Transplant to Local.

Journey in an Unknown Culture

An eight-hour bus ride on a pothole filled road, with twenty-five sixteen-year-old girls led us to an untouched paradise. White sand beaches lined up perfectly with the waves that crashed ever so slightly against the vegetation filled shoreline. The air was crisp and salty. The sounds were completely unknown. Monkeys sat atop the trees while wild dogs scampered across the dirt roads. The dialect of choice: Spanish. A palm tree grew above the piece of land we called home. Tiny fire ants were fuming over their disturbed habitat. The afternoon sun scorched down as two o’clock rolled in and the lack of running water and plumbing began to bring worry to the Americanized many.

Beyond the rickety fence, an ocean of perfection continued to roll in. I snatched up a surfboard and started to paddle out. My instructor only spoke Spanish, while I only English. Her helpful cues were given in Charade like gestures. Pop up, crash. Pop up, crash. Salt water rushed in every crevice in my body, ripping through my ears and nose with no intension of stopping. Again and again I attempted to carry a wave to shore, yet continuously swallowed the Pacific while it persisted to drag me away.

Costa Rica taught me more than how to surf. I battled humidity, pouring rain, success on a surfboard, while others continued to fail. I felt no need to shower for over two weeks. Simple, mundane items like toothpaste became a privilege and the joy of living life was reborn.

Many people in Costa Rica chose not to wear a watch. They rise and fall with the travels of the sun; a concept that was difficult for me to grasp at first. Costa Ricans ability to enjoy life in that moment in which it is being lived is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Their passion for their paradise is expressed through their generosity and concern for others. After returning to America I found myself longing to go back to a culture that genuinely was happy. The few homes that lined Avionas (the beach we stayed on) were filled with joy, happiness, and a hunger to live out their dreams. In those two weeks I became a native. I grew to love waking up to howler monkeys and being bitten alive by fire ants. I cherished eating fish that was caught earlier that same day. In those two weeks I created moments that let me stop and allow myself to reflect on bliss. A transplanted teenaged American girl fit in as a Spanish speaking local, and will continue to fit in where ever life leads her next.