I’ve been living in a cloud for the last week. After ample research and an extensive analysis of the data, I think I can reasonably conclude that clouds are very wet. Also very cold.
We’re staying at San Gerardo station in “Bosque Eterno de los Niños,” an extremely biodiverse nature reserve spanning 22,000 hectares in and around the cloud forests of Costa Rica’s Tilarán mountain range. The elevation is high (1,200m), the temperature is low, and everything is perpetually soggy. Click on the photos in any one of the galleries below to expand them!
Outside view of the station. Small, cozy, wet.
The deck outside our rooms.
Thanks to the milder climate and the plentiful water, this entire area is teeming with life—the birds never stop calling, troops of coatis are visible from the deck every morning, and on the first day a 4-foot racer whapped loudly down from the deck’s rafters and slithered away when I startled it from its perch. Some of the bathrooms have resident scorpions, as well!
There is no lack of creatures to study and sketch, and I am using every bit of our limited free time to add to my field notebooks.
These are a few sketches of the python millipedes (Nyssodesmus python) that like to creep around in the wet mountainous areas of Costa Rica.
And here is one in the flesh! This particular fellow is about as big as they come: 4 inches from head to tail. Python millipedes are normally quite willing to clamber into your open palm and mosey around, but if startled they excrete hydrogen cyanide as a predator defense.
This week’s set of lectures has focused heavily on animal acoustics and local amphibian populations, so my head has been crammed full of what seems like every bird and frog call in existence. The most memorable call, though not one we’ve yet heard in the wild, is made by the Mexican burrowing toad. This creature’s subterranean lifestyle and low, bleating cry has earned it the moniker “alma de vaca,” or “cow’s soul,” as it moos ominously from beneath the boggy earth. When these toads begin to surface en masse for their brief mating period, it seems as though the souls of a million hamburgers are crying for vengeance.
Fun fact: this not a frog. Nor is it a toad. Most of the creatures that we call “frogs” or “toads” are not classified into family Ranidae (the true frogs) or family Bufonidae (the true toads), because they have slightly different sets of physical and behavioral characteristics. This particular leaf litter denizen belongs to genus Craugastor, in family Craugastoridae. So, what do we call him? Because English lacks a generic word for “hopping amphibian,” you get to decide whether you want to call it a frog or a toad. And either way, you’ll be squarely wrong. Isn’t taxonomy fun?
Between the lectures, labs, hikes, and field assignments, they’re keeping us quite busy. I’d best sign off for now, but I leave you with a few more photos! As much as I look forward to being warm and dry again, it will be hard to leave this beautiful place.
I keep waiting for a pterodactyl to swoop out of the mists.
I was very lucky to spot this rufous-eyed stream frog on a night hike through the cloud forest! These little fellows have a limited range in the mountains of Costa Rica, and their population took a bad hit in October of last year when Hurricane Nate disturbed much of their habitat.
Have I mentioned that it’s wet here?
Mushrooms!
A rare moment of sunlight on the hiking trail.
This thing is a liverwort, a weird kind of primitive plant related to moss.
Chocolate, sauerkraut, schnitzel, pretzels, potatoes and beer all come to mind when people think about German food- and they’re definitely not wrong!
A schnitzel sandwich! A schnitzel is a breaded pork patty. You can’t tell in this photo, but there’s also sauerkraut on the sandwich!Kinder, Milka, and Rittersport are perhaps the three main German chocolate brands here.
Unlike America, German stores are much more specialized than American ones. There’s no Meijer equivalent where you can get everything (medicine, cleaning supplies, furniture, pets, food, sports equipment- EVERYTHING) you need in one go. Rather, you need to visit specific stores for all of those things. Every block has one or two bakeries, where you can pick up bread, pretzels, confections, and pre-made cold sandwiches.
