Forest of Rain (a.k.a. The Rainforest)

Our ears provided us with a forewarning of the impending state of things to come. It started as a light pitter-patter emanating from high above our heads as if a percussion orchestra was warming up for its performance for us, an audience of alien visitors in this foreign contextual setting. As the drumming picked up rhythm and increased in volume, I looked around at my fellow classmates as they scrambled to ensconce their valuables in a variety of plastic bags. Few of us had brought sufficient gear for this heavenly change of events and yet there were no panicked expressions on display. We all simultaneously seemed to except the truth of what lay in the near future. After about a minute, the physical root of our instrumental warning finally greeted us in cool droplets as we settled in for a saturated trek through the Caribbean rainforests of Costa Rica.

Samuel Viroslav, our professor for our corporate social responsibility class, which has been dominating our time at ULACIT for more than a week now, had set us away from the classroom this Monday the 26^th of July. This little field trip had begun at 7 am in front of ULACIT’s main entry with 15 students (Verena had stayed home sick) accompanied by Phillip, Leonardo and four guides from Fundecor. Fundecor is an organization dedicated to the sustainable management of Costa Rica’s gorgeous forests. We were soon to learn that this occurs through two avenues, planted homogeneous forests that are tended to much like a farm and then also through extracting certain mature trees directly out of the wild rainforest itself.

Granted, Sam had warned us of the high probability that we would be running into wet and muddy conditions and as such had advised that we wear rubber boots and bring a second set of dry clothes just in case. Maybe I simply got lost in the enjoyment of the day, which had supplied me with two free and delicious meals, but Sam’s warnings had not hit home until the moment the rain started falling. However, in the end our soaked situation ended up adding to the experience immensely! After all, it is a rainforest; what better time to experience it then in the rain?

Slipping and sliding all over the place we traversed through the thick foliage, yielding every so often to fully digest our surroundings. Pure magnificence! It was everything I thought it could be and so much more. I’m still somewhat astounded that Fundecor is able to convince land owners to chose the preserved rainforest option for harvesting timber, because it makes little economic sense. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy they’re doing it, but I suppose my mind is partially twisted from my American upbringing. If this same proposition was attempted in the US, I have doubts that it would be embraced so readily.

Zero Stress

The clouds opened up to admit a blanket of dazzling light out across Arenal Lake as I flew through the air guided by a ¾ in. diameter cable. I let out a Tarzan-like cry in recognition of a fellow team member passing by on another line while my rain jacket transformed itself into a cape behind me. A moment later a familiar jostle of the cable told me that I was approaching the landing dock and so I disengaged my hanging fetal position for a rather revealing spread-eagle formation which we’d been instructed to assume so that we would avoid hitting the wire as inertia brought our asses swinging forward before touchdown.

It had been raining as we had ascended the cable car to the starting point of this zip-line course, but the weather had shifted quickly as it tends to do here and now my rain jacket was performing in reverse; my torso felt as if it were trapped in an incubator. Yet, nothing could perturb the overpowering appeal of the moment. The lush green foliage of the Carribean rainforest swallowed us whole at every platform with several species of insects frequently coming in for a closer look. My English accomplice, Harriet, was so entranced by the local fauna at one point that she simply drifted into a mesmerized trance as a nice big fella proceeded to give her a little love-bite.

Of course, I’m surely not one to speak of mesmerized trances and any of my classmates would certainly be eager to support that notion. It seems I’ve earned my nick-name “perezoso” now as an formally trapped state of total sloth-like relaxation surfaced rather quickly as I immersed myself in the natural hot springs of Arenal the Saturday night preceding our high flying adventure in the tree tops. Granted, a frozen mixed drink or two certainly played a role in unlocking the door to my burgeoning state of relaxation, but one ought not devalue the power of these natural hot springs. I seriously do wish I could visit these soothing baths on a regular basis, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much practical use if that were the case.

