Don't you love the feeling of déjà vu? The French language-hijackers who adopted this word over into English had some good reason for not wanting to literally just translate over "already seen". I think it's for good reason, and I'm glad that I have some three syllable word to describe the feelings I'm going through now.
My after-college life up to this point has followed a pretty regular pattern of events:
1. Live in America for short time
2. Leave America
3. Work abroad
4. Return to America
Rinse and repeat.
For me this pattern has been the world of experience. I've had a lot of success to which I have to thank a thousand people, and I'm grateful for having lived the abroad life. The abroad life has taught me different cultures and about the interesting connections between people living all over the world. It has led me to new friends, new foods, new challenges, and new opportunities forward. I would never clear the history on my traveling-life browser.
Until now. (bum Bom BUUUUMM!) <-- dramatic squirrel!
What I've always been scared about is what happens after I stop traveling. What happens after I stop working abroad? Will I never work abroad again? Will the grass be greener on the other side, or will it be red, white, and blue? Will it smell bad? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? To be honest, these are questions that lie in a problem that a lot of people have in my situation. Secretly, most of them want to go back, find a girl, start a family... You know. The, dare I say it, BORING STUFF! (If needed for effect, play the squirrel video again.) Now to be honest, I don't think it would be totally boring, but I'm scared of getting that travel itch back once I've committed to a stationary life. That itch would make me stay up until 3 a.m. looking online for jobs in Asia or Brazil. Oh god! Brazil sounds really nice right now. Rational Nick... Can't I please just skip away for another year, go teach English down in Fortaleza and learn how to samba? I hear the feijoada is...
NO!!!
Now that you've had a brief trip into my conflicted itchy-feet head, you can start to imagine how I'm feeling about staying at Illinois State University for a couple years finishing my Masters in Political Science and Applied Community Development. I know I can do it and that I'll enjoy the program, but it's going to be the first time I'll have been in the States for more than three months during the past three years. However, there will be a huge number of Peace Corps Volunteers in my program with a wealth of knowledge and shared travel-itch to help me get through. Actually, I'll be living with two in my new abode. Whenever I get discouraged by a 15-page assessment of the U.S. Government's policy in the Middle East, I'll go to them asking for courage to not electronically sign that contract to go teach in South Korea.
So that's where I'm at. I'm thinking about graduate school and how much it's going to change my life in ways I can't expect, and I'm ready for the opportunities and the challenge that await.
(Zooooooom! Back to Costa Rica!)
I just got back from doing a week of community service work in the Osa Peninsula. It. Was. Tough! I picked up some shovels and in the process picked up some new calluses on my once soft hands. We dug roots out of beaches so the turtles would be spoiled in their nest digging rituals. We cleaned out gutters along a kilometer of rainforest trail. We got followed by spider monkeys swinging from the high branches above. We worked. We ate. We slept. It was a good hard week of manual labor that you sometimes forget that people do everyday. It was an eye-opening experience for the boys (most of whom had never done physical labor before), and at the same time it reminded me of how meaningful a day's worth of hard work can feel at night. Picture a slight rain, the sound of frogs that sound like wind chimes, and a nice warm bed. The Osa Peninsula is a magical place made possible by some badasses at the Osa Conservation Organization. I will be going back someday to visit. Definitely.
This weekend I'm getting paid to get my Advanced SCUBA Certification. What else can I say? This job had its perks.
I miss you all, and I hope you're all living the pura vida.
- Nick
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Saturday, April 11, 2015
There's a Lake On Top of a Volcano?
Hola to everyone again. There's too much to discuss, so let's skip the foreplay and get straight to the naughty parts.
As you could see in my last post, I was dangling on a string from a list of six colleges. Each one kept tenderly caressing me with soothing emails reassuring me that my application looked very strong. Oh, did they try to spoon me you ask? Was I the little spoon you ponder? I'll leave that analogy for your own imagination to decide, but all in all I was stressed not knowing where I was going. Then the acceptance letters came, minus Yale of course, but I still didn't know. I knew that deep down one of my two fellowship applications to Marquette and Illinois State University would pull through. Maybe even both... Then the first letter from Marquette's Fellowship program came. Close, but no cigar. I had made it into the final round of their NCAA Graduate playoff bracket, but I wasn't good enough to be taken to the Championship game. Basically, I was Kentucky. I had been really hoping to go to Marquette because of its strong program, but something deep down said that things happen for a reason. Lo and behold, the next week I received an email stating that I had been accepted into the Peace Corps Fellows Program at Illinois State University. It was strange. About two months before I received the acceptance, I already knew that that program would be the one I would be attending. It was almost spooky how it all worked out. Sort of like a premonition brought to be by a hypothetical Terminator / John Conner duo. I'm happy that that goopy liquid dude didn't kill my dreams of getting a paid-for graduate offer for a Masters in Political Science. Thanks, Hypothetical Arnold Schwarzenegger.
No Problemo.
So folks, I'm going to grad school!
And then began the waiting for vacation. We've all had that feeling where work and school are just ticks on a clock restricting us from relaxation, piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain. That's how I felt after I accepted my graduate offer. It was kind of like senioritis back during my last semester of high school. I'd been accepted. Now what? My sole motivation to work during that week was to make it to April 5th, the day when I would take a bus up north to the beautiful country of Nicaragua to renew my tourist visa. So I waited, wished the students a happy home visit, and enjoyed the passing of time until April 5th at 2 p.m. My travel companion and wonderful friend, Letis del Carmen, joined me at the bus station. The bus, however, did not meet us at the bus station. We waited, waited some more, hopped over to the Chinese store to buy some cheap Rubix cubes for her family, and finally saw the bus pull up two hours late. Typically, buses in Costa Rica are on time all the time. It's quite magical how they actually leave at their designed times on the dot; however, this bus had no plan of being a normal Joe the Plumber. It was going for more of the John McCain "maverick" angle.