The selection of pre-made sandwiches at a bakery.Bakeries also offer confections, such as this “Schoko-croissant”. The “snail” bread (sort of like a cinnamon roll) is also popular, named because it’s coiled appearance is reminiscent of a snail’s shell.A delicious salami, arugula and butter sandwich on a baguette!
These small bakeries are great places for a quick cup of coffee with a croissant or a small lunch. And German bread is amazing. In an interesting quirk of the German language, sliced sandwich bread isn’t called “brot” (bread) here- the German word is “toast”, whether it’s toasted or not! I’ve also seen “toast” with American flags on the packaging, because it’s considered an American food!
Peanut butter is still a novelty in Europe, but is much more widely available than even 10 years ago.
There’s certain foods in German that are so distinctly American, the packaging reflects it. Even though I’ve never even seen this brand of peanut butter back home, its label sports symbols of America- a 10-gallon hat and sheriff star, the Statue of Liberty, the ole stars and stripes… and the designation “XXL”, even though this jar isn’t significantly bigger than a standard jar of peanut butter in America. “Supersized” food means “America” to Germans.
German grocery stores (Lebensmittelgeschaeften, literally “sustenance shops”) are a different experience, too. They’re much more cramped than American stores, and the selection is a lot smaller. The presentation is also usually a little less neat, too. Beverage bottles are stacked on top of each other in the packaging that they were shipped in, so you have to wrestle them out, and produce tends to be a little more banged up.
Water bottles stacked in a German grocery store- there’s much less care put into “facing” here.
Instead of chewing gum and chocolate bars in the checkout line, there’s miniature bottles of hard liquor and cigarettes for sale- you’ll also find the discarded remains of these vices littering the streets of Germany.
German milk cartons. Germans drink more whole milk than Americans, it seems. The one of the right is 3.5% fat and lactose-free!
Germans seem to buy food in smaller quantities than Americans. You can only get milk in 1 liter cartons (for as much or more than a gallon of milk in America), and there’s no 2-Liters of soda pop. The milk and eggs are also stored without refrigeration, simply on shelves in the store. When I bring my milk home, I just put it in the pantry until I open it. In the photo above, if you look closely you can read the date on the milk carton to the left (remember, Germans write the date Day-Month-Year). This carton was purchased in mid-March, but is dated out to the 22nd of June! People keep milk long-term in pantries and cellars here. It’s also much more common for people to buy whole milk for drinking or using in coffee. The lowest fat percentage available is 1.5%- any American who prefers the taste of skim milk will just have to settle for water!
After experiencing grocery shopping in Germany, I think that perhaps when the Germans imported assembly line/conveyor belt technology from Henry Ford, they didn’t understand that it was for factories. Famous German efficiency extends to the checkout. As per E.U. law, bags aren’t free in Germany, so most people bring their own reusable bags, and cashiers don’t bag for you. Instead, the cashier scans your stuff as fast as possible while you wildly shove groceries into your one or two bags, trying not to crush the more delicate items in your haste. As soon as the cashier is done scanning, you’re expected to pay- which means that there’s always some items left over that you haven’t been able to stuff into your bag yet when the cashier begins scanning for the next transaction. No worries, though, because the Germans have thought of this! At every grocery store there’s a bank of counters along the wall beyond the registers for the sole purpose of scooping up all of your remaining groceries in your arms, waddling over, and bagging the rest. It’s quite invigorating.
At home, the staples of the German diet seem to be cucumbers, butter, jam, salami, cheese, and bread. That’s the most typical thing my host family and I eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Germans also enjoy eating what, to me, appears to be raw bacon. The excuse that they give for this sin against bacon is that it’s actually prosciutto ham… though I’m beginning to wonder if “prosciutto” isn’t just the Italian name for “raw bacon”.
Cheese, cold cut meat, cucumber slices, and bread make a traditional continental breakfast!
Another favorite breakfast food is Müsli. The closest American equivalent would be granola, but that’s not a perfect pair. The main ingredient of Müsli is raw, rolled oats- what we would associate with oatmeal. Here, however, you just add cold milk and chew a lot. Other ingredients can include chocolate shavings, dried fruits (especially raisins), and corn flakes.
