Saturday, October 24, 2009
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Festival del Luz
(Costa Rica Day 109)
Unfortunately, going to climb Mt. Chirripo did not pan out, the people I was suppose to go with ended up having conflicting engagements...and well maybe its for the best, since the chest congestion form the cold I currently have would have probably made it pretty hard for me to hike up a mountain.
So instead, Cinzia and I decided to head to San Jose to catch the Festival of Lights and also allow me to do some Christmas shopping etc, before I went back to Canada.
Over lunch Cinzia was telling me how she was always tired when she went into the city, having grown up in a small town in Switzerland, because there was so much going on at once. It reminded me of a song I learned as a kid about a busy city (I think London in the original song) . So being sick and with nothing better to do I decided to describe my time at the festival yesterday by adapting the words to the song, which I included bellow.
Fan mail can be posted as comments to this post. =)
Hark! To the street cries in the noisy city...
Louder and louder they fall upon the ear...
Right this way, sir, I’ve a taxi
Stools, popcorn, sweets and lights.
Here’s a stick of chicken, the street BBQ kind.
Bring out your cameras!
Here’s your ice cream!
Thief! Thief! Thief!
La Nacion, we advertise
8 o’clock in...
Hats.
Police! Police! Police! Police!
Will the parade start?!
Tickets! Tickets!
Umbrellas.
Can you tell me, sir, when the 6 o’clock parade starts?
Senor Cruz your kids,
I dropped my purse
Hurry up!
Unfortunately, going to climb Mt. Chirripo did not pan out, the people I was suppose to go with ended up having conflicting engagements...and well maybe its for the best, since the chest congestion form the cold I currently have would have probably made it pretty hard for me to hike up a mountain.
So instead, Cinzia and I decided to head to San Jose to catch the Festival of Lights and also allow me to do some Christmas shopping etc, before I went back to Canada.
Over lunch Cinzia was telling me how she was always tired when she went into the city, having grown up in a small town in Switzerland, because there was so much going on at once. It reminded me of a song I learned as a kid about a busy city (I think London in the original song) . So being sick and with nothing better to do I decided to describe my time at the festival yesterday by adapting the words to the song, which I included bellow.
Fan mail can be posted as comments to this post. =)
Hark! To the street cries in the noisy city...
Louder and louder they fall upon the ear...
Right this way, sir, I’ve a taxi
Stools, popcorn, sweets and lights.
Here’s a stick of chicken, the street BBQ kind.
Bring out your cameras!
Here’s your ice cream!
Thief! Thief! Thief!
La Nacion, we advertise
8 o’clock in...
Hats.
Police! Police! Police! Police!
Will the parade start?!
Tickets! Tickets!
Umbrellas.
Can you tell me, sir, when the 6 o’clock parade starts?
Senor Cruz your kids,
I dropped my purse
Hurry up!
Tica time...and meetings...
So after sitting through one painful meeting learning a new definition for human rights, showing up for another meeeting that no one else showed up to despite reassuring me that it was still occuring, two months, repeated and rejected offers to prepare materials if the ‘team’ was busy, hours of research after work on the internet, and a day with nothing more to at my placement than make Oragami; the ‘Human Rights’ full day workshop was shortened into an hour an a half session planned at 4:30 pm the night before, done in front of 7 MUSADE staff and only 2 actual community women and content wise went into less detail than the general overview given at the support group the women first enter at MUSADE.
No....I’m not bitter at all. (...sense the sarcasm)
No....I’m not bitter at all. (...sense the sarcasm)
December 6
(Costa Rica Day 102)
3 birthdays, 1 wedding anniversary, and 22 years of MUSADE.
So I made it through the surprisingly short family birthday party they had Pavlo on Friday. I say it that way only because I was quite anxious before hand of going to a party that other than me (Mari was in San Jose) would be only family, 30 family members to be exact. Family parties at my house consist of four people, when we were younger maybe 8 or 9.