At first the hot springs just felt like an immense bathtub filled with the perfect temperature of water, but after implementing the ritual of transferring from hot water quickly to cold water and then back again to the hot water after a good number of minutes allowing the body to stabilize in the cold water, I was feeling reeeeeeaaaaalllllyyy goooooooood . . . my movement slowed down t snails pace, my eyes became little more than thin slits allowing only enough light in for me to remain aware, yet detached from my surroundings, and a subtle smile permanently took residence beneath my big English nose. Of course it also takes a willingness to completely clear your mind and simply embrace the moment, but if one is capable of that . . . nothing short of bliss awaits.

No pictures of the hot spring though. I didn’t want to risk dropping my camera in the water. You’ll just have to enjoy the pics from the zip line and come see for yourself the bliss of the hot springs. Visuals wouldn’t really do it justice any ways.

They're Not Lazy . . . Just Misunderstood!

I think I'm love! No, I'm not talking about a girl down here, rather a species of super shaggy ancient animals that share close links with the armadillo and anteater. I'm talking about sloths and I feel the need to defend these creatures that have received a bad rap throughout history. In almost every language, the name of this animal is synonymous with "lazy," "sleep," "dirty," or a combination therein. They've fallen prey to the same judgement that has labeled the manatee as the "sea cow," but at least that rather awkward looking animal has a proper name. Those who named the sloth didn't seem to get past their relaxed demeanor.

They can't help it! They just have slow metabolisms. If I'm supposed to refer to fat humans as "big boned" or "metabolically challenged" why isn't there an alternative to calling these majestic creatures lazy bums!? And just look at them . . . i mean really, can't we just call them "irresistibly cute and cuddly tree teddy bears?" Okay so maybe that's a little to drawn out for a name and plus they're not in the bear family so that won't work, though I swear George Lucas must have had these guys in mind while creating some of the creatures in Star Wars. Then again, when the three-toed sloths are full-grown I swear they look like super hairy hippies! Oh I want to take one home soooooo bad; damn US customs!

Oh and in regard to the "dirty" label, get this, they are actually one of the view animals without a body odor! So hah, not dirty, just cuddly! Anyways, I could go on and on about my adoration for these super sweet animated fur balls, but I'll cut it off here. Oh, I suppose I ought to mention this post comes after a visit to the Aviaros Sloth Sanctuary in Costa Rica asked for personally by me this past weekend while our group was on the Caribbean coast. Props to them for providing me the chance to melt in front of cute orphaned baby sloths shown in the following photographic evidence:

Razor Wire in Paradise

When envisioning the environmental context of Costa Rica, images of lush green rainforests, breathtaking waterfalls & gorgeous beaches may come to mind. The built world constituting Costa Rica’s cities and towns is generally overlooked and given little more than a passing glance. I wouldn’t blame anybody for this though as even the inhabitants of Costa Rica’s largest city, San Jose, admit that the city is in a state of disrepair or to put it in layman terms, “ugly.” The natural world here is so beautiful and at first impression, the cities tend to end up on the opposite end of the spectrum. Granted, if one simply strolls through San Jose, they are likely to rattle off a long list of maladies before ever arriving at a single compliment. Perhaps it’s the shear captivation of the world around the Ticos that lead them to disregard the roads and sidewalks that often serve only to transport people from one view of the surrounding mountain range to another.

Yet, there is a level of beauty hidden under the dirt, grim and rubble of San Jose that lays dormant, waiting for someone to discover it. Coincidentally, the reason for the utterly unloved state of most of the streets, sidewalks and buildings was revealed to me by Senor Roberto Artavia to be a product of the Costa Rican government investing heavily in human capital while viewing infrastructure as something to be attended to later. But for all the havoc this stance has caused the streetscapes, there still exists some charm in the historical and cultural progression evident in San Jose’s buildings. The centers of many of the cities seem as if European architecture has been imported here long ago and left to weather in the tropical climate. It’s not far from the truth; the colonial occupation by Spain lives on through a handful of aged classical edifices.