So on the bus we went. Five hours later after watching a horribly translated action movie into Spanish, we unloaded our bags into the pitch black night on the border between Nicaragua and Costa Rica. Customs was less of a hassle than I had planned. In fact, it was actually comical. The "bag check" consisted literally of a half-interested man asking us to open our bag while not really even looking inside. After a quick "okay", we got our passports back and hopped onto the bus. Through the darkness, Letis still could recognize her home country. The Lake of Nicaragua shone brightly by the moon's reflection, and we shoveled off the bus into the quiet city of Rivas, Nicaragua looking for a hotel. We had no reservation, but luckily enough there was a hotel right next to the bus station. After talking with the front desk dude, we knew something was up. The price for the night was almost 50% higher than it said elsewhere, and the checkout time was at 9 a.m. Ya, 9 a.m.! No time for sleeping in after a long bus ride. But without any other options than this limited sham at 11:30 p.m., we spent the night there. And yes, they did come knocking at 9 a.m. the next morning informing us that we had to leave. Tired, we gave them the classic "we're almost leaving" for the next hour and a half. Take that! Uh! Sha-bam! Dat's right. We done stuck it right to them early-rising Windexers!
After our victory over the passive-agressive cleaning ladies, we made our way to the ferry in San Jorge to take us to Ometepe. With no ferry leaving for another 2 hours and with the daylight burning away, we decided to take the smaller boat. Let me tell you. Don't ever take the smaller boat. Ever! Whatever you are wearing will get wet. You will feel everything turning in your stomach. Whatever money you saved by taking the smaller boat will not be worth it. Trust me. Looking back on it now, it was actually kind of a fun roller coaster ride welcome to the island. Some part of my brain enjoyed it. The other part cursed me for it. After an hour's ride through the choppy purgatory of Lake Nicaragua, we arrived at the Island of Ometepe.
"Oh my God. This looks like a postcard!"
Cheap beer kept us busy until the bus to Balgue came. During that time, I couldn't help but notice how many backpackers there were. All smelly. All with questionable fashion styles. All with matted crusty hair. They came in packs from the ferrys, all of them hustled by the hungry taxi drivers looking to exploit a fat gringo wallet. While touching my own unkempt hair, I asked myself, "Do I look like them?" After doing a quick pit smell check, I affirmed that I had a negative backpacker status.
The bus bumbled and tumbled for a good two hours meanwhile Letis gave me a tour of the island she had solely lived on for the first twenty-odd years of her life. It's crazy how things looked very similar to the conditions I had experienced as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Pohnpei, Micronesia. Same housing. Same skin color. Same warm hospitality. It was amazingly close, and it gave me chills and nostalgia wrapped up in a warm tortilla of novelty. When we arrived in the town of Balgue, Letis surprised her family by arriving unexpected. It had been a year and some months since she'd been back. Kisses and hugs followed while I took notes of cultural things like how people greeted each other and how close they stood from each other when they talk. Simple stuff. Monkey see, monkey do. After a tasty dinner and lively conversation, I took my room on a nice date to sleepy town.
The next day, we went to a place called Ojo de Agua. It's a natural spring in Ometepe that has a tingling mineral content and cold temperature. It was a good day of relaxed laughs and swimming until we attempted to leave. Now, I had never in my life heard about a manual motorcycle nor driven one. The concept of a manual motorcycle seems absurd. You literally have to use every appendage to drive it. Left hand, clutch. Right hand, gas. Left foot, gears. Right foot, brake. Freaking ridiculous. Although I gave it my best shot, there was no way I was going to safely drive ten kilometers on that death machine. Letis, once upon a time, had been a decent student of the death machine, and after a quick refresher course, she had driven us to the Ojo de Agua. Once you leave a manual motorcycle unused for a good four hours, it's almost impossible to start it back up again. I tried my best to kick the thing to life, but the death machine was already buried in its own stubbornness. A local Nicaraguan man revived the machine. I hopped on the back of the bike behind Letis, and within two seconds I was jumping off the back watching the bike do a wheelie with Letis flying to the side. Crash. My heart jumped into my throat. The way her body was tossed between the front tire and body of the bike made me very worried. Her left leg had a massive collision with the exhaust pipe causing a burn and deep hematoma. I grabbed my waterbottle and started dumping water onto the burn after we pulled Letis away from the bike. Now if I had just been thrown off the front of a bike, I'd think twice about getting back on. She, however, didn't want to be late back home, so again, slowly this time, we set off for back home to Balgue on the death machine. By some grace of God, we made it with all limbs still attached. Back home, stories of motorcycle burns passed around the family accompanied by wa-storying and the frequent pant-leg lift up.
The next day, I woke up at 5:30 with the top of a volcano in mind. A boy from Letis' family guided me up through a treacherous hike through clouds, unbelievably slippery mud, fallen trees, and howler monkey troops. Two and a half hours later, we were walking through the gorgeous crater of Volcan Maderas. [NOTE: Maderas is a dormant volcano whose crater is filled with drinkable water and numerous deer tracks. It's also the twin volcano to another volcano on Ometepe who is known for its lava at the top. In a sense, Ometepe is like the Ying Yang volcano island. One fire volcano and one water volcano. Water to put out the fire. Fire to heat up the water. Peace to calm the Rage. Excitement to kill the routine. The people really try to sell that idea, and they should. It's cool as hell to have not just one, but TWO volcanoes on an island. Not to mention, they're both gorgeous beings who have both been called one of the 7 Wonders of the World.] The hike was insane. My legs were shaking furiously under me on the way back down. How they didn't cut themselves off and run away from me in anger still astounds me today, but they still are reminding me of the pain of that day. They hurt. Badly.
