Month: January 2018

Ten days in and I have finally come to understand something that has previously baffled me.

When my Great Grandma would tell me stories from her childhood, she was one of those elderly people that claimed she walked 2+ miles to school, uphill both ways. Sometimes through six feet of snow. I’d laugh and appreciate her flair for the dramatic, knowing there was zero possibility it could have been uphill both ways.

And then about 12 years later I moved to Costa Rica where I am always, ALWAYS walking uphill. I wish I could call her and apologize for ever doubting her recollection because I finally get it. Uphill both ways.

I had no idea that Costa Rica was so mountainous; the roads are winding stretches of incessant hilltops and valleys. You’re up, you’re down, you’re up again. You plateau, you’re down. You plateau there, too.

The last week has been filled with as many changes in altitude as our single road in town. Allow me to recount the changes in our mental and emotional elevation.

Up:

We hosted some friends from Landyn’s program at our pool, had some beers, a girl from Texas taught me what beer salt is, and we all got a few shades tanner.

Down:

We have only one road in and out of Rodeo, and the city bus from Colón only comes out here twice a day: 6am and 5pm. Therefore, we had no choice but to take an Uber to get all of us back into Colón so we could attend the weekly organic farmers’ market happening that evening. There was one Uber that took 25 minutes to pick us up, and then we crammed seven adults into a Hyundai Accent. My head was essentially in the drivers lap, someone’s legs were outside one of the backseat windows, and the poor gear shift clawed us up the steep hills. The scene once we arrived in Colón looked like one of those old cartoons where the clown car just keeps unloading more and more people. #strugglebus

Up:

The good news is, once we got into Colón the market was amazing.

There was no shortage of delicious produce, coffee, chocolate, cheese (which cost TEN American dollars), and artisanal clothing and jewelry.

Down:

We got back to our apartment that night, and in the middle of FaceTiming my mom I realized there was a sizable lizard on our wall. Okay, not a huge deal, they don’t bite so it’s all good, we just have to get it out. Except we couldn’t get it out because as soon as I tried to sweep it off the wall, it darted, legitimately darted, up the wall, onto the ceiling, and disappeared on the dark wood beams.

While staring up at the ceiling trying to locate this lil demogorgon, we found three additional lizards all staring down at us. Turns out there’s a hole in our living room window screen.

After a ten minute struggle, Landyn and I developed a system: we’d countdown from three, I would fling the front door open, he would brush the lizard off the ceiling and fling it right out the open door. I truly wish I had a video of this because it was a little terrifying, a little exhilarating, and a lot hilarious.

Up:

On Wednesday we decided to rip off the band-aid and trek into Ciudad Colón on foot. Hoofing it allowed more time to take in the scenery, and it was stunning. We noticed a few small trails shooting off the main road, and followed them to a beautiful area with waterfalls, a small river, and deep sinkholes that locals were cliff jumping into.

Down:

Later that evening, I was just about to switch off the living room light for the night when I notice something on the floor. A big something. A something that was turned over on its back, a something I had never seen before but somehow already recognized.

“Landyn I need you to come here there is a BIG ASS bug on the floor and I think it’s a cockroach.”

Landyn finishes brushing his teeth, walks over, and evaluates the situation. Not much to discuss, really, since I immediately made it abundantly clear that this was one I was going to have to sit out.

He grabbed the broom and dustpan (why are we always fending for our lives with the broom at 10pm?? idk either) and was trying to figure out the best angle of attack, which I couldn’t understand because the thing was dead, so just get it the f— out already, am I right?!

I more or less said this, to which Landyn responded “well I just don’t want it to be sleeping and then lunge at me once I touch it” and I honestly remember looking at this man like he had seven heads. Bugs do not sleep on their back like that. That homie is dead.

Or. So. I. Thought.

Again, I wish I had video footage of the mass chaos that ensued once Landyn tried to sweep that cockroach into the dustpan and it ran at him. I do not get rattled by bugs, I really don’t. I’ll defeat spiders or stare down the eyes of a centipede and come out victorious no problem. For whatever reason, seeing this cockroach on our floor pushed me to the edge of sound mind, and watching it resurrect from the dead pushed me right over.