A delicious bowl of Muesli! It’s really dense compared to other cereals because the oats pack together so tightly.
German salad dressing begins its life as a powder that you mix with water and oil. This is dill flavored dressing, to put on cucumber slices!
Another, less traditional German staple is the Döner. The national infatuation is such that there’s even songs about this Turkish sandwich, and there’s a phrase that says, Döner macht schöner (Döners make you prettier).
This photo shows a worker shaving the doner meat off of the main kebap (right). It’s typically beef and lamb.Red cabbage, onions, lettuce- doners are loaded with veggies, too!
The final product is quite similar to the Greek gyro sandwich, which makes sense given the proximity between Turkey and Greece. Germany has a relatively high population of people of Turkish decent, because there was a worker deficit after the end of the Second World War. Many Turkish men moved to Germany to work, then settled down permanently. Luckily, they brought their cuisine with them!
España es un país que gracias a Dios tiene una gran cultura que difunde mundialmente. Como mencioné en el último blog hay muchas regiones dentro de tan pequeño país y cada región con su propia cultura. Cultura que proviene desde tiempos en los que éstas regiones eran sus propios reinos con costumbres únicas, que luego fueron tejidas bajo una sola bandera española. Hoy en día, esta unidad de culturas se refleja en cuanto a la cuestión del baile, porque cuando cualquiera piensa en baile típico de España hay solo una palabra que domina: Flamenco.
El Flamenco es un baile que proviene de la región de Andalucía que queda en el sur del país, pegando con el Estrecho de Gibraltar y África. Es una de las regiones más ricas en cuestión de cultura Española. Andalucía fue la última región española que fue reconquistada por los reyes Católicos. Por eso gran parte de la historia de esta región fue teñida con rasgos árabes más que otras partes del país. Esa gran influencia en esta región tanto de lo árabes, romanos y posteriormente del reino español, causaron que hubiese convergencia de culturas y que de ellas florecieran muy bellas tradiciones y expresiones del arte.
La
Transformación
de un
Bailarín.
Para todo aquel que sabe de Flamenco, sabe que es un arte que trasciende mucho más que el baile y la música, en verdad es todo un espectáculo. El flamenco esta compuesto de varias partes, incluyendo: canto, toque de guitarra, baile, jaleo (vocalizaciones), palmas y pitos (no lo que piensan mis paisanos, sino tronar los dedos). Yo la verdad no estaba enterado que todo movimiento desde los aplausos hasta el trueno de dedos era parte integral del Flamenco. Eso lo aprendí hace unas cuantas semanas cuando fui a un espectáculo de Flamenco junto con mi programa. Fue una experiencia súper chida que de seguro no hubiese tenido sino fuera por el programa. Sí valió la pena haberme perdido en el metro de Madrid intentando buscar el teatro.
English:
Spain is a country that, by God’s glory, has a vast culture that it diffuses worldwide. As I said in my previous post there are so many different regions in such a small country, each with its own culture. Culture that derives from times when these individual regions were their own kingdoms with their unique customs, that were later all sewn together under a single Spanish flag. Today this unification of cultures is reflected in terms of dance, because when one thinks of a typical Spanish dance only one word dominates the conversation: Flamenco.
Flamenco is a dance that comes from the region of Andalusia which lies in the south of the country next to the Strait of Gibraltar and Africa. In terms of culture it is one of Spain’s richest regions. Andalusia was the last Spanish region reconquered by the Catholic kings. For this reason a great part of the history of this region is splattered with Arab similarity, more than other regions of the country. This great Arab influence as well as the Roman’s footprint and later the Spanish empire caused a grand convergence of cultures from which erupted different traditions and artistic expressions.
