POST 3

Christal Wagner Photography

YOUNG & DUMB

I bit my lip, and clicked purchase. I brief moment of regret reeled through me as the spinning rainbow wheel of destruction rotated on the computer screen before holding me in limbo. Maybe it didn’t go through, after all my computer was a little on the fritz and the internet we borrowed from the neighbors was a bit slow. Time stood still while I waited with the wheel and then, what was done, was done. Less than 30 seconds later, the page changed. Transaction complete. That was that. In a couple months I would be heading to Costa Rica on little more than a whim. Already living off my credit cards for everything from skim milk and gas, to overpriced sushi and Urban Outfitters’ new trends, I figured I would scrounge up the $800 roundtrip plane ticket later. I couldn’t be the only one of my friends not attending the Jazz Dance World Congress in Costa Rica that year. I mean, how would that look?! I’d gather the under the table cash from my few weekly teaching gigs and save my tiny checks from slinging bagels at Panera Bread for spending money and all would be well. Money was tight, but I’d been invited to stay with a fellow dancer whose family home was in San Jose and we had planned to commute together daily, back and forth from her home, to the main event at the hotel’s convention center. 

My friend arrived first to get reacquainted with her immediate family and closest friends. A few days later I would fly into the San Jose Airport and upon arrival, my friend would scoop me up in their family sedan, and drive me to their home outside of the city. After my first solo flight, I was tired, achy, overdressed and feeling a little all around out of it from the day of traveling. The cabin’s recycled air always stirs me up and getting into a car, just to sit in traffic, allowed the nausea to start to whirl within me. Once we were released from the airport circle, the traffic subsided and shades of green filled my view. The lush green hills completely stole my attention as we drove steadily on the edge of a rain forest covered mountainside. I peered out the window and watched as we sped around each curve. Sharing a narrow two-lane road between the natural vegetation and a tiny safety rail, our car traveled up and round – the untouched beauty of the distant hills popping in and out of view and revealing more green covered peaks of land with every turn as we continue along the mountainside road. The landscape before me was reminiscent of favorite movie scenes from my childhood and suddenly, I was transported into Jurassic Park. Although filmed mostly in Hawaii, visions of Spielberg’s fictional Isla Nublar surrounded us, and being the dinosaur nerd that I have always been, I couldn’t help hearing the classic John Williams theme playing in my head. Not only could you imagine a T-Rex parting through the trees, but having devoured Crichton’s 572 page book as a third grader, my imagination drifted far from the car, and into the world beyond.

Approaching the outskirts of the city, we sped past tattered road signs and began to turn off down smaller streets, arriving upon a more intimate setting. Small weather worn houses with mailboxes out front started to emerge from the overgrown tropical plants. We had entered my friend’s neighborhood and finally, pulled up to the family home. Feeling slightly ill and eager to peel my sweat soaked legs from the car’s interior, stepping out of the car I was immediately out of my comfort zone and felt overwhelmed by my surroundings. It was more run down than I had imagined and although, I am not sure what I had pictured, I remember that I was quick to make judgements.  Discomfort overwhelmed me and I became consumed by it. With a dirtiness to the surrounding buildings, slightly dingy houses and graffiti painted fences nearby, I immediately labeled this scene as a dangerous one. 

Nothing humbles you like travel. Surrounded by Spanish speaking locals, and hesitant of the home cooked food, I quickly realized I wasn’t the adventurer I thought I was, or longed to be. My two years of high school Spanish were of no comfort to me and my words and simple replies seem to form in slow motion. Why could I only remember how to say “hamburguesa” and offer a weak “Hola”?!  This was my first trip out of the country and before this, I had only vacationed with my family traveling to Illinois, Tennessee and Florida. I was overcome with nervousness and insecurity. The reality of it was that I was a white person, very used to blending in with an English speaking crowd, of white people. Oof. It still hurts to admit it but that’s the truth. It took me years to realize that my boyfriend, friends, and family members of color might feel the way I felt at that moment most of their daily lives. I was out of my element and without the comfort of my own family, planning and leading the way, it was clear that the independent woman I claimed to be and in reality, I was a very lost, uninformed and anxious nineteen year old.

My boyfriend and other friends visiting were staying at the convention site and resort center and I was quick to rearrange my plans to stay in accommodations that I found more comfortable. How rude was I?! Looking back, I still can’t believe I would do such a thing. Her family was so hospitable and welcoming but I was so overwhelmed by the change in my surroundings and longed for the American way and comforts of home. Ew. In hindsight, I am appalled and ashamed at my actions and wish I could have been more open minded. Clearly I was not ready for this trip and not worthy of this great adventure, the beauty of Costa Rica, the culture, and all its offerings. Once I was set up at the hotel and crashing with one of my best friends in her hotel room, I immediately felt better. It wasn’t as if I was spoiled as a child, however, I was lacking life experience and this trip was the first among many to change that. Live, and learn.