Next morning after some tender hugs and kisses goodbye, I took the ferry back to Rivas to catch my bus to San Jose. This time, the border wouldn't be so easy. After crossing the Nicaraguan side with no problem, I stepped back into the land I'd called home for the past three months. Confidently, I handed my passport and customs form to the man behind the glass. In an incoherent Spanish, he asked me where was my ticket. Confused, I handed him my bus ticket. Clearly infuriated by my obvious stupidity, he then began to hound me in a tone that made me extremely nervous about the ticket. Finally, he made it clear that I needed to show him a return ticket back to the U.S. In front of everyone, he made me get out of the line to try to find the ticket on the United website. After burning my fingers fastly trying to find the confirmation for twenty minutes in an email on my phone, I couldn't find it. That was it. I wasn't getting back into Costa Rica. Job lost. FML! Defeated, I walked back to the Customs officer and explained that I couldn't find my ticket. I was willing to immediately buy a return ticket back to Nicaragua before my visa would expire. He then looked at me and said, "You know it's a requirement for have a return ticket, right?" Yes... I know that now damn you, sir! "Yes," I fumbled. "I'm sorry." To those words, he stamped my passport and hushed me out of the customs office and onto the Tica Bus. Overjoyed, I made it back to the bus in time for departure to San Jose.
Holy shit, that was scary close.
And so ended my visa run. A brief trip into the beauty of Nicaragua, its people, and the burning flames of an angry customs officer. I hope to go back someday to visit and see more of that country. It made me think about how much I miss Peace Corps and working with people from other countries. For now though, it's back to Pura Vida and hot showers.
Un beso, and I hope one day you too can enjoy the crazy fun of a visa run.
Cheers and enjoy the pictures.
As you could see in my last post, I was dangling on a string from a list of six colleges. Each one kept tenderly caressing me with soothing emails reassuring me that my application looked very strong. Oh, did they try to spoon me you ask? Was I the little spoon you ponder? I'll leave that analogy for your own imagination to decide, but all in all I was stressed not knowing where I was going. Then the acceptance letters came, minus Yale of course, but I still didn't know. I knew that deep down one of my two fellowship applications to Marquette and Illinois State University would pull through. Maybe even both... Then the first letter from Marquette's Fellowship program came. Close, but no cigar. I had made it into the final round of their NCAA Graduate playoff bracket, but I wasn't good enough to be taken to the Championship game. Basically, I was Kentucky. I had been really hoping to go to Marquette because of its strong program, but something deep down said that things happen for a reason. Lo and behold, the next week I received an email stating that I had been accepted into the Peace Corps Fellows Program at Illinois State University. It was strange. About two months before I received the acceptance, I already knew that that program would be the one I would be attending. It was almost spooky how it all worked out. Sort of like a premonition brought to be by a hypothetical Terminator / John Conner duo. I'm happy that that goopy liquid dude didn't kill my dreams of getting a paid-for graduate offer for a Masters in Political Science. Thanks, Hypothetical Arnold Schwarzenegger.
No Problemo.
So folks, I'm going to grad school!
And then began the waiting for vacation. We've all had that feeling where work and school are just ticks on a clock restricting us from relaxation, piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain. That's how I felt after I accepted my graduate offer. It was kind of like senioritis back during my last semester of high school. I'd been accepted. Now what? My sole motivation to work during that week was to make it to April 5th, the day when I would take a bus up north to the beautiful country of Nicaragua to renew my tourist visa. So I waited, wished the students a happy home visit, and enjoyed the passing of time until April 5th at 2 p.m. My travel companion and wonderful friend, Letis del Carmen, joined me at the bus station. The bus, however, did not meet us at the bus station. We waited, waited some more, hopped over to the Chinese store to buy some cheap Rubix cubes for her family, and finally saw the bus pull up two hours late. Typically, buses in Costa Rica are on time all the time. It's quite magical how they actually leave at their designed times on the dot; however, this bus had no plan of being a normal Joe the Plumber. It was going for more of the John McCain "maverick" angle.
So on the bus we went. Five hours later after watching a horribly translated action movie into Spanish, we unloaded our bags into the pitch black night on the border between Nicaragua and Costa Rica. Customs was less of a hassle than I had planned. In fact, it was actually comical. The "bag check" consisted literally of a half-interested man asking us to open our bag while not really even looking inside. After a quick "okay", we got our passports back and hopped onto the bus. Through the darkness, Letis still could recognize her home country. The Lake of Nicaragua shone brightly by the moon's reflection, and we shoveled off the bus into the quiet city of Rivas, Nicaragua looking for a hotel. We had no reservation, but luckily enough there was a hotel right next to the bus station. After talking with the front desk dude, we knew something was up. The price for the night was almost 50% higher than it said elsewhere, and the checkout time was at 9 a.m. Ya, 9 a.m.! No time for sleeping in after a long bus ride. But without any other options than this limited sham at 11:30 p.m., we spent the night there. And yes, they did come knocking at 9 a.m. the next morning informing us that we had to leave. Tired, we gave them the classic "we're almost leaving" for the next hour and a half. Take that! Uh! Sha-bam! Dat's right. We done stuck it right to them early-rising Windexers!
After our victory over the passive-agressive cleaning ladies, we made our way to the ferry in San Jorge to take us to Ometepe. With no ferry leaving for another 2 hours and with the daylight burning away, we decided to take the smaller boat. Let me tell you. Don't ever take the smaller boat. Ever! Whatever you are wearing will get wet. You will feel everything turning in your stomach. Whatever money you saved by taking the smaller boat will not be worth it. Trust me. Looking back on it now, it was actually kind of a fun roller coaster ride welcome to the island. Some part of my brain enjoyed it. The other part cursed me for it. After an hour's ride through the choppy purgatory of Lake Nicaragua, we arrived at the Island of Ometepe.
"Oh my God. This looks like a postcard!"
Cheap beer kept us busy until the bus to Balgue came. During that time, I couldn't help but notice how many backpackers there were. All smelly. All with questionable fashion styles. All with matted crusty hair. They came in packs from the ferrys, all of them hustled by the hungry taxi drivers looking to exploit a fat gringo wallet. While touching my own unkempt hair, I asked myself, "Do I look like them?" After doing a quick pit smell check, I affirmed that I had a negative backpacker status.