If you ask anyone that knows about Flamenco, they will tell you that it is an art form that transcends much more than dance and music, it is a real show. Flamenco is composed of several parts, including: song, guitar playing, dance, vocals, clapping, and finger snapping. I wasn’t aware that every component from the clapping to the finger snapping was actually integral to Flamenco. I learned all of this a few weeks ago when I went to a Flamenco show through my program. It was a very cool experience that I definitely wouldn’t have had if I wasn’t in the program. It was definitely worth getting lost on the Madrid metro attempting to find the theater.
Costa Rica is a little bit Catholic. About 76% of the population identifies as Catholic, though the percentage of practicing Catholics is slightly lower. Costa Ricans can also boast of belonging to the only state in the Americas with Roman Catholicism as the official state religion, ever since their 1949 constitution declared it so. And because no Catholic country is complete without a patron saint, the Virgen de los Ángeles, also called La Negrita, was named to the position 1824. She comes with a rather unique history, one that all Costa Rican children hear as they grow up.
The story begins on August 2nd, 1635. According to legend, a native woman was out collecting firewood in the forest when she encountered a small black stone statuette of the Madonna and Child. Amazed at her find, she brought it home for safekeeping. The next day she was walking in the forest again, and once more found a statuette. Assuming it was the second of its kind, she picked it up and brought it back – only to discover that the first had gone missing. Still, she dutifully stored the “second” statuette in her home. When it vanished and she again found the statuette in the forest on the third day, she brought her priest to the spot. He also tried to take the statue for safekeeping, only for it to vanish and reappear once again in the forest. At this point, the duo decided that the best option was to build a shrine around the spot, and dedicated it to Mary, Virgin of the Angels. Many years later, a church was built around that shrine. Pope Pius XI elevated the shrine to a basilica in 1935, though the Virgin of Angels has not been added to the list of canonically approved Marian apparitions.
People believe the legend to varying degrees. Some say that the story arose from hyperactive imaginations, others say that it was a deliberate fiction constructed by the 16th century priest and woman. Many believe in the apparition completely; on August 2nd, Virgen de los Ángeles Day, the roads swarm with pilgrims on their way to the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles in Cartago, where the statuette is now housed.
Flags of Costa Rica and Vatican City flank the basilica entrance.
I had the privilege of visiting this basilica last weekend, as it is just an hour away from my current homestay in San Pedro. The building itself was gorgeous—see the photos below! But what was most unforgettable, and beyond my capacity to share, was the incredible devotion of every person present. Their hushed prayers were filled with an aching reverence unlike anything I have seen or heard before. Countless people of all ages streamed in through the main entrance and crawled the length of the church on their knees, just for a glimpse of La Negrita and a taste of the celestial reality she makes present on earth. It was both beautiful and humbling, and will not be easily forgotten.
The La Negrita statuette is housed in the large golden shrine behind the altar.
Click on the photos below to expand them!
Every window was enormous and composed of intricately detailed stained glass.
The side chapel was beautiful.
Statues of many different saints are positioned around the basilica. This one depicts St. Anthony of Padua.
Organ pipes!
I believe this window is celebrating another famous Marian apparition, Our Lady of Lourdes.
Don’t forget to look up! The ceiling is as beautiful as the rest of the church, with many domes showcasing Byzantine architectural style.
This is the adoration chapel. A consecrated host is housed in the golden monstrance at the front.
Over the past few weekends I’ve had the chance to experience India’s traditional medical practice, Ayurveda. As one of my gen-eds, I have already been taking a course through CIEE on Ayurveda. I am by no means pre-med, but I think there is value in having basic medical knowledge. And between the class field trips I have been taking for my class and going out to try a few treatments for myself (more on that next week), I certainly have learned a thing or two.
In brief, instead of focusing on curing diseases as they come, Ayurveda tries to prevent diseases before they can take root. Because of this, Ayurveda is more of a philosophy and lifestyle than medicine in the West. There is something prescriptible for almost every aspect of a person’s way-of-life. For instance, depending on your constitution and current life situation, ayurvedic doctors will suggest exactly what you should eat, what time you should wake up, and more. More often than not, these suggestions are non-intrusive and rely on natural, easy-to-find remedies.