Fresh towels, crisp bed sheets, air conditioning, served restaurant meals – together, we hugged the hotel and swam in the luxury of its amenities. We took short walks around the property only exiting the premises to head across the street to the mall in the day, and swarmed the hotel bar we frequented with other friends each night. The original reason for the trip was to take dance classes in the day taught by world renowned jazz dance instructors and traveling to the shows at the concert venue downtown San Jose in the evenings. I barely had enough money for the trip so I was grateful that I was able to participate when instructors I knew from Chicago had invited me to join in as an assistant giving me complementary access. We took a 45minute cab ride every night that week to catch the performances, the relentless smell of gasoline polluting the night and filling our lungs as we waited with the rest of the commuters coming and going from the city center and also stuck in the thick rush hour traffic. After arriving downtown and surviving another overpriced cab ride, we stopped and ate at Popeyes Chicken ordering a fast food favorite of nineteen year old me, popcorn chicken. Being a poor, young traveler, this was food I could afford and trusted although, at this point in life, my stomach churns just thinking about it. Thoroughly grossed out, we stopped this trend when one one  of the chicken pieces we received in our order looked as if a whole baby chick had been put in the fryer, bones and all. 

The first week in Costa Rica was filled with friends, dance and drinks. We hung around the hotel most of the day. When we weren’t attending concerts, we only ventured out as far as the run down pastel colored mall across the street where we perused the kiosks in search of cheap souvenirs. We ate unremarkable food in the hotel because we were lame and it seemed a safe, familiar choice. Dancing in classes through the day, and finishing out the evenings in the hotel bar and hallways, we were merely young tourists clinging on to the familiar. As the first week ended, I became more anxious about the plans approaching the coming week. My closest friend and room mate would soon depart Costa Rica and head back to the US but I had planned to stay for additional week with a group of other dancers. At the time of the plane ticket purchase, it sounded like a good idea. 

Traveling abroad with friends, making once in a lifetime memories, my problem was I was so unprepared for traveling as such, and not completely comfortable with the friends I would spend the week with.  For some reason, I had difficulty admitting this to myself and was more afraid of missing out on the memories and later being pushed further to the outskirts of our friend circle upon our return. Nothing seemed worth the risk of becoming unpopular so I jumped on the opportunity following those leading the way through and often seriously going against my gut. I couldn’t back out. I purchased a ticket for two weeks in San Jose and I jumped on the purchase of my first Passport. It had felt like a door to the world and finally, I held a key. In an independent fit, I told my parents boldly that I was going, and I ignored their reservations. As I prepared to depart the security of the hotel and its amenities, the angsty teen was gone, that certainty, merely a facade. Getting me through was the hope that each step forward in our travels would eventually lead me closer to home. I was incredibly homesick while my Costa Rican friend was determined to give us Americans a proper experience of her country and of her life before coming to Chicago, where we all met. More than fifteen years later, I am grateful that despite my fear, unwillingness, and overall sour attitude, she persisted. 

Located between Nicaragua and Panama, Costa Ricans have access to the Pacific Ocean on the west coast and the Caribbean Sea on the east. During the second week abroad, the group of us were fortunate to visit each side. Taking a two hour drive over incredibly rocky terrain, wandering on foot down a narrow path that seemed to part the tropical scene surrounding us on either side, we stopped at a cliff to take in the view and soon after arrived at a private beach. Just a few of us and the serene sight beyond. After making use of nature’s backdrop to take a few posed photos as dancers do, we walked along the coast, set up to sun, and enjoyed an afternoon alone with the ocean. Surprise encounters with jellyfish made for some uninvited anxiety but still majestic memories of this afternoon remain. We packed up before sun down and headed back out. Driving back on the rocky path in the back of a pickup truck I piled in with my friends as we laughed and passed volcanic sites in the distance, moving onto other adventures. 

Seemingly surrounded by jungle, we arrived at another site where a few friends planned to partake in a canopy tour and zip-line excursion, having only a couple hundred to get me through the week abroad, I knew that I had no choice but to sit that one out. I have an excellent photo of one of my friends soaring freely through the trees that is a reminder of what I missed out on. While I do have a tough time with heights, I do wish I had the opportunity to join in as I feel most at ease among the green. Surrounded by the foliage of trees above and below, I can only imagine the glorious views I missed out on. Managing to lift my spirits, my local friend knew of a more private swimming hole right near by. I have a photo of her looking back toward me as she led the way to our next adventure and I enjoyed having time to recharge separate from the group. After walking down a secluded small stone staircase, we gossiped and sunbathed on large rocks taking breaks from wading in the water until our conversation was interrupted by a snake slithering right at us. Although only a small snake, after that excitement, I stayed out of the water except for the occasional dip of a toe.