The bus bumbled and tumbled for a good two hours meanwhile Letis gave me a tour of the island she had solely lived on for the first twenty-odd years of her life. It's crazy how things looked very similar to the conditions I had experienced as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Pohnpei, Micronesia. Same housing. Same skin color. Same warm hospitality. It was amazingly close, and it gave me chills and nostalgia wrapped up in a warm tortilla of novelty. When we arrived in the town of Balgue, Letis surprised her family by arriving unexpected. It had been a year and some months since she'd been back. Kisses and hugs followed while I took notes of cultural things like how people greeted each other and how close they stood from each other when they talk. Simple stuff. Monkey see, monkey do. After a tasty dinner and lively conversation, I took my room on a nice date to sleepy town.
The next day, we went to a place called Ojo de Agua. It's a natural spring in Ometepe that has a tingling mineral content and cold temperature. It was a good day of relaxed laughs and swimming until we attempted to leave. Now, I had never in my life heard about a manual motorcycle nor driven one. The concept of a manual motorcycle seems absurd. You literally have to use every appendage to drive it. Left hand, clutch. Right hand, gas. Left foot, gears. Right foot, brake. Freaking ridiculous. Although I gave it my best shot, there was no way I was going to safely drive ten kilometers on that death machine. Letis, once upon a time, had been a decent student of the death machine, and after a quick refresher course, she had driven us to the Ojo de Agua. Once you leave a manual motorcycle unused for a good four hours, it's almost impossible to start it back up again. I tried my best to kick the thing to life, but the death machine was already buried in its own stubbornness. A local Nicaraguan man revived the machine. I hopped on the back of the bike behind Letis, and within two seconds I was jumping off the back watching the bike do a wheelie with Letis flying to the side. Crash. My heart jumped into my throat. The way her body was tossed between the front tire and body of the bike made me very worried. Her left leg had a massive collision with the exhaust pipe causing a burn and deep hematoma. I grabbed my waterbottle and started dumping water onto the burn after we pulled Letis away from the bike. Now if I had just been thrown off the front of a bike, I'd think twice about getting back on. She, however, didn't want to be late back home, so again, slowly this time, we set off for back home to Balgue on the death machine. By some grace of God, we made it with all limbs still attached. Back home, stories of motorcycle burns passed around the family accompanied by wa-storying and the frequent pant-leg lift up.
The next day, I woke up at 5:30 with the top of a volcano in mind. A boy from Letis' family guided me up through a treacherous hike through clouds, unbelievably slippery mud, fallen trees, and howler monkey troops. Two and a half hours later, we were walking through the gorgeous crater of Volcan Maderas. [NOTE: Maderas is a dormant volcano whose crater is filled with drinkable water and numerous deer tracks. It's also the twin volcano to another volcano on Ometepe who is known for its lava at the top. In a sense, Ometepe is like the Ying Yang volcano island. One fire volcano and one water volcano. Water to put out the fire. Fire to heat up the water. Peace to calm the Rage. Excitement to kill the routine. The people really try to sell that idea, and they should. It's cool as hell to have not just one, but TWO volcanoes on an island. Not to mention, they're both gorgeous beings who have both been called one of the 7 Wonders of the World.] The hike was insane. My legs were shaking furiously under me on the way back down. How they didn't cut themselves off and run away from me in anger still astounds me today, but they still are reminding me of the pain of that day. They hurt. Badly.
Next morning after some tender hugs and kisses goodbye, I took the ferry back to Rivas to catch my bus to San Jose. This time, the border wouldn't be so easy. After crossing the Nicaraguan side with no problem, I stepped back into the land I'd called home for the past three months. Confidently, I handed my passport and customs form to the man behind the glass. In an incoherent Spanish, he asked me where was my ticket. Confused, I handed him my bus ticket. Clearly infuriated by my obvious stupidity, he then began to hound me in a tone that made me extremely nervous about the ticket. Finally, he made it clear that I needed to show him a return ticket back to the U.S. In front of everyone, he made me get out of the line to try to find the ticket on the United website. After burning my fingers fastly trying to find the confirmation for twenty minutes in an email on my phone, I couldn't find it. That was it. I wasn't getting back into Costa Rica. Job lost. FML! Defeated, I walked back to the Customs officer and explained that I couldn't find my ticket. I was willing to immediately buy a return ticket back to Nicaragua before my visa would expire. He then looked at me and said, "You know it's a requirement for have a return ticket, right?" Yes... I know that now damn you, sir! "Yes," I fumbled. "I'm sorry." To those words, he stamped my passport and hushed me out of the customs office and onto the Tica Bus. Overjoyed, I made it back to the bus in time for departure to San Jose.
Holy shit, that was scary close.
And so ended my visa run. A brief trip into the beauty of Nicaragua, its people, and the burning flames of an angry customs officer. I hope to go back someday to visit and see more of that country. It made me think about how much I miss Peace Corps and working with people from other countries. For now though, it's back to Pura Vida and hot showers.
Un beso, and I hope one day you too can enjoy the crazy fun of a visa run.
Cheers and enjoy the pictures.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passage of Time
So here I am. It's been about two and a half months since I hopped off the plane and into the pura vida life. It seems like a time warp in a sense. A long and brief history of time (credits of Mr. Hawking) packed into a finite period. A mini life experience. In a few words, I have to say this is one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life. Costa Rica is where the nicest people in the world live, and it's been a contagious atmosphere of positivity and passionate Equatorial living. No, I don't have a tan, yet...
Since my last post was in February, first allow me to slap myself for being like George R.R. Martin teasing you with the possibility of dragons. This post should have come much earlier. [Slap!] [Recover] Okay. Now we're back.