To see how natural remedies play such a big role in Ayurveda, I went to the Telangana State Forest Academy on a class field trip. I had been excited to visit the academy; it had been awhile since I last went on a real class field trip and the academy is essentially just acres of beautiful forest. It is a center that maintains a forest of hundreds of plants local to the area. While the TSFA isn’t specifically an ayurvedic forest, there is a complete overlap between the native plant life in Hyderabad and the plants used in ayurvedic medicine.
As we walked around the forest, I was so impressed by how much our guides knew. Again, there were hundreds of plants in the academy. Still, our guides could name every single one and, for many of the plants, they knew a little about their histories and medical uses. I know nothing about plants so seeing them list off all this specific botanical knowledge was incredible. But, more impressive than that, I was struck by how much more ayurvedic doctors need to know. Not only do they have to know the plants, they also have to know medicine preparation recipes, dosages, and how one plant might react to another. My class might not be able to teach me all of that, but I’m glad I got to see all that goes into the practice of Ayurveda.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering why I didn’t choose a place in Europe to go study abroad. A place where I could walk around freely and find boutiques and coffee shops to linger in. A place that had familiar foods and ancient cathedrals marking the skyline. Where the nightlife is vibrant, and smiling old couples hold hands in parks. Call me a romantic, but these images seem so much more appealing to me than Oman feels sometimes.
This trip wasn’t picked to be easy. I wanted an experience that would show me things I’d never seen and give me a taste of Arabic culture and Islamic tradition. The newness of it all can be exhausting some days. My Arabic intensive classes are sometimes a sweaty, clouded minded experience. I take many naps out of exhaustion and too much heat exposure, and sometimes I get super anxious to meet with my language partner because I’m embarrassed at how little Arabic I can use to communicate.
When I walk outside, it’s not charming cobblestone, but rather dusty desert roads and concrete paths. There are no fresh baked bread smells, instead cardamom and frankincense mix in my nose— although, I enjoy frankincense some days. The neighborhood is not where I’d live forever, but it does have its charms if you look for them. It took me a while to see past the concrete buildings and dry parks and find little hideaways to withdraw and rest.
Al Sulaif Fort
Vegetation along the walk
View out my window; Sultan Qaboos Mosque and main road
The best walks are when my friend David and I escape to the wadi down the road. Right now, the wadi is dry because there hasn’t been a rainy season in a while. Yet, surrounding the wadi is a community of date farms and trails with lush gardens and palm trees. We have to walk through the bland, rocky desert land before we get to the neighborhood. Sometimes we find surprises. For instance, a couple days ago, we glimpsed two young Omani’s riding horses.
Homes in Ibri range from huge, walled in, double-decker masterpieces with sparkly tile, to smaller three-room apartments with one bathroom. Omani families are large and often eight to twelve kids can occupy one home. Past the new, bulkier homes, a collection of mud brick buildings surrounded by tall walls form a tourist attraction called Al Sulaif Fort. The village was abandoned not more than twenty-five years ago and walking through it feels like you’re in a rewinding historical movie. Two tribes shared the town in the past, but now it’s a pigeon’s paradise.
The city is our reminder to turn right past its walls and into vegetation. Further into the neighborhood, because the houses are closer together, we are in a maze of paths. It’s easy to get lost along the falaj system that flows through the farms providing water to plants and homes. This is my escape. A community built around what sustains it: creation. On my way back to my apartment, I always say hello to some camel friends in their pins along the road. I am so thankful for the little retreat I can return to when I am in need of peace.