I was screaming incoherently, ended up on top of the counter, jumping up and down, and closed my eyes to hear the smacking of the plastic dustpan on the floor and Landyn’s “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Long after the bug was gone, I was traumatized. I’m talking lots and lots of tears. I demanded that Landyn drive me to the airport because I was going home. Told him I hated Costa Rica. Couldn’t fall asleep until 2:30. Still have a hard time talking about it.

Up:

The next day was sunny, 84 degrees, and I spent all afternoon reading by our pool. It was exactly the type of R&R I needed after my cockroach encounter.

(More to come on my furry friend)

Costa Rica has two seasons: wet and dry. Currently we are in the dry season, but there have been some funky pressure systems rolling through here lately creating breezier-than-usual conditions (which is fine by this Wisconsin girl still adjusting to the heat and humidity) and causing a few rain showers during a time when there are typically none.

That evening the heavens opened up, and during the four hour downpour the birds came alive. They were everywhere, and Grandpa Landyn was enthralled.

Up:

We, and eight of our friends, decided to head to the beach for the weekend. We opted for the closest beach to us, Playa Jacó, located on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. It was roughly a two hour bus ride from San José. It. Was. Beautiful.

The water was the warmest ocean water I had ever felt. I could have stayed in it for years. There’s something about the ocean that brings me genuine inner peace. It is wondrous, mysterious, majestic. I find comfort in being enveloped by something so much bigger than myself. It makes me feel like just a blip on the radar in a really great way, like none of my problems, insecurities, or doubts matter much in the grand scheme of things. I have a profound respect for the ocean and its ability to take my ass out if it so chose.

We went out that night and let loose. First stop: pregaming at a hostel on the beachfront.

Our group had played beach soccer with some locals that afternoon, and as we walked down the neon-lit, commercialized main drag of the town, we bumped into one of those locals. Working. As a bouncer. Outside of a strip club. Can you see where this is going?

My first time in a gentleman’s club: in Jacó, Costa Rica, escorted in by the bouncer with no cover charge. Not too shabby.

Down:

On Monday I was on a mission to find myself a more laidback purse– something cute and artisanal. A friend recommended a great marketplace in San José that would have just what I was looking for.

We took the 30 minute bus ride into San José and something was just off from the minute we got off the bus. The streets were crowded and dirty, the people were not giving off the same small-town-nice vibes, and both Landyn and I were overstimulated. But I was hellbent on getting to that market.

And honestly, it got much better after a couple blocks. The street turned into a pedestrian-only type of roadway and there was a vast array of shops and restaurants. We started to feel better about the city. And then something hit my head.

You ever have one of those moments where something really shitty (this will be a great pun in a second here) happens but you know you can’t freak out about it at that exact moment, so you flip some sort of emotional switch to dissociate for a minute?

Well, when I touched the side of my face and hair and discovered green, chunky pigeon diarrhea, I had one of those moments. It was a direct hit that threatened to sink my battleship if I didn’t laugh it off. I calmly told Landyn, who was walking in front of me and did not see the air strike, and for someone not easily flustered, Landyn was horror-struck. I ran into the closest restaurant, stole some napkins, and (dry-heaving the entire time, mind you) wiped the bird shit off my head.

This was ten minutes into our afternoon in San José. I should have just turned around right then and there and taken it for the bad omen it was.

The market turned out to be a solid 35 minute walk from the bus station, they did not have what I was looking for, and neither did any of the other eight hundred stores. When my resolve deflated it happened quickly and all at once. I had crusty pigeon diarrhea still in my hair and on my shirt, I was disappointed, I was defeated.

Then it started to pour on us during our 35 minute walk back to the bus station.

Then we couldn’t find the bus station, subsequently got lost, ended up in an extremely sketchy part of town, and Landyn and I completely lost all chill with each other; our communication ceased to exist.

Landyn and I are fricken solid, man. We can always communicate well with each other no matter how high tensions run or how emotional we get. But the substantial stress of being lost in a scary, unfriendly new place is unlike anything I have ever experienced.

I’m so happy I’m here, I’m so happy we are doing the thing, but I don’t believe in using social media, or a blog, solely as a highlight reel for all the wonderful things happening in my life. Because even though I am having the most magnificent experience and I am unbelievably blessed to be here with the greatest partner on the planet, this shit gets hard sometimes, and it would simply be inaccurate to edit the difficult parts out of the story. A lot of times I think the hard stuff is the story.