One of the coolest experiences of my life happened just last month in late February. My work took me to the Osa Peninsula to mentor five students while we all did some volunteer work. Basically, the Osa Peninsula is a huge, giant, and enormous rainforest of biodiversity. Oh, and there's snakes. Everywhere! Luckily, we saw only one snake which happened to be non-venomous but totally cool. Everywhere I stepped I had to be looking out for coils, movement, and snake color patterns. My neck wanted to snap off after having to constantly look down for the entire stay. When my neck got a break from my constant anti-death watch, I had the chance to look at howler monkeys and spider monkeys gracing the trees above. Let me tell you; spider monkeys are territorial as Motherland Russia. It's absolutely incredible how they defend their land. We walked through one troop's territory, and they started shaking the branches and throwing things at us. If we hadn't of left in time, they would have conveniently gone to the bathroom in their hands and graced us with the pleasure of experiencing their past meals on our faces. Although it seemed that every single animal wanted to kill us in that jungle, we had some beautiful and extremely friendly people who took care of us at the conservation station. The workers played guitar and sang with us at night, and for our last day we put on a mini concert for everyone around. For volunteer work, we painted an entire house, varnished another house, dug drainage trenches, collected mini trees in the forest for a nursery, and created a trail through the rainforest on the side of a steep hill. Every night we went to sleep at 9 p.m. because everyone was exhausted. It was an amazing week, and I hope to cure this nostalgia someday by returning.
Next topic.
Graduate schools want me. Oh, they want me bad. Except for Yale. Yale, you can go suck it. Besides, I wouldn't have even gone to your school had you accepted me. Instead, I got accepted into the following list of schools:
1. University of Denver (With a $22,000/year scholarship offer)
2. Kennesaw State University
3. Marquette University (With a substantial Research Assistant position)
4. American University
5. Illinois State University (Waiting to hear from their fellowship program)
I've narrowed it down to two schools: Marquette and Illinois State. Of course, I'll have to work my ass off and use up basically all of my savings to attend these schools. In that sense, it sucks. On the bright side, I will have my masters degree in a field that is going to be the most important (along with sustainability and natural resource management) for the future. I can see myself working abroad for an international organization being a program manager of some sort. I can see myself working up towards being a professor. I can see myself working for the State Department. There are many places where I can go after my masters degree, but I won't really know where I'll be headed until I'm about a year into whatever program I choose. I will know where I'll be attending by the first week of April. Excited. Nervous. Anxious. My fingernails tell the story of this month's acceptance letters by how short they are, but the way how I see it is that this is first exciting financial journey of my life. So here's to ramen noodles, late night studying, and cheap beer for the next couple of years!
The next big thing for me is my vacation to Nicaragua. It's going down on the first week of April because, legally speaking, I have to keep my ass out of Costa Rica for three days in order to not get in trouble. Heard of a visa run before? Tis' what this is. I'm using my vacation days attached to my usual off days to make a 6-day vacation to the Island of Ometepe. It's a magical place in the Lake of Nicaragua with two volcanoes and a lot of gringos. I plan to spend a fair chunk of change because, hey, how many times in your life do you get to be in Nicaragua on a visa run vacation? Probably once.
Life's good. A little uncertain, but good. I miss all you folks back home.
Un beso.
Since my last post was in February, first allow me to slap myself for being like George R.R. Martin teasing you with the possibility of dragons. This post should have come much earlier. [Slap!] [Recover] Okay. Now we're back.
One of the coolest experiences of my life happened just last month in late February. My work took me to the Osa Peninsula to mentor five students while we all did some volunteer work. Basically, the Osa Peninsula is a huge, giant, and enormous rainforest of biodiversity. Oh, and there's snakes. Everywhere! Luckily, we saw only one snake which happened to be non-venomous but totally cool. Everywhere I stepped I had to be looking out for coils, movement, and snake color patterns. My neck wanted to snap off after having to constantly look down for the entire stay. When my neck got a break from my constant anti-death watch, I had the chance to look at howler monkeys and spider monkeys gracing the trees above. Let me tell you; spider monkeys are territorial as Motherland Russia. It's absolutely incredible how they defend their land. We walked through one troop's territory, and they started shaking the branches and throwing things at us. If we hadn't of left in time, they would have conveniently gone to the bathroom in their hands and graced us with the pleasure of experiencing their past meals on our faces. Although it seemed that every single animal wanted to kill us in that jungle, we had some beautiful and extremely friendly people who took care of us at the conservation station. The workers played guitar and sang with us at night, and for our last day we put on a mini concert for everyone around. For volunteer work, we painted an entire house, varnished another house, dug drainage trenches, collected mini trees in the forest for a nursery, and created a trail through the rainforest on the side of a steep hill. Every night we went to sleep at 9 p.m. because everyone was exhausted. It was an amazing week, and I hope to cure this nostalgia someday by returning.
Next topic.
Graduate schools want me. Oh, they want me bad. Except for Yale. Yale, you can go suck it. Besides, I wouldn't have even gone to your school had you accepted me. Instead, I got accepted into the following list of schools:
1. University of Denver (With a $22,000/year scholarship offer)
2. Kennesaw State University
3. Marquette University (With a substantial Research Assistant position)
4. American University
5. Illinois State University (Waiting to hear from their fellowship program)
I've narrowed it down to two schools: Marquette and Illinois State. Of course, I'll have to work my ass off and use up basically all of my savings to attend these schools. In that sense, it sucks. On the bright side, I will have my masters degree in a field that is going to be the most important (along with sustainability and natural resource management) for the future. I can see myself working abroad for an international organization being a program manager of some sort. I can see myself working up towards being a professor. I can see myself working for the State Department. There are many places where I can go after my masters degree, but I won't really know where I'll be headed until I'm about a year into whatever program I choose. I will know where I'll be attending by the first week of April. Excited. Nervous. Anxious. My fingernails tell the story of this month's acceptance letters by how short they are, but the way how I see it is that this is first exciting financial journey of my life. So here's to ramen noodles, late night studying, and cheap beer for the next couple of years!