The other place to escape is up! Across the busy street in front of our apartment building is a rocky brown mountain. It’s part of a range that curls around the city. At its base, the consistency is like slate and walking up the slope sounds like shattering porcelain plates under my feet. Further up, sparkly, white marble peaks through the old ocean floor and at the top a cliff peaks out over the other side of Ibri. At the base of the other side of the mountain, fine sand collects and tracks show the result of teens riding four-wheelers after school. From far away, the mountain walls look menacing and harsh. When I stand on them there is silence while my calves scream from the hike. It’s quiet until the prayer call of one mosque ignites a couple more mosques to chant as well.
I am finding sanctuaries in Ibri. Although I would love to be worshiping in Dimnent Chapel or sitting in an Italian cathedral for Sunday Mass, God has been meeting me in these places. It’s clear even in the middle of this dry and confusing desert, even in the middle of an Islamic country, the Father meets with his children. Once again, he has shown me his face in his creation and brings me peace instantly when I am walking through my neighborhood.
Here in Mexico I have gotten a chance to try many new things, particularly new foods. Coming out to Puebla I realized there was so much I had not even heard of. Having Mexican heritage, Mexican cuisine has never seemed foreign to me. Mexico is so big, it is no surprise that Mexican culture and traditions can vary depending on where you are in the country. It was clear to me that I did not know everything about Mexico. Yet, I was amazed to see that here there were a variety of dishes I had yet to try.
My family comes from northern Mexico, in a state called Coahuila (depicted in the photo below to the right.) Much of the Mexican food I knew of or was used to is not popular here in Puebla, which is closer to southern Mexico (depicted in the photo below to the left).
For instance, in northern Mexico the flour tortilla is very popular, while here in Puebla is it very hard to find a hand made flour tortilla. Being open and willing to try new things has allowed me to eat some delicious dishes during my study abroad. Some of the dishes I had for the first time this semester are:
Mole Poblano– chicken with a dark sauce containing chocolate from Oaxaca and many spices, topped with sesame seeds.
Chiles en Nogadas– a large chile poblano, stuffed with ground meat, covered in white walnut sauce, and topped with pomegranate seeds.
Chalupas– fried corn tortilla topped with red or green salsa, chicken, and cheese.
Tacos Arabes– Tacos with an Arabic influence made with a thicker flourtortilla (somewhat like naan bread) and grilled meat, usually eaten with a chipotle sauce.
Sweet Potato Candies “Dulces de Camote”– caramelized sweet potato mixed with different fruit juices. Fotos from:
Embedded into the streets outside of buildings and homes all cross Germany are Stolpersteine, or “stumbling blocks”. These small brass squares don’t literally trip people, but are there to cause a little “stumble” as you go about your day-to-day life; to jolt you a little along your way. The stones serve as miniature memorials and mark the houses where Jewish Holocaust victims once lived.
Three “stumbling blocks” in the main street of Freiburg. The inscription informs passers-by that this was once the residence place of the Veit family, that they were deported in 1940, and that Antone died in Auschwitz in 1942.
Life in Germany is haunted by the past; these Stolpersteine are just one way in which one is reminded of the Holocaust on a daily basis. There’s many memorials throughout the country, and even the cities themselves still bear the scars of the war- scorch marks and bullet holes mar historic buildings.
These columns outside a museum in Berlin have bullet holes in them from the Second World War.
In America, the Second World War is definitely a source of horror, but we get to enjoy a sense of moral rectitude and triumph, and a removal from the events that Germans can’t. The war was fought on other continents, so we don’t spend our lives in cities that were once firebombed or occasionally hear about someone finding an un-exploded bomb in their garden while digging. When we do think about the atrocities committed, we get to remember ourselves as liberators rather than murderers, and when we remember the outcome, we remember victory rather than defeat. For Germans, the Second World War is a bitter memory full of shame and regret; a grievous sin for which they are still atoning.
“Mother with her Dead Son” by German artist Käthe Kollwitz. This statue is reminiscent of La Pieta, and sits directly under a large hole in the ceiling of the “New Watchhouse”, a classical style building in the heart of Berlin. When we visited, the statue was covered in icy rain, which gave it an even more mournful sheen.