We spent the night at a house on the Pacific side in my friend’s family beach cottage. With access to the water and a lovely beach view, this house just nestled behind the trees, was at quite an awesome location. We went out that evening and infiltrated a local spot. The bar, or club, seem to be disguised as a shack, it’s cabin-like structure squeezed in along the coast. The group of us drank and danced until we passed through a euphoric state and onto total exhaustion. I gripped my drink, always overly cautious and at times quite uptight. I watched my friends, dancing playfully, singing boysterously and enjoying each other. I noticed how easy it was for them. They were so free. I realized I too could let go and with the next song, and another sip of rum, I too began to give into moment. 

The weather was warm and muggy. Being in a tropical paradise, I shouldn’t have been shocked to catch sight of so many insects lurking about. (Today, I stopped writing to Google “Insects in Costa Rica”, only to see the page flooded with images of beetles the size of my hand. Yikes. I suppose I am grateful that I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting any of those boogers.) We arrived at the vacation property and began to open up the house, eager to prepare for dinner, and brush some cobwebs out of the way. As we began to unpack and select rooms, a fiasco ensued. One room was being held hostage by a massive roach. We ran around with pans and plan to trap the roach but he continued to roam the halls. As we moved beds about and shuffled furniture hoping to coax him out of hiding, he would run different directions sending us shrieking every time. Spiders in the shower, bugs in the cupboards, roaches roaming free – I knew I was in for a rough night. 

I don’t recall if the roach met his fate or, if he lived on long after our visit, but something tells me it was the latter. I do remember that he seemed to own the place sending us humans scattering in different directions and causing delirium with every appearance. I will never forget that evening as it was the most worst night of sleep in my life. Lights out, darkness. All would seem calm until the screeches of communicating spider monkeys and growls of something cat-like outside seemed to taunt me through the open window. Frustrated and slightly freaked out, I flip to my back and begin to focus on the spinning ceiling fan above. With a flick of the light switch, termites could be seen hard at work. Turning on the light seemed to shift their plans sending them scattering back into the wooden bed frame in seconds. Was everyone else really asleep?! Beads of sweat falling from my skin and seeping into the musty old mattress, I laid there in my underwear totally tormented by the world around me. I welcomed the cool flow of air coming from the above as I began to allow the fan’s song to sing me to sleep, its constant loop of revolutions muting the animal world outside.

We spent the last part of our week visiting the Caribbean side. We arrived on a rainy afternoon to what was sort of a commune for younger folks and nomads. Outdoor walkup bars and local eateries, by this point in the trip, I was beginning to feel more comfortable with being exposed to so many new things. It only took more than half the trip. With a few of us to a room, we booked what I might define as raised cabins. We mingled and meandered for a couple days and nights taking in the culture and enjoying our last few days exploring together. We feasted on plates of rice, black beans and shredded chicken, enjoyed music spilling from the bars and local beachside clubs as we enjoyed each others company and met friends of friends. I had become far more at ease, far less fearful, and finally felt a bit more like I could let my guard down.

In 2004, I decided to throw myself blindly into what would be a great adventure without any planning or preparation on my own part. I knew nothing of the culture, and clearly, little about the world. While memorable for a variety of reasons, this trip is definitely one of my most difficult to write about and reflect upon as all I have are the memories of events that occurred, and the residue of the emotional responses that surged through me. I took a few photos, didn’t jot down any notes, and didn’t bring back any souvenirs. I most certainly do not regret the decision to buy that Hotwire plane ticket fifteen plus years ago, but I do still feel a dull stab of regret that I behaved as a sheltered, city-slicker of an American tourist. It took years of reflection to realize that I should have done so much differently. I should have prepared and researched. I should have been honest about my relationships within that group of friends and that I wasn’t so comfortable with many of them. I wish I could have been at ease with my travel mates and been able to just go with the flow of the journey as everyone else seemed to be but I did not know myself at nineteen. I almost allowed my social anxiety to steal away what was to be my first adventure abroad but luckily, it didn’t get all of it.

I often think about my friend and the trip she planned for the group of us. I wish I could have been totally engaged in the experience at the time, however, instead of all in, I was in over my head and could not immerse myself into the vibrant setting. I threw myself into a social situation that already wasn’t typical of my personality, and then spent far too much time being scared and uncomfortable. I remember my inner introvert monologue going wild during this trip and talking myself away from tears, trying to part the thick layers of anxiety for a good deal of time during the two weeks. With all that built up, I’m surprised I am able to remember as much as I do. Nineteen was a long time ago but the lessons I’ve learned and experiences have forever changed me. Someday I will return to Costa Rica and when I do, I vow to breathe it in completely.