The next big thing for me is my vacation to Nicaragua. It's going down on the first week of April because, legally speaking, I have to keep my ass out of Costa Rica for three days in order to not get in trouble. Heard of a visa run before? Tis' what this is. I'm using my vacation days attached to my usual off days to make a 6-day vacation to the Island of Ometepe. It's a magical place in the Lake of Nicaragua with two volcanoes and a lot of gringos. I plan to spend a fair chunk of change because, hey, how many times in your life do you get to be in Nicaragua on a visa run vacation? Probably once.
Life's good. A little uncertain, but good. I miss all you folks back home.
Un beso.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
I'll take a cafe negro.
Do you know the way to San Jose? I do. You take the Route 27 bus for about an hour, and viola! You have arrived at the one place that Ticos (an informal name for Costa Ricans) pleasantly don't favor. It's strange. Usually, a capital city tries to act as a summary of the entire country and its pristine beauty, but according to Ticos, someone done messed up with that job. I actually had one conversation with a guy who said they should change it from that nasty capital city to Atenas. Note to Costa Rican government officials: take a look into that, por favor. I did a day trip to San Jose last week and didn't see the entire beef against it, but I did take some mental notes on some "constructive" criticism. Get it??? As in, they could construct new buildings and renovate the others. Like the phrase. You know??? Construction. (Reader's mental lightbulb turns on and scornfully dislikes Nick's humour.)
Moving on now...
The first month of work here has been a little challenging to fully take in. I'm part therapist, part P.E. instructor, part cultural ambassador, and a dash of international man of mystery (a.k.a. Global Citizenship class assistant). As the weeks have gone by, I've become more comfortable with this new smoothie of roles and have started to make some good relationships with the staff and students. Working with high school boys can be challenging. It's part of their job to push buttons and find themselves by making your life difficult. On the other side, it's my job to constructively guide those button-pressing fingers to the non-nuclearly oriented buttons on a smooth sine/cosine ride through the ups and downs of their high school careers. In a sense, it's completely awesome practice for when I become a dad someday.
Next point. When your off days are Tuesdays and Wednesdays, coordinating your life outside of work is a bit tough. Conversations go as so...
"Hey man, want to go to the beach this weekend?"
"(Frustration building) I can't. I work the night shift on Fridays through Sundays. Are you free this Tuesday?"
"(Double Whammy Frustration) Free as in the sense of working the morning shift? Yes."
(Cue both people sighing and making futile plans for the future.)
Although my Google Calendar doesn't match up with others, I've been trying to make some local friends whose schedules do fit well. Ticos are amazing friendly and nice. I went to a party a couple of nights ago and didn't speak more than 50 words in English the entire night. More nights as such are to come, but I'll need to check my Google Calendar first... Damn it feels good to be a gangster, I mean, an employed person.
Cafe negro. The morning enema. Black gold. Smiles in a cup. It's basically the most efficient way, other than shooting up some black market caffeine, to start your morning and keep your afternoon slump slumping back to the depths of your hippocampus. At first when I got here, I was appalled at the amount of sugar and milk being left to dry in the fridge when the morning coffee began to brew. I personally take my morning slap with a dash of milk and creamer. No sugar. Ticos, however, love to make my job of referencing the movie Airplane waaaay too easy. [Excuse me, I happened to be passing and thought you might like some coffee. Oh that's very nice of you, thank you...] If you don't know this classic scene, youtube Airplane movie coffee. Then we can resume being friends. Back to the coffee scene though. Coffee is a huge part of Costa Rica. HUGE! Atenas and in the nearby mountains are some of the best places for people to grow coffee because of the high altitudes. Coffee costs about $2 per normal U.S. coffee sized bag, and it's good stuff. I went on a weekend tour to a bunch of coffee plantations that one of the school's staff owns. The views were absolutely out of this world. Also, I learned that picking coffee is one tough job. You have to walk up 60 degree incline hills with 80 pounds of coffee strapped to your back. Those people are so strong that they could probably make a bull whimper in pain. The tour was incredible. Not many people get to see from start to finish how coffee ends up in your Starbucks Venti. It blew my mind. All those years of studying Spanish for business kind of accumulated into that one 3-hour tour of those coffee fincas (plantations). Pictures to come and as well as more coffee plantation tours.
That's all I have for now. Four days from now I'll have been here for one month, but this place seems far too familiar far too quickly. Home is where the heart is? No. Home is where I drink my dank coffee in the mornings.
Moving on now...
The first month of work here has been a little challenging to fully take in. I'm part therapist, part P.E. instructor, part cultural ambassador, and a dash of international man of mystery (a.k.a. Global Citizenship class assistant). As the weeks have gone by, I've become more comfortable with this new smoothie of roles and have started to make some good relationships with the staff and students. Working with high school boys can be challenging. It's part of their job to push buttons and find themselves by making your life difficult. On the other side, it's my job to constructively guide those button-pressing fingers to the non-nuclearly oriented buttons on a smooth sine/cosine ride through the ups and downs of their high school careers. In a sense, it's completely awesome practice for when I become a dad someday.
Next point. When your off days are Tuesdays and Wednesdays, coordinating your life outside of work is a bit tough. Conversations go as so...
"Hey man, want to go to the beach this weekend?"
"(Frustration building) I can't. I work the night shift on Fridays through Sundays. Are you free this Tuesday?"
"(Double Whammy Frustration) Free as in the sense of working the morning shift? Yes."
(Cue both people sighing and making futile plans for the future.)
Although my Google Calendar doesn't match up with others, I've been trying to make some local friends whose schedules do fit well. Ticos are amazing friendly and nice. I went to a party a couple of nights ago and didn't speak more than 50 words in English the entire night. More nights as such are to come, but I'll need to check my Google Calendar first... Damn it feels good to be a gangster, I mean, an employed person.
