoming. My students can probably run the class on their own already but they're so messy and talkative. Even if I warn my students that district people are coming to visit, all I end up doing is classroom management instead of a lesson. The kid's teacher snapped back to the present when she described the first dance. Then the children began their number barefooted. 

The wild girl didn't perform in the beginning. Instead, she sat at the teacher's desk banging pencils to the beat of the music. Then, she accidentally turned the stereo off. The instructor turned it back on and the kids started the performance all over again.

During the middle of the dance, a young man walked into the room and sat on the floor with the rest of the kids. He appeared to be in his late teens and reminded me completely of a former student of mine. The kids seemed to know him-- perhaps he was the custodian-- and they started playing together as if they were all 9 years old. I looked at the teacher, waiting for her to put a stop to the rowdiness occurring behind the kids owning the floor. The woman in charge did not seem fazed. But I was. I didn't know if the man-boy suffered from a condition that delayed him mentally, if he just got along really well with the children, or he if he had other intentions.

The time finally came for us to join in the fun. The teacher explained how the next dance worked, and in simplified terms, it resembled musical chairs. Everyone danced in a circle while holding hands. When the music stopped, you had to pair up. Whoever was left without a partner had to dance with a broom. Jackie and I were some of the ones chosen to participate and without fail, she was the first one to have to dance with the sweeping device.

After a couple of rounds of the broom dance, our tour guide turned the event into a Q&A session. The students were allowed to ask us anything. They asked where we came from and what we did for a living. Then we turned it around and asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up. We heard responses never before uttered by U.S. children, I bet. Some mentioned typical answers, like policemen, lawyers, and teachers. But others left our mouths agape when they said tour guides, zoologists, and my favorite, ecologists. Children there are so aware of their country and the importance of caring for it. Trashcans are found everywhere in very public areas for paper, glass, and plastic. A lot of business use renewable energy to power the water supply amongst other sources and animals are free to roam their natural habitats because people have no desire to turn forests into suburbs or cities. 

My students don't even know how to keep their desks clean, much less conserve our planet for their future! I accept partial responsibility for their lack of knowledge and understanding when it comes to preserving nature. My job requires me to focus on standards and everything else gets tossed aside. But sitting in that classroom made me realize that we teachers have a lot of work to do. Using both sides of the chart paper even though the markers have bled through isn't enough awareness. 

Feeling like a failure, the kids then escorted us two by two again to the patio area. There, moms and volunteers were selling crafts. Being the cheapskate that I am, I ventured off to take a sneak peek of the classrooms nearby. 

The classrooms had no windows or doors; the natural air was their sole method of ventilation. They lacked student work and reference posters on the walls which made for a much preferred clean look. The desks were pushed to the sides and I wondered if the kids did that daily. Also, if they swept and mopped everyday since it rained frequently. 

It was then time leave. The students led us out one last time. Since our shuttle was waiting at the next stop, we boarded a large wagon. The wild girl and the man-child were chasing each other making 8's around parked cars. We panicked when the adult kid hopped in the tractor connected to our wagon. I wondered if he was licensed to operate a motored vehicle but who could I ask? My tour group shot panicked looks at each other like pool table balls as the children waved goodbye.

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 6, Part 1- A Stiff and Wet Morning

I woke up with the stiff neck last Friday. I hadn't woken up like that since my stay in Arenal, Costa Rica.

The rain was beyond welcoming that first night in the volcanic town. I hoped it would cease by breakfast so I could find relief in the healing powers of the hot springs. It was my first free morning since the trip started and I would have slept in had it not been for the constant thunder. Most of the the people in our group were off canyoneering. Other than running low on funds to participate in the activity, I had no desire to partake in it. A few months before, during a hike to Forest Falls near Big Bear, I witnessed three hikers descending from the waterfall. They came down one at a time very slowly because they had no grip against the wet rockwall. After a few minutes, each one emerged from the curtain of water. Since then, I knew canyoneering was not for me because I hate water and being cold (white water rafting is the only exception). I was glad most of the tour group had decided to go because that guaranteed more room in the hot springs for me.

But the rain didn't care about my plans or the kink in my neck. It continued to pour until the end of breakfast. That's when Jackie and I threw on our rain gear before we missed the most important meal of the day, also the first of three Jackie had become accustomed to since leaving for UC Berkeley in 2001. We walked to the cafeteria and took a tour of the grounds when we finished. We passed a pool and its bar before coming across about 5 hot springs. One of the girls had told us that the further up we went, the warmer the water got. Behind the last pool was a trail. We asked an office worker how long it would take to get to the waterfall but he didn't recommend it. The trail would be too slippery because of the rain, he adviced. It started sprinkling but decided a few raindrops wouldn't be bothersome in the hot springs. So we went back to our room to change.

Hot Springs ingredients. 

Rolling Springs...

Hot Springs...

Armadillos on our beds when we arrived. No, those red flowers weren't their eyes but their ears, don't be fooled like Jackie.