This journey has taken the phrase “roll with the punches” to new heights for me. I’ve got some type-A tendencies, I’ve got anxiety, and I like following the GPS. But I’ve got spotty signal here, and that’s okay. It’s okay to say f— the GPS, it’s okay when a stray cockroach takes a lil nap on your apartment floor, it’s okay when you become collateral damage from a bird’s bowel movement in the middle of a crowded town square. It’s okay because it has to be. I have to just let go and be okay with not being in the driver’s seat here otherwise I’ll hate this whole experience. “Trust the process,” as they say in professional sports.

That’s what I’ve been learning to do this week: trust the process. Luckily I have a phenomenal teammate who has always been ready to celebrate the victories and commiserate with me through the Ls we’ve taken. Someone who will buy me a $6 bag of my favorite guilty-pleasure American food when things get shitty.

This is not a highlight reel. This is the true, unadulterated story of our lives here. Just like the picturesque, mountainous terrain of Costa Rica, sometimes we’re up and sometimes we’re down. Some days we’re walking uphill both ways.

Relish the highs, laugh through the lows, and stay grateful for the ride.

Until next time, friends.

WE. ARE. HERE!

The Voyage

Flying in was surreal– we began our travel day in the dark gray ambience of a Wisconsin January, and then we flew into this:

But before I get to that, let’s just recap what exactly happened between my family dropping us off at Midway Airport and our arrival into this beautiful country.

We said our tearful goodbyes and then proceeded to security, where they had a drug dog doing laps around incoming passengers. Pro tip: DO NOT MOVE YOUR CARRY-ON OUT OF THE DRUG DOG’S PATH, EVEN IF THAT MEANS THE DOG TAKES A HIT FROM YOUR BAG. Landyn, bless his sweet soul, made this mistake and we were IMMEDIATELY whisked away into a separate security screening area. They were very thorough: they put us through two different x-ray machines and then still felt the need to wand us down. So yeah…don’t avoid the drug dog while getting onto an international flight because they will assume you’re a drug lord smuggling their loot to Central America.

Our flight from Chicago to Fort Lauderdale was extremely uneventful. By the time we got off the plane in FLL we only had ten minutes until we re-boarded for San Jose. I have a serious flying phobia so I’m not one to get pumped about boarding an aircraft, but damn, when we got on the plane for San Jose we were like kids on Christmas Eve.

When we got off the plane in San Jose I was punched in the face by the humidity. I began my day in sub-zero temperatures and painfully parched air, and just 8 hours later I was in 70 degree sunshine and dense humidity. The change was extreme, abrupt, and overwhelming. I must have been disoriented from it, because the first thing I did in my new homeland was open an “in case of emergency only” door, setting off a shrill alarm throughout the terminal. Guess that’s one way to make an entrance.

Six international planes all landed within 20 minutes of each other, so we spent over two hours in an immigration line with minimal air conditioning. During this time, we witnessed an extremely intoxicated couple’s future go up in flames as the woman found out/announced to all of us in line that her partner had given herpes to another (married) woman. They ostentatiously, incessantly berated each other for over 90 minutes. *Yikes*

Truth be told, I tried to quit this trip about fifty times during our wait in the immigration line because it was just too fricken hot. I was a sleep deprived, famished ship that was sinking fast. I thought there was no way it could get any worse. And then, Landyn and I both watched as a thick red droplet fell from his nose onto the pearly white airport tile. The only scenario I did not prepare for was the one where Landyn’s nose starts gushing blood in the immigration line.

Nevertheless she persisted, and eventually we made it through immigration to baggage claim. Somehow, the magical forces of the universe enabled me to fit all of my essentials into two suitcases, one carry-on, and a backpack. I am currently working on a personal thank you letter to Southwest for their generous baggage policy.

Finally, after more than twelve hours of traveling and quite a few pockets of turbulence, we got into a taxi and made our way to our new home.

El Rodeo

Our apartment is quaint and adorable and has lots of dogs, cats, and birds roaming around the property. I’m immersed in nature and the tranquility that brings is almost unsettling at times because it’s so opposite to my life in the United States. I have a feeling this place is going to be great for my anxiety.

The town is extremely small. The kind where everybody knows everybody and waves and says “hola” and all that. Also polar opposite of my hometown. The people are so nice and so understanding when I speak my pitiful, broken Spanish to them while paying at the tiny supermarket here in town or ordering food at one of the two restaurants. It has really made me consider how we treat people struggling with a language barrier in the United States.