Cafe negro. The morning enema. Black gold. Smiles in a cup. It's basically the most efficient way, other than shooting up some black market caffeine, to start your morning and keep your afternoon slump slumping back to the depths of your hippocampus. At first when I got here, I was appalled at the amount of sugar and milk being left to dry in the fridge when the morning coffee began to brew. I personally take my morning slap with a dash of milk and creamer. No sugar. Ticos, however, love to make my job of referencing the movie Airplane waaaay too easy. [Excuse me, I happened to be passing and thought you might like some coffee. Oh that's very nice of you, thank you...] If you don't know this classic scene, youtube Airplane movie coffee. Then we can resume being friends. Back to the coffee scene though. Coffee is a huge part of Costa Rica. HUGE! Atenas and in the nearby mountains are some of the best places for people to grow coffee because of the high altitudes. Coffee costs about $2 per normal U.S. coffee sized bag, and it's good stuff. I went on a weekend tour to a bunch of coffee plantations that one of the school's staff owns. The views were absolutely out of this world. Also, I learned that picking coffee is one tough job. You have to walk up 60 degree incline hills with 80 pounds of coffee strapped to your back. Those people are so strong that they could probably make a bull whimper in pain. The tour was incredible. Not many people get to see from start to finish how coffee ends up in your Starbucks Venti. It blew my mind. All those years of studying Spanish for business kind of accumulated into that one 3-hour tour of those coffee fincas (plantations). Pictures to come and as well as more coffee plantation tours.
That's all I have for now. Four days from now I'll have been here for one month, but this place seems far too familiar far too quickly. Home is where the heart is? No. Home is where I drink my dank coffee in the mornings.
This is my Nat Geo worthy shot.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Pura Vida
If paradise exists, it's probably damn close to Atenas, Costa Rica. Let me set up this scenario for you.
Weather: 60-80 degrees Fahrenheit, minimal wind, blue skies, and infrequent rain.
People: Ridiculously friendly.
Food: Flavored to the max.
Women: Dark hair with a choice of hazel or brown eyes.
So that's where I live now. The downsides to the town are few. The nightlife seems to be restricted to before 11 p.m. and consists of getting ice cream from the center plaza. Sunscreen costs about one leg per 500mL bottle. Dehydration kicks in pretty quickly if you don't pay attention. Other than those things it's pretty nice. I'm sort of used to the small town scene from having lived in Pohnpei for them two years, so the tears that that situation brings are few and far between. The lack of friends situation is always a killer when you move to a new place, but I've made some good connections with my coworkers which will hopefully open the door to a more active social life.
As far as my job goes, it goes splendidly well. Being a mentor consists of making sure the boys have an expert ultimate frisbee partner, a two-legged Spanish dictionary, and someone to help with general daily duties. Last weekend we went on an adventure to Manuel Antonio which is an interesting mixture between national park and tourist bonanza; not that those two are incompatible, but I find their coexistence intriguing. At the park I saw just about every animal you see in those National Geographic documentaries that you put on between football games. Two kinds of sloths, capuchin monkeys, deer, crocodiles, howler monkeys, and spider monkeys all made my jaw drop. Hell... Even Toucan Sam dropped on in to say follow your nose! Magical. On top of that I got to connect with some of the NSA students by playing board games, communally oogleing over women in bikinis, and fighting off a scorpion that we found in the sleeping room. Ya, that's right. There was a scorpion in someone's bed! If that doesn't scare you, google Gary Busey. That's about how scary that scorpion was. In all, I like my job. It's nice. Berry Nice. Jerry Rice? Posh Spice. No dice.
Graduate schools will be getting back to me soon. I have some pretty good prospects that I believe will offer me some graduate assistantships and internships to help me get through with some money and experience. It's going to be a tough decision if I get accepted at all my schools, but I'm favoring programs with the better internships for out of class experience.
My barrio (neighborhood) is pretty amistoso. The gente is siempre saying hola when yo pass por their casas. La only cosa that me bothers es that muchos dogs ladran when yo pass en this calle. Are tu confused ahora by mis switches entre both languages? Me too. So I'll stop. Stop that right now young man! Okay, back on track. The neighbors are nice. I've been trying to get my name out there by being annoyingly friendly. You know... Those neighbors that walk by your house and say hi every time and try to engage you in a conversation longer than, "Hey." "Hey." "Beautiful day." "Sure is." "Well, I'll see you around." "See ya!" And it's working, I think. There's still too many people to meet and be annoyingly extroverted towards in the neighboorhood. Which makes me think of only one thing. WWMRD. What would Mr. Rogers do? He'd probably get on the train and meet whatever strange folk lived beyond that tunnel. Metaphorically speaking, that's the goal.
For now I think this is enough to quench your outsourced thirst for adventure. Until next time! :)
Un saludo.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Back to Coconuts
Some people say that everything happens for a reason. Do I believe them? I'll answer that question with a question: did it really matter that McDonalds was out of oreo today so I had to get a M&Ms McFlurry instead? Some would say yes, and some no. But no matter what side of the existential McFlurry argument you find yourself, this my life has been as follows...
I finished up my Peace Corps service and started to work in northern China. Yellow fever. A craving for bao zi. A hankering for learning another language. It seemed like a pretty nice fit. Well, it was until I figured out that my work wasn't all it was supposed to be. I realized that my happiness was worth more than depression and money, and I know that's quite a yuppie thing to say, but I'd gladly take a pay cut in that case. I didn't mean to get sad during my time in Dalian, but I did. I felt like my employer was treating me poorly, and so, I quit, and the day I quit I felt a ton happier.
Things happen for a reason, right?