As soon as our cover-ups were secured, the sky introduced its own version of the Ice Bucket Challenge: the water bucket challenge. Gazzilions of buckets of water came down for a few minutes. And just when we thought the sky had spilled all of its contents, more water started falling. Apparently, the delays occurred as the receptacles refilled. 

Tropical Storm.

Jackie and I succumbed to the rain. We went under the covers and watched Anthony Bourdain and National Geographic or the Discovery Channel, recognizing a lot of the animals on our trip.

By 1pm, the stormed stopped, just in time for our visit to a local school and La Casona, one of Costa Rica's oldest houses. We put on real clothes and waited in the lobby for our daily ride to a new adventure.

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 5

It's been way too long. I hate being an adult. I've been consumed by report cards, conferences, a school carnival, and family obligations. The worst part is that there is no end in sight. Before, I worked three months and took one off to make up for the sleep deprivation. But not anymore. My school district decided to follow the norm, to stay and think inside the box, and went with a traditional school calendar. My next big break isn't until the end of the school year. Even this four-day Veteran's Day weekend wasn't as exciting as it was necessary for my mental health. No reason I had a headache for seven days.

I searched through my memory bank last week looking for my last big adventure. And there it was, way back when in July: Costa Rica. Just like with the death of a loved one, we have no choice but to hold on and cherish the good times until we make new ones again.

*          *          *          *          *

I slept little that night in Sarapiqui. The rain poured and the clear plastic roof in the bathroom did nothing to cushion the noise. Loud crackling thunder woke me between attempts at some shut eye. And just as soon as I'd gone to bed I was up again.

We were scheduled to go white water rafting that morning. I was excited instead of nervous, completely out of character for me, which probably contributed to the lack of sleep. I'd always wanted to partake in said activity despite not knowing how to swim. Jackie had done it in Nor Cal and I knew the life vest would keep me safe. Plus, I was sure to be mistaken for a "traveled" person when I came back and said, "I went white water rafting in Costa Rica." But there was one issue coming between me and my anticipated phrase: the incessant storm. I doubted we'd be allowed anywhere near the river in those conditions. The waters would be rough, perhaps too dangerous for the experts, even. The lightning could pose a danger, too. Something about electricity and water...

But I dressed for the occasion anyway. The weather was so unpredictable; it could stop raining any minute as much as it had proved to come down in a second. I threw on my shorts, the tee with sleeves I'd bought at the supermarket the day before, and my waterproof hiking shoes. I parted my hair down the middle and made two french braids to keep my locks in place and out of my face.

Jackie and I then dragged our luggage down the rocky walkway. We met two groundskeepers who took over and parked our suitcases under the covered reception area. The wind blew light rain into the dining room as the sky played the angriest melodies I'd heard in my life. The thunder was deafening, like sitting next to a giant speaker at a wedding or dancing by one in a club. There wasn't a single time the rumbling didn't startle me. And every lightning struck like a bolt with a sharp point ready to part the forest down the center to swallow life as we knew it.  

Assuming our guide had taken part in our scheduled adventure under these conditions before, I asked him whether or not we were going to be able to raft. But he didn't know. He said we'd have to drive to the station where the professionals would make the call. 

Waiting to board the shuttle. This was the norm: Costa Rica Plugged In to the World Wide Web.

We got a glimpse of the river on our short ride to the rafting location when we crossed over a bridge. It looked mad, like me when I'm PMSing and "Get Away From Me" is written all over my forehead. I didn't have high hopes for any white water rafting on this trip. And neither did our guide, I think, since he told us to stay put when our driver parked in front of the office. Raindrops slid on the outside of our foggy windows but I still made out his figure upon his return.

"Ok," he said reappearing in the bus. "Leave everything here."

We were going rafting after all. But I hesitated taking my jacket off. I wasn't sure it was the right decision even though I'd been looking forward to it since reading the travel description. Falling over was a risk I was willing to take no matter where the adventure took place but drowning in a foreign country was out of the question. Would the instructors really risk their lives for money? I was thinking crazy. I had let my old-lady, over-thinking, responsible, United States self override the Just Have Fun attitude I had sworn to work to its full effect on this trip. I pulled my coat off and led the pack to the reception area. The air was chilly for the second time on this vacation and I worried that I wouldn't be able to withstand the cold.

Signing our rights away was followed by a restroom pit stop. Then we gathered around the water dispenser filling up paper cones while we stared at each other with uneasiness; we wanted to cross this experience off our bucket lists but to what extent? A storm was in full effect outside. Fear took over my initial excitement turning my stomach into lava-- more boiling action than scorching molten rock-- and sent me to the toilet again under false pretenses.

I came out just in time to follow a worker to where our instructors awaited us. They explained the equipment we needed and told us to wear our helmets before walking to the river. With paddles in our hands and vests on our bodies, we tripped over large roots and sunk into mud until coming to a stop for a briefing on emergency procedures under a large tree on the river bank.

