Sometimes, especially when I'm out on the front porch looking over San Jose, I pause in quiet reflection and think to myself: "HOLY SHIT I'M IN COSTA RICA!"

Even after over two months of being here, the reality still kicks in at odd times. This isn't the United States. I'm in a completely different country. I'm a foreigner. I don't belong here. I quite a well-paid job to move to this country, teach, and earn an income that would put me in the poverty bracket back home. I barely speak Spanish. I'm surviving on a pot of coffee a day and a healthy dose of rice and beans. All of my posessions fit in two duffel bags. Who the hell does something like this? This is madness. How long can I keep this up? What exactly am I going to do when I'm done? How do I transition back to the real world?

And then, after a few brief moments of heart-racing anxiety and panic, I look at the palm trees and birds and mountains, and I relax. I'm in Costa Rica. Go with it. Give it a few months. Maybe even eight or nine. Let's see what happens, shall we?

Stiffs in suits have heart-attacks. Gringos in shorts have sun-burns. Chose wisely.

Labels: costa rica