Thirty-seven years ago I was an eighteen-year-old exchange student to Costa Rica. I said goodbye to my Costa Rican “family” and promised them I'd bring my husband with me upon my return. (I meant to say “my wife,” but my fluency in Spanish at that time was still being developed.) I returned last month with a spouse (female), and we immersed ourselves in a week with family and friends. We threw away itineraries—each day was already planned for us. We enjoyed a volcano hike, a beach trip, a wedding, an island adventure, and an excursion to Sarchí, where traditional oxcarts are still made for tourists.
After thirty-seven years, there would be changes in the country; it was a logical, practical fact. Still, I was culture-shocked on our first night there, when my Costa Rican brother took us to an American-style supermarket. The central market in Alajuela with its fruit and vegetable stalls was all I knew from my previous visit. But in this brightly-lit store, those familiar foods were also available, only in shrink-wrapped frozen packages.
The traffic everywhere was an all day, bumper-to-bumper affair. Outside of Alajuela, cars jammed the freeway to San Jose and beyond, transporting their horn-honking annoyance to the little towns of the central valley.
Crime came along with Costa Rica’s lurch into the twenty-first century. The house where I stayed is still home to my octogenarian Costa Rican mother, but now it’s locked up tight with the unfriendliness of burglar bars. When my “mom” was grabbed from behind and robbed of her jewelry at ten-thirty one morning a couple of years ago, I’m sure that she, too was saddened by this transformation of her beautiful country.
My future/culture shock was softened by the still-beautiful countryside and its incredible flora and fauna. The commercialization of some places—like the beaches—are balanced by the forward-thinking government preservation of jungles and other natural treasures. Poás volcano, for example, is a well-organized, educational event. One memorable experience was our walk in an incredible national park with an old friend. A much longer walk in that same park with that same old friend is planned for our next trip to Costa Rica—a walk that won’t take another thirty-seven years to make.
After thirty-seven years, there would be changes in the country; it was a logical, practical fact. Still, I was culture-shocked on our first night there, when my Costa Rican brother took us to an American-style supermarket. The central market in Alajuela with its fruit and vegetable stalls was all I knew from my previous visit. But in this brightly-lit store, those familiar foods were also available, only in shrink-wrapped frozen packages.
The traffic everywhere was an all day, bumper-to-bumper affair. Outside of Alajuela, cars jammed the freeway to San Jose and beyond, transporting their horn-honking annoyance to the little towns of the central valley.
Crime came along with Costa Rica’s lurch into the twenty-first century. The house where I stayed is still home to my octogenarian Costa Rican mother, but now it’s locked up tight with the unfriendliness of burglar bars. When my “mom” was grabbed from behind and robbed of her jewelry at ten-thirty one morning a couple of years ago, I’m sure that she, too was saddened by this transformation of her beautiful country.
My future/culture shock was softened by the still-beautiful countryside and its incredible flora and fauna. The commercialization of some places—like the beaches—are balanced by the forward-thinking government preservation of jungles and other natural treasures. Poás volcano, for example, is a well-organized, educational event. One memorable experience was our walk in an incredible national park with an old friend. A much longer walk in that same park with that same old friend is planned for our next trip to Costa Rica—a walk that won’t take another thirty-seven years to make.
