This blog post was written by Global Gap Fellow Felix Soto.
Stepping off the plane, I was immediately hit by the humidity. Air so thick you can swim in it is nothing new to me. I’m from the Southeastern US. Hot soup for air is kinda our thing.
I wasn’t prepared for getting stuck at immigration due to an address mistake, breaking down crying and having the immigration officer take pity on me and figure it out himself.
I finally got to my house for the next three months, and the first thing I noticed was the noise. The house is off a major road, with cars and motorcycles zipping by well into the night. Anyone who has met me knows that loud noises are not my jam. My sleep-deprived mind next perceives the soft patter of sock-clad feet on tile flooring. Soon enough, the source of that sound appeared from behind a doorway: a little boy and a girl. They seemed slightly fearful of this new person in their house, but a sliver of intrigue flashed through their eyes. As soon as we were introduced, I knew I would miss them dearly in three months’ time, just as I missed my siblings back home.
“I miss home” was one of the first things I learned to say in Spanish. It seemed as though this conversation would happen at least three times a day:
Somebody: “¿Por qué estás triste?”
Me: “Extraño mi hogar.”
The degree to which I longed for home was startling to me. My previous experience living at a summer camp for three months while being a riding instructor made me think I could handle homesickness, and to an extent, I could. However, I was missing a key part of what I considered “home,” America and, more specifically, North Carolina. Camping was so easy because only a few variables changed. Moving to a different country mixed up every aspect of my life. Even things I thought I could rely upon were soon revealed to be not universal. Perhaps the most significant initial shock was the traffic laws. Pedestrians do not have the right of way in Costa Rica, which seems unfair. I would lose in a 1v1 against a car, so please do not make me bloodied, bruised, and legally responsible. The confident pedestrian I was in NYC was now a liability. Uber was also illegal-ish. The taxi lobby pressured the Costa Rican government not to allow Uber so that no funds would be diverted from their business. However, the people did not care and simply had passengers ride in the front, so they looked like two friends. I say illegal-ish because if you did not pick up an Uber near any cops or taxis, no one would make it their problem.
The last big traffic difference was their protocol about fender benders. In the US, if one is in a fender bender, one is supposed to pull over to the side so that traffic can proceed. In Costa Rica, moving one’s vehicle after a fender bender is an immediate admission of fault. The proper procedure is to call the traffic police, who will come out to assess fault, issue tickets, and facilitate the exchange of information. This process can be as short as 30 minutes or take up to a few hours, and traffic flow may be slowed or completely stopped. I discovered this bizarre law after I lamented to a friend that two cars were completely blocking an entrance to a traffic circle for a seemingly mild dent. He then had to explain the law three times before I fully understood. The rationale refused to click in my brain, and this soon became a running theme.
I do not pretend to understand every aspect of Costa Rica: its laws, its language, its people, or its culture. My surroundings frequently confuse, annoy, and mystify me. This is not to say I dislike Costa Rica or am ungrateful for my experience. Instead, I hope it points to an immersion and a desire to learn and grow, all things I hope to do during my time abroad.