They scared us shitless describing the different ways we could fall out of the rafts. They tried calming us by explaining how they were certified to save us. Then the instructors put us into groups of five or six. We were appointed a lead and then he assigned us our seats by, what I assumed to be, presumed physical capability. Since my posse was made up of five girls and one guy, the singled-out dude and I were the chosen ones to sit up front.  Unbeknownst to me, the people at the head of the boat took the hardest hits. We had to wade through the knee-deep river to hop onto the boat. Then we secured our feet in the safety strap on the bottom of the raft like they taught us. We held our paddles like they said and off we went, leading the pack in the storm.

The current took us away. Our instructor said rafting was easier during or after a storm since the water did most of the work. I was bummed because I wanted to paddle but my disappointment was short lived when our lead yelled for us to oar. There was a boulder creating large waves straight ahead that we needed to avoid. Somehow we dodged it, although it was all of the instructor's doing being that he worked his paddle like a dolphin's tail. As we passed the rock on the right, a wave crashed on me, sending me into the air. Because I couldn't open my eyes or catch my breath, I wasn't sure if I had gone overboard or not. My strapped feet bungee-jumped me back to my spot on the edge of the boat and that's when I knew I was alright. Jackie later admitted that she thought I was going to be the first person down. Luckily, my six years at Curves had prepared my legs and core for that crucial moment when stabilization and balance was greatly required.

Waves broke on me a few more times as if passing under Niagara Falls. Halfway through the ordeal, I didn't know if my left contact had been washed away or gotten lost in my eye socket. Due to this anticipated mishap, I eventually learned to turn my head away from large splashes when I came head on with them. The crisp water hit my chest and poured off me through my cleavage, taking my breath away every time. The hits also turned me into a fountain, like one of those marble statues that spits excess liquid back into the pool. The guy next to me took a punch once and landed on me, consequently whacking my right shin with his paddle. He hit me so hard I could have cried. But it was all part of the game. Just like when we headed directly into a rock wall. The instructor yelled, "Paddle," but the current was stronger than all of our efforts combined. I thought our boat was going to burst upon impact but my oar took the blow as it scraped in my attempt to push us away in the opposite direction.  

Our leader ordered us towards land for a short break. I wasn't necessarily out of air but my limbs were sore from sitting in an awkward and tense position. We stretched out as the instructors cut pineapples for us to feast on following our success of staying afloat. I wondered where they had carried so many fruits without us noticing; perhaps they had their own raft. I tried relaxing but there was something obstructing  my view out of my left eye which meant I hadn't lost my seeing contraption. Whatever it was sure bothered me. I told Jackie to remove it by tapping the speck so it could stick to her finger but she couldn't get it. So I succumbed to my blurred vision while we posed for pictures for the brave who'd towed their cameras in waterproof seals. The adrenaline stopped pumping soon after and I got cold. But I wasn't the only one. It was our body's way of telling us that we were ready to tackle the rest of the river. The uneaten pineapple slices were thrown into the water to become one with nature and we boarded for the latter half of our adventure. 

Tired, wet, cold, and sore. We celebrated the first half of the ordeal with pineapples! (Photo credit: The OC couple? Don't remember)  

The second half was shorter and less thrilling. We had already encountered the most challenging obstacles before our recess so floating, paddling, and soaking became monotonous. We concluded the experience by trading our gear for towels as we boarded a van. The ride back to the headquarters felt long. We were tired and hungry. Upon our arrival, we changed quickly and were fed accordingly.

There was a calming view of an adjacent river from the outdoor patio. Paired with spaghetti and a friendly orange tabby, Jackie and I coud've mistaken that moment for a day at the spa. 

We were back on the shuttle by noon en route to Arenal, land of volcanoes. We dozed off but when I awoke, I caught views of various types of homes. One looked like it belonged in Beverly Hills-- peachy plastered walls, double pane windows, red doors, initials made out of rose bushes in the garden. Others reminded me of my parent's house, a little older with people relaxing on their porches. But they all had one thing in common: tin roofs. I assumed the rain easily and harmlessly rolled off this metal the best. I did wonder about insulation but remembered that Costa Rica has a tropial climate. I rested assured knowing that an abundance of blankets would suffice during the winter, which was the current season in July.

A humongous iron gate opened to let us in to our home for the next two nights. We were thankful the place looked like a spa. Our guide explained that there was a pool, hot springs, bars, and a restaurant. Our rooms had sliding doors, a TV, and heater. We hung our wet rafting gear on the leather rocking chairs in our porch-like entrances and got ready for dinner out on the town. We had the option to stay out later by catching a cab but I was done. I wanted to fall asleep with the TV on. Except my plan failed when a gecko in the shower greeted me when I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I feared all night that it would crawl on top of me. So I stayed awake until Jackie arrived because I didn't want her to scream. I told her about our third roommate but it had disappeared by 1am. We did too, under the fluffy, warm, white bedding.

Night on the town.