Click through the two albums below to see two memorials in Berlin and learn more about them.
This art exhibit in the Jewish Museum is eery. The towering bare cement walls remind one of a prison cell… or a grave vault. The mouths of the iron faces are open, as if crying out, and they clank like chains as visitors step on them.
The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin. A cement labyrinth in the heart of the city.
German culture has rejected the racism and intolerance put forth by the Nazis, but there’s still trouble today. Synagogues in Germany still have barricades and police guards outside of them to prevent Neo-Nazi terrorist attacks. For example, to enter the New Synagogue in Berlin, you have to go through metal detectors and allow your bags to be inspected. The very fact that this is necessary is a source of shame to Germans.
The specter of Nazism isn’t just noticeable in what one can see; it’s also noticeable in what’s omitted. Any form of patriotism is too similar to the fanatical nationalism that Hitler whipped up, so no one hangs German flags from their houses or has flag decals on cars or items. You’d be more likely to find the American flag printed on a shirt! Since Germany hosted the soccer World Cup in 2006, people feel comfortable sporting their nation’s colors in relation to soccer, but it’s still rare to see the flag being displayed year round except on government buildings.
Germany is still struggling to move past the Holocaust, both psychologically and physically. The people and the land still bear the scars that the war and the following division created. The future is bright, though. Germany is reunited and has become a prominent and influential nation. The heightened consciousness of the Holocaust is a burden, but also a guarantee that fascism will never again find fertile ground in Germany.
We’ve made it to the city in one piece! …More or less, after the mosquitoes have taken their pound of flesh. We’re presently in the midst of our homestay in San Pedro, a city within the metropolitan area of Costa Rica’s capital, San José. After several weeks in constant company, all of us students are splitting up to stay with different Spanish-speaking host families in the San Pedro area. We still reunite at the Costa Rican Language Academy, though! In addition to the five hours of language class each day, classes are offered on cooking, dance, and more.
We now have free evenings and weekends, and the full public transport system of San José on our side. Museums, cafés, and even the movie theatre have become every bit as instructional as classes, in terms of Spanish comprehension. The complete Spanish immersion–at home, class, and in the city–is starting to turn my rough language skills into something resembling actual language skill!
Our first stop after classes was the National Theatre of Costa Rica to see a performance by the talented Cristian Cuturrufo jazz trio. The theatre interior was all gilt chandeliers, gilt pillars, and gilt people. We confidently strode in, dressed in worn jeans and t-shirts, and–quite shockingly–weren’t refused at the door! The performance itself was lively and lovely, and concluded with the entire audience belting out the popular 1940s Mexican hit, “Bésame Mucho.”
We have also visited some museums, most notably the Museo Nacional de Costa Rica and the Museo del Jade. Both of them have excellent exhibits showcasing Costa Rica’s archeological heritage, particularly the Pre-Colombian Era.
“Jade” is an umbrella term that describes colorful minerals jadeite and nephrite. Only jadeite occurs naturally in Costa Rica. The stone’s vibrant green and blue colors represented life, death, and growth to indigenous peoples, and jade artifacts were carefully crafted and treasured. The designs often featured animals, which were regarded as sacred.
I was lucky enough to get a video of this fellow opening its wings in the National Museum’s butterfly exhibit!
A few of us visited the Santiago Apóstol Parish Ruins, which is a famous Costa Rican Cultural Heritage Site in Cartago. This poor parish was destroyed by earthquakes three times since it was first constructed in 1575. The fourth rebuild was never completed, so its rough stone walls loom forebodingly over the small shops and restaurants in downtown Cartago.
Look at those ruins. They’re doing a really top-notch looming job.
But one step inside, and you’ll see that the ruins are anything but ruinous. The interior has been transformed into a public garden and park, complete with benches and fountains. It’s a popular spot for both tourists and locals, and rightly so.