Which reminds me…

On Monday we wandered around the nearby city of Ciudad Colón. The Pura Vida culture is tangible in every vibrant square inch of Ciudad Colón. It is significantly more inhabited and fast-paced than our town, allowing for more of the anonymity you’d find in an American city.

And yet I have never felt more under the microscope. I was stared at. To some extent I get it– I’m a very pale white person and I just dyed my hair a blonde hue reminiscent of Daenerys Targaryen. Not exactly the norm around here.

But when you feel like everyone is looking at you, muttering inaudible words in a language you can’t understand, it really doesn’t matter why they’re staring, it’s intimidating and a little unnerving.

In Costa Rica I am in the minority, and despite my glaring ineptitude at speaking the language and looking the part, they have treated me with such kindness and respect that my cheeks flush when I think about how some people are treated for not speaking English or not looking the part in America.

Language barriers are REAL and they’re hard and scary and you bet your ass Landyn and I are speaking English to anyone down here that can speak it too; it’s easy, it’s convenient, it feels like home. But discomfort is the cornerstone of growth, so Landyn and I are putting in hella hours on Duolingo to see who can achieve Spanish fluency first so that we don’t rely on the complacency that speaking English brings.

Even just three days in, I can tell that this experience will bring me new perspective in ways I never imagined possible.

Until next time, friends.

“No one likes you when you’re 23” –Blink 182

“No one likes you when you’re 23 without a plan” –Machine Gun Kelly

Well, shit.

My name is Cari, I just turned 23, and I don’t have a plan.

Actually that’s not entirely true. In five days I’m moving out of the country with my boyfriend Landyn as he studies International Affairs and Sustainable Development down in Costa Rica. As for me, I’ll be studying…myself?…as well as exploring the Costa Rican environment and culture. I’ve never been to Central America and I am so excited and so terrified and it all comes back to being 23.

Our whole lives we are told “someday you’re going to be in the real world and x/y/z” or “in the real world blahblahblah,” and now I’m 23 and I think I’m in it. I can’t be entirely sure because despite continually referencing it, nobody tells you what exactly this impending, indefinite ‘real world’ looks like, or how to know when you’ve arrived at its doorstep. But now I’m 23––there are no more fun Taylor Swift songs about my age, no more privileges to celebrate like when I turned 18 or 21, and I’m no longer a slave to a syllabus or assignment notebook.

So does that mean I’m now in the ‘real world?’ Am I here? Is 23 young or old? Reckless or responsible?

Moreover, am I falling behind already? Most of my peers are starting careers with 401Ks and benefit packages, beginning the perpetual 9-5 grind. I get it, I really do; work hard, make money, save money, buy nice things, provide for yourself. I have tried this rinse and repeat lifestyle and while it’s advantageous in some regards, I could never rinse the feeling that something was missing, that I needed more.

So what’s an idealistic millennial to do? In my case, it’s to say fuck the backwards, corrupt system. I’m putting happiness first and leaving the rat race on the back burner. Sometimes this makes me feel brave and heroic, most days it makes me feel terrified and uncertain if taking the proverbial road-less-traveled is a really dumb idea. Is that road less traveled because people are too scared to take a chance on themselves, or because that road lands you on the street with nothing?

Maybe this will all go up in flames. Maybe my plans to travel and write, write and travel are completely unrealistic. Maybe I won’t be interesting enough, or pretty enough, or entertaining enough. Maybe you are one of only three people that will ever read this. Maybe Cari Anna Camera is my worst idea yet.

All I know is there is only one thing I fear more in life than failure: regret. So here I sit, opening myself up to criticism and judgment and humiliation because I think I would really hate myself at 45 for not being more adventurous when I was 23 because I was still afraid of condemnation from my peers. Maybe that’s the point of 23. Maybe persisting forward in spite of your own insecurities and fear is how you know you’re an adult, that you’ve made it to the real world, that you’re in it.

With that I’d like to warmly welcome you to Cari Anna Camera, an idea I have had for years. Landyn’s grad school in Costa Rica finally gave me the perfect springboard.

Cari Anna Camera is a view into who I am, what I’m about, and, most importantly, where I’m at. Follow me on the greatest adventure and biggest leap of faith I’ve taken yet. I have a feeling 23 is gonna be one hell of a ride.