I came upon some of these buildings in San Jose with a group of the other students in the INEX group after classes on Monday and was caught off guard at first. It’s not so much the fact that these buildings exist here, but rather their abrupt existence alongside such a variety of other architectural styles from across time. Rusting corrugated metal roofing buts up next to a 70’s brutalist concrete fortress, which is planted beside a contemporary commercial bank clad in zinc plating with strips of backlit plexi-glass signage. The ordered mentality of European cities’ architectural groupings seems to have fallen on deaf ears hear. It’s much more closely tied to the capitalist notions of free-market expansion, which if not closely regulated tends to foster an amalgamation of buildings to sprout up wherever they wish.

However, I have to confess my admiration for the central market in San Jose. It’s far from being an architectural marvel; in fact it’s housed inside a sort of warehouse. Regardless, I was enamored with the maze of narrow passageways with a variety of wares displayed on every square inch. I felt like I was in a bizarre from a sci-fi show! Where else can I find a pile of machetes right next to petite pink dresses!? Of course all that window-shopping and getting all turned around within the maze of alleyways makes a fellow build up a healthy appetite, but oh wait, they’ve got that covered as well. So it was that we ended our excursion into the belly of San Jose with a meal served on a plastic tablecloth under fluorescent lights with various catholic statuettes and such adorning the walls. Mmmmm, I simply love to gobble up deliciously different culture, even if it may seem a little rough around the edges.

Rapid Thinking

Muscles straining and completely drenched in water, two words trigger a change in my actions, “GET DOWN!” In an instant I find myself huddled in the fetal position on the bottom of an inflatable enclosure side-by-side my co-leader, Leonardo, as we plunge into what seems like an impenetrable wall of water. A deluge of raging water crashes down over us and one moment later we emerge unscathed on the other side with another command ringing through the crisp mountain air, “UP! FORWARD!” Pulling myself back up with oar in hand, I take to the strenuous task of raking the river with my flat paddle.

This is one of many such experiences that greeted me on the Rio Pacuare on Sunday. Take away the sites and sounds of the city, place 6 individuals in an inflatable raft and push them down a river with class 4 rapids and you can be assured that the individuals involved will be forever changed for the better. Now that might be a mild exaggeration, but it certainly does serve as an amazing team-building exercise. One instant everything may be floating along splendidly, but with a slight jolt a fellow team member may have disappeared over the side of the raft and though you scramble to help him, the raft has gone into a flooding death spin and you must thrust your body wait every which way to escape the depths of disaster yourself . . .

Such events (perhaps not exactly in that detail) are sure to arise in the midst of it all, but such foolish trickery by Mother Earth stands no chance when up against the determined spirit of a team seeking to rescue their cherished co-captain. Heheheh, so yes, with adrenaline pumping through our veins we propelled the raft out of the sinkhole and over to Leonardo. The reasoning for his mysterious abandonment of his post beside me is still under investigation. Some claim that our recent rescue of another rafts team member only moments prior to the incident caused mental disruption in our dear Leonardo, which then manifested itself in a physical specter to cast him overboard. The jury is still out. No matter though, for I was able to hoist him back into the raft with my big strong arms and away we went.

Add these moments of shear excitement to the breathtaking scenery and companionship of 5 new friends with which you have momentarily entrusted your life to and one can perceive how empowering the whole adventure can be. It’s places like the Rio Pacuare & activities like white-water rafting that truly make me feel alive.

Latin Dancing (a.k.a. Sweaty & Exhaustive Hip Gyration)

They told when I arrived that Costa Rica was a very traditional and formal Latin American country . . . Well they're certainly not Amish, but I suppose "traditional and formal" are subjective terms reliant on the context within which they are used. Also, I'd be much more interested in learning traditional and formal caucasian dances if they bore more resemblance to Latin American dances.

We had a dance class on Wednesday which was . . . we'll say informative. It taught me that:

1. Hip movement is not reserved for women alone

2. There is absolutely no way to participate without an accompanying deluge of sweat

3. When in doubt, just keep gyrating and stepping to the rhythm

That's not to say that I'm any good at Latin Dancing, but it's hella fun to try! I'm sure all the locals are looking at me and thinking, "what is this gringo doing making a fool out of himself," but you only live once right!? Plus, nobody else in the program (all Europeans, mostly Austrian) really knows what they're doing either so as long as I keep close to them in the clubs I should blend right in.