Click the photos below to expand them!
Best of all, I was able to attend mass recently in the Metropolitan Cathedral of San José, the capital. Both the cathedral and the mass were lovely. Though the rites were not in my native language, Catholic mass retains the same order, the same weight of tradition, wherever you are in the world. It is a beautiful thing to pray the Our Father with a body of fellow believers, be it in Spanish or English.
The air was already heavy with incense when I arrived for mass on Sunday morning. Nothing could have been a better welcome.
Many churches in Spanish-colonized countries have displays like these, of a bloodied Christ in a glass coffin. This one was built directly across from a stained glass depiction of Mary. Her image is eternally reflected over her son.
The day after the desert, we woke up in time for a 7:00am breakfast and an 8:00am departure to Wadi Bani Awf. A wadi is a valley or channel that is dry until the rainy season, and when it is full of water is a perfect swimming hole for relief from the heat. This wadi was in the middle of a collection of mountains that used to be seafloor just like those in Ibri. We had to travel through the rock before finding the little haven. Then, we followed an old falaj* until we found its source of water.
I saw glitter before I realized that there was a pool of water expanding through the landscape. Lush, vivid, paradise. By the main pool, a restaurant was open for visitors and we used the bathroom to change into our swimsuits and cover-ups. Signs requested guests to cover up and be mindful of cultural guidelines. Translation: no bikinis, keep the hips covered and feel free to sunbathe with your shirts on. Other signs warned to be careful of slick rocks and not to jump in certain parts. My favorite sign boasted about creation:
“secret of universe and creativity of God shows the beauty of nature and its charm. Nature is a mirror with which you harmonize your essence and expand your imagination, so take care of its elements because there you find yours”
I smiled seeing that because it reminded me how faithful many people in this country are and how Muslims too share the care for nature just as Christians do.
Once I was lathered heavily with sunscreen, I got a spark of confidence and slid right into the blue. Beautiful. It felt beautiful. I paddled about, absorbing every touch of fish nibbling my toes (free pedicure!), every splash and every polished rock. The water lead through tunnels and walls of rock and I found myself wedged between dry, harsh boulders but yet still there was a lush, living stream.
After a while, I carefully pulled myself up and out of the water onto a slippery rock. I needed sun, so I headed up the wall by intentionally placing my toes in holes narrowed by years of water erosion. My wet clothes turned sticky, but I continued in my bare feet until I reached the top of the mountain. Across the cavern on the other side of the wadi, an Omani family sat down for a picnic while little girls pranced about in their traditional, colorful dresses. I watch for a while, then climbed back down for lunch.
With about 45 minutes left, my friend David and I realized we had not seen the cave at the end of the wadi. So, we set off on a mission to find it before we had to pack up the bus. We followed a trail through pebble bottom creeks, under and through sweating boulders, and barely stayed on our feet—I won’t tell you who took the first tumble, but it wasn’t me.
When we found the steps to the cave, David borrowed a phone for a flashlight from some Omani boys next to the entrance and we headed in. We crawled through damp, muddy gaps and I scrapped my knees and knuckles. I could feel my hair matted on my forehead and under my hat. My cheeks were red and sweaty and puffy. But we kept going and found a pool of water in the bottom of the cave. In the process of one hour, we had gone to the highest point of the wadi and perhaps the lowest. We rushed back to the restaurant and made it just in time for me to change before heading to another city.
In the bathroom after changing back into my dry clothes, I caught myself in the mirror and laughed at my beet cheeks and crunchy hay-looking hair. I was a mess, but my wild green eyes were joyful. Little places like the wadi show light in the midst of darkness. Life, where there seemed to be only dead, dry things. Coming into contact with the Lord in this way fills my heart and was an important reminder before heading back to school the next day.
“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13)
*ancient water channels and a system of irrigation using gravity to pull water all over the region — I could write an entire blog about the Afalaj systems in Oman
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