I am incredibly grateful that the World Food Prize secured housing next door to Katthya and her family. Carpooling to work has been a joy, especially with native Costa Ricans as neighbors who are always willing to lend a hand. One of the best things about this apartment is its location. Besides being close to work, it's a short walk from a major grocery store. Since I haven't found a Latin American cooking show on TV, I've taken inspiration from Guy's Grocery Games on the Food Network to keep myself entertained on weekends. Following the show's spirit, I set a timer at the store, challenging myself to pick an unfamiliar ingredient in 20 minutes, and then teach myself to cook with it at home. Full transparency, I have not yet mastered the gas oven. I did in fact bake a loaf of bread using a microwave oven that requires NO gas or matches (iykyk).
Getting to the grocery store is the first hurdle. In Costa Rica, houses often have fenced-in front patios that extend to the sidewalk, making it feel like you're stepping into someone's front yard. Costa Rican dogs, I've learned, aren't always thrilled about this setup. Once I navigate out the front door and down the street, I have to cross what feels like the equivalent of Lincoln's O Street. The lack of crosswalks in many residential areas adds an extra layer of tension. Trust me, real-life crossy roads are more nerve-wracking than it was in junior high study halls.
On Thursday, I made it out of my front door and across the street when I nearly stepped on a CAT CARCASS—wearing OPEN-TOED SHOES, no less.
Ever had one of those days where one tiny mishap sends you spiraling? Yeah, that was Thursday for me. I might have shed a few tears. Or a lot.
Reflecting on my journal entry from that night, I'm not proud of how I let something so small ruin my day. It wasn't really about the cat carcass; it was the restlessness and isolation I was feeling that overshadowed the excitement I should be feeling first week. I kept thinking:
"People move to foreign countries all the time and make it look effortless from day one. I'm here on what feels like an extended vacation with a side of research, which is way be less stressful. Why am I incapable of having fun?"
It's funny how one minute we think we are the author of our adventures, and the next thing we know, comparison and anxiety step in as editor-in-chief. So I cried about it, I prayed about it, and I talked with my mom about it. I was reminded that this internship is one of the biggest blessings I've received as of late. Maybe I didn't make the best use of that specific day because I was crying about almost stepping on a dead cat, but I decided that weekend would be different.
On Saturday, I woke up and decided living in a foreign country was no reason to discontinue my summer tradition of exploring art museums in major cities. Within an hour, Shywann and I arrived at the steps of the Museo de Arte Costarricense.
El jardín de esculturas y el patio de Museo de Arte Costarricense.
Before housing six thousand pieces of traditional Costa Rican art, this magnificent structure served as San Jose's main airport. In 1977, it was transformed into the treasure it is today. My favorite exhibit? The Golden Hall. French sculptor and painter Luis Feron Parizot carved scenes of Costa Rica in pre-Columbian times throughout the entire room.
The Golden Room during golden hour.
After a couple of hours in the museum, we stretched our legs in Parque la Sabana. As we strolled through, we saw at least ten soccer games in progress simultaneously. Families walked their dogs, flew kites in the green space, and enjoyed snow cones under the shade of trees. Time seemed to slow down. No one was rushing; it was nothing like the frantic pace typical of U.S. parks. Meanwhile, I was hurrying past, eager to shake off that restless feeling and savor my limited time in this unfamiliar city.
Arboles arcoiris en la parque we strolled through after the museum.
It took me moving 3,000 miles away and watching people wander through the park to fully appreciate this word and the profound implications this simple action can have on our physical and mental health.
wan·der
/ˈwändər/
verb
I've always hated this word and being stuck behind people who do it, but Latin American culture makes me see it differently. They value experiences over completing the task at hand whereas the opposite is true in the United States. We value crossing the task at hand off of our list over how we feel while doing it, i.e. efficiency. Guess what sounds wildly inefficient to me? Wandering.
I don't wander. I make a list, research the best way to check off the things on the list, make a plan to check the things off the list, and of course, check the things off the list as soon as possible. So, of course, that's what I did. I researched the best ways to feel less anxious and overwhelmed. I gave each of them their own spot of my to-do list and got to work crossing them off. I wanted to make sure I did every single step, so I could only spend a few minutes on each of them.
But...
I didn't feel any better. When I looked around the park, all of those families in the park seemed a lot happier than I was, and they were moving through life in a much more leisurely, casual, and aimless way. I decided to try wandering through the park and I could feel the energy shift in my body. My shoulders relaxed, my jaw unclenched, and I could take a full breath. Things got a little brighter as I heard laughter, birds, and cheers from excited fans that I hadn't noticed before. The lightness that I felt after wandering carried me through the week.
Flash forward to this weekend. On Friday night I decided we needed to get out of the house. My fourth roommate, Jessica, a dentist who permanently lives in Costa Rica, recommended we go to the Lincoln Plaza. I was pleasantly surprised to discover it's the Costa Rican equivalent of the Mall of America (minus the rollercoasters).
Our trio landed on a traditional Latin American restaurant, which delighted my roommate Laura. She grew up in Honduras and now studies at Tufts in Boston. Spending a summer back in a Latin American country means she has access to all of her favorite foods, which she insisted we try at dinner. In addition to making food recommendations, she loves quizzing me on my Spanish vocab. She is an incredibly patient and encouraging teacher. Sometimes, my fear of mispronouncing something, well most things, will keep me from practicing out loud. But Laura, and many of my colleagues, have assured me that no one is judging me. I came to this country to learn, and native Spanish speakers are just happy I am trying.
Laura (left) and Shywann (right) enjoyed dinner with me on Friday night.
After dinner, we came home but no one was ready for bed. Instead, we took advantage of the TV and speaker system we had in the living room. As everyone settled in on the couches, Laura started playing Reggaeton, Spanish trap music. She proceeded to spend the next hour exposing us to all of the different sub-genres of Latin American music. We heard everything from mariachi bands to love songs and rock.
Then it was my turn. They must not play bluegrass music in Boston, because her face was permanently frozen with her mouth open as I played Flatland Calvary, Tyler Childers, and other country artists. Her shock melted away as we danced to Cotton Eye Joe in our kitchenette. Our attempt at an organized line dance dissolved into laughter, leaving my sides sore the next morning.
Living in a new country -or just being a human- will undoubtedly have days or weeks filled with metaphorical dead cats. If my embarrassing story resonated with you, don't be embarrassed. It happens to everyone, everywhere. Feelings aren't facts, and they won't last forever. This week taught me that wandering and spending time with people who make you laugh are two powerful remedies for those big feelings.