So after our class we agreed that we ought to all put our recently acquired moves to the test in the field. What's better, it was the birthday of one of my classmates so it gave us the perfect excuse to imbibe muscle relaxing agents (also know as beer and shots) and let loose. My new friends here in the program seemed to enjoy my bastardized hybrid of Latin dance and what I'll call freestyle house for white guys. Too bad nobody brought their cameras. One thing's for sure, it's a great team building activity. Those who sweat together, stay together (and no there is no pun intended there).

I've Been Adopted!

The Ticos (Costa Ricans) have to be some of the warmest, most welcoming body of people that I have ever met; or perhaps I just happened to land the best host family ever. Either way, my nervousness has quickly transformed into a drive to immerse myself fully into the Tico culture with the hope of learning as much as possible.

The three years of Spanish that I took in high school are slowly trickling back to me piece by piece, but I can already sense that I will leave this place with far greater spanish linguistic skills than I have ever had before. It didn't take long for me to understand why people always say that you need to live in a country that speaks a foreign language to truly learn it. The persistent presence of the language all around you along with the need to communicate in that language demands that you learn, and quickly.

Thankfully, my host family is patient with me and extremely interested in helping me progress my Spanish skills. in fact, I think they're impressed at the progress I've already made in these couple days. After the introductory classes today my host mother (she refers to me as her third son) showed me how to use the bus system in San Jose to get to and from our house and the University. However, instead of returning straight home, she guided me a few streets over to her sister's house (a total surprise to me). As we left the rainy outdoors for the cozy interior of the house I found myself greeted by an arsenal of smiling faces belonging to varying aged Ticas (Costa Rican women).

Let me just side-step this story to praise the greeting style of the Ticos – gentle embraces with cheeks touching while kissing the air (between opposite sexes). I love it!!! too bad I'd have a good chance of receiving a slap to the face if I tried to import this greeting to the US.

Anyways, I was quickly seated at the head of the table and served a cup of Costa Rican coffee with a plate of desserts that didn't seem to have an end. They love to feed their guests, which is great for me because I love to eat their food! A symbiotic relationship made in heaven. I was then introduced to all the women present as if they were long lost members of an extend family I never knew i possessed. The whole female side of my new family was there – my aunt, grandmother, cousin, etc. and all were eager to unleash an artillery of questions in Spanish. I have to say I managed myself quite well, and one of them spoke English so all the gaps were filled. Within minutes, my "aunts" were trying to encourage me that I ought to consider dating their daughters!!! They're seriously trying to indoctrinate me here. Fortunately enough for me, and my girlfriend, their daughters were on about 16 years old so they said I'd have to return in 5 years before they would be pushing them on me.

Oh there's so much more to talk about from todays events, but I don't want to run myself dry of material for the coming days. Stay tuned for more. in the mean time, here's some pictures of the house I'll be calling home.

Estoy Nervioso (I'm Nervous!)

That's Right, me, Daniel Nowell . . . nervous. Hard to believe perhaps for those who know me, and I wasn't that open to the possibility either before a couple days ago. However, as the prescribed day of departure draws near (tomorrow . . .) I find myself devouring my nails (metaphorically) with the thoughts of being immersed in a foreign culture without the ability to communicate! How does one keep their cool under such situations?

The confidence that carried me through Australia and New Zealand stemmed from the comfort and ease with which I wield my native tongue. Well i did take three years of Spanish in High School, but hell if I remember any of that. I've been attempting to resurrect my distant knowledge of Latin American linguistics these past couple of weeks, but alas, the most helpful phrase I've come up with is "Perdoneme, tiro un pedo" which roughly translates as "Excuse me, I farted."

Well it's sure to be an adventure, and I'm not one to turn down a challenge. Time to open my mind and soak it all in. Here i come Costa Rica!!!