So I found myself on a plane directed at the U.S.A. I get off the plane. I have no clue what I'm doing. In fact, I was completely lost. I immediately regretted my decision of sticking it to my Chinese boss and wondered if I could go back. I mean, I still had a 1-year work visa. It could work, right? Naw, screw that. The job hunt and the call to join the workforce took hold of me. I began to apply to many Spanish teaching jobs, and I even got through to a final interview for one of them. Yet, sadly, no job offers came my way. Picture that. Returned Peace Corps Volunteer living at his dad's place trying to find a job. That was me. What was left of me after scouring the internet for job postings all day was put into researching and applying to graduate schools, which was my original plan for after China. That kept me busy for a month, but a feeling had returned to me that I hadn't felt since I had graduated college back in 2011. It was a feeling that everyone has and has to deal with when their life goes through a stark transition. Uncertainty, and it was quite scary.
But things happen for a reason.
I had grown ill of searching for jobs. You could have described me as a bum watching t.v. and playing video games in his dad's basement all day. If I were desperate for an excuse, I could give you the whole Peace Corps spiel of "I put in my karma", blah, blah, blah, but honestly I was in a slump. I knew I was going to grad school in August/September 2015, but what on God's Green Earth would keep me busy until then? A full-time job? The thought occurred, but I'm too honest, and no one would hire me if I told them I was going to graduate school in 10 months. Volunteering? No. I wanted money. Travel the world? Now that sounded more appealing, but my prospects of teaching in Korea and Brazil didn't pan out.
Back to square one: no job, no current plan, basement video games. Oh, the good life of unemployment!
Then one day my dad tells me about a possible connection with an academy down in Costa Rica. I jumped on it, made the connection calls, and soon enough I was connected with a great organization helping high school boys find their way back after going through difficult situations. Also, I told them that I was going to grad school, and the director loved it. This astounded me. Usually, when you tell an employer that you're only thinking short term, they move on to the next guy, but that was the opposite here. Also, the academy's mission seemed like exactly the thing I want to be a part of, and luckily enough within one month of contacting them, I had signed a contract. It was a dream come true. An eight-month job where I would be getting paid to mentor young men and lead awesome adventures throughout Costa Rica. Are you drooling? I sure am. So tomorrow, January 7th, I hop on a plane and fly down to San Jose. The excitement bug has taken a hold of me. Watch out! I hear it's contagious.
So back to the original statement. Do things happen for a reason? Did I get screwed over in China and disappointed by job prospects only to match up with a perfect opportunity in a gorgeous country that I've always wanted to visit? I don't know if I believe in that causality, but all I know is that's what happened. And Karma, if you can hear me, I sure hope there's still some credit in my account. Some fresh coconuts and tropical climate do sound quite good. Oh, and Karma, if you could, put one of those little umbrellas in the coconut if you could, please?
What's the next thing that will happen to me for a good reason? Tune in next time to find out. Same bat time, same bat blog.
I finished up my Peace Corps service and started to work in northern China. Yellow fever. A craving for bao zi. A hankering for learning another language. It seemed like a pretty nice fit. Well, it was until I figured out that my work wasn't all it was supposed to be. I realized that my happiness was worth more than depression and money, and I know that's quite a yuppie thing to say, but I'd gladly take a pay cut in that case. I didn't mean to get sad during my time in Dalian, but I did. I felt like my employer was treating me poorly, and so, I quit, and the day I quit I felt a ton happier.
Things happen for a reason, right?
So I found myself on a plane directed at the U.S.A. I get off the plane. I have no clue what I'm doing. In fact, I was completely lost. I immediately regretted my decision of sticking it to my Chinese boss and wondered if I could go back. I mean, I still had a 1-year work visa. It could work, right? Naw, screw that. The job hunt and the call to join the workforce took hold of me. I began to apply to many Spanish teaching jobs, and I even got through to a final interview for one of them. Yet, sadly, no job offers came my way. Picture that. Returned Peace Corps Volunteer living at his dad's place trying to find a job. That was me. What was left of me after scouring the internet for job postings all day was put into researching and applying to graduate schools, which was my original plan for after China. That kept me busy for a month, but a feeling had returned to me that I hadn't felt since I had graduated college back in 2011. It was a feeling that everyone has and has to deal with when their life goes through a stark transition. Uncertainty, and it was quite scary.
But things happen for a reason.
I had grown ill of searching for jobs. You could have described me as a bum watching t.v. and playing video games in his dad's basement all day. If I were desperate for an excuse, I could give you the whole Peace Corps spiel of "I put in my karma", blah, blah, blah, but honestly I was in a slump. I knew I was going to grad school in August/September 2015, but what on God's Green Earth would keep me busy until then? A full-time job? The thought occurred, but I'm too honest, and no one would hire me if I told them I was going to graduate school in 10 months. Volunteering? No. I wanted money. Travel the world? Now that sounded more appealing, but my prospects of teaching in Korea and Brazil didn't pan out.
Back to square one: no job, no current plan, basement video games. Oh, the good life of unemployment!
Then one day my dad tells me about a possible connection with an academy down in Costa Rica. I jumped on it, made the connection calls, and soon enough I was connected with a great organization helping high school boys find their way back after going through difficult situations. Also, I told them that I was going to grad school, and the director loved it. This astounded me. Usually, when you tell an employer that you're only thinking short term, they move on to the next guy, but that was the opposite here. Also, the academy's mission seemed like exactly the thing I want to be a part of, and luckily enough within one month of contacting them, I had signed a contract. It was a dream come true. An eight-month job where I would be getting paid to mentor young men and lead awesome adventures throughout Costa Rica. Are you drooling? I sure am. So tomorrow, January 7th, I hop on a plane and fly down to San Jose. The excitement bug has taken a hold of me. Watch out! I hear it's contagious.
So back to the original statement. Do things happen for a reason? Did I get screwed over in China and disappointed by job prospects only to match up with a perfect opportunity in a gorgeous country that I've always wanted to visit? I don't know if I believe in that causality, but all I know is that's what happened. And Karma, if you can hear me, I sure hope there's still some credit in my account. Some fresh coconuts and tropical climate do sound quite good. Oh, and Karma, if you could, put one of those little umbrellas in the coconut if you could, please?
What's the next thing that will happen to me for a good reason? Tune in next time to find out. Same bat time, same bat blog.
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