Everyone was nice of course, and I ended up speaking most of the time with one of the female cousins who was in the process of going through medical school, and helpingAlex and his sister play this game that basically lets your shoot and blow up your computer screen with Enid’s laptop.
After the cake was cut, people seemed to disperse rather quickly, I guess with a family as large as that living in the same city, there are a lot of oppurtunities to see each other.
The next day started fairly early, as I went to MUSADE to help set up for the day of festivites, celebrating 22 years that MUSADE has existed within the community. Was amazed and a little worried at how quickly I was put in control of the ‘technology’ in addition to photography. (It’s amazing how knowing the difference between an input slot and an output slot impresses people...although to be fair I did also figure out that the cordless microphone wasn’t working because it needed new batteries...yay 6 years of post-secondary education!)
The day progressed from there, with ice breakers, breakfast, then poems and people talking about their time at MUSADE, and by lunch the main room was packed, there must have been over 50 people present. I was impressed with the turn out.
Many people shed tears as they spoke about either what MUSADE meant to them or how the organization had helped them, but I think the speech that actually moved me and the one I can most believe was actually genuine, was the one given by the old doctor who first considered MUSADE a viable enough option to invest some of the hospital resources into the community venture. I’d met the doctor before when he had come by Enid’s place for lunch one time, but hadn’t had a chance to really get his story then. It was great how you could still here the passion in his voice when he talked about importance of community based work.
What followed was a long line of recognitions and plaques, everyone who in anyway volunteered or worked at MUSADE got one. It took a while. But finally we got to the concert that Mari and her group were going to perform and one of the reasons why I did not want to be the technical specialist. The microphone did not have a stand so someone had to practically stand in front of the guitarist holding it, and even then it did not really pick up the sound. They ended up deciding against the microphone in the end.
The concert was well received and people especially enjoyed the Christmas song at the end. But finally it was time to cut the cake.
After everyone had eaten a slice, Enid declared that the main part of the party was over, but that they had karaoke and that of course the party was not really over until the last person left. I decided that this was my cue to relinquish my technical and photographical duties and head downstairs to check my e-mail.
After 30 minutes, hearing most of the party guests head out I figured it was probably safe enough to go upstairs and help clean up. About half way up I heard it, it was a raspy, too loud at times strained singing. I thoguht to myself that the doctor (who is 98 by the way) had decided to get in on the karaoke, and that was pretty cool. I was wrong, the individual singing was one of the middle aged women who was a member of the Board of Directors at MUSADE, and she was belting out what had originally been a soft romantic ballad by a Chilean artist.
Diena, bless her, chose that moment to come up to me and tell me that I had been there long enough and that they didn’t need my help cleaning up. I thanked her, grabbed my things and rant out of there, the opening strings of Livin’ La Vida Loca chasing after me.
3 birthdays, 1 wedding anniversary, and 22 years of MUSADE.
So I made it through the surprisingly short family birthday party they had Pavlo on Friday. I say it that way only because I was quite anxious before hand of going to a party that other than me (Mari was in San Jose) would be only family, 30 family members to be exact. Family parties at my house consist of four people, when we were younger maybe 8 or 9.
Everyone was nice of course, and I ended up speaking most of the time with one of the female cousins who was in the process of going through medical school, and helpingAlex and his sister play this game that basically lets your shoot and blow up your computer screen with Enid’s laptop.
After the cake was cut, people seemed to disperse rather quickly, I guess with a family as large as that living in the same city, there are a lot of oppurtunities to see each other.
The next day started fairly early, as I went to MUSADE to help set up for the day of festivites, celebrating 22 years that MUSADE has existed within the community. Was amazed and a little worried at how quickly I was put in control of the ‘technology’ in addition to photography. (It’s amazing how knowing the difference between an input slot and an output slot impresses people...although to be fair I did also figure out that the cordless microphone wasn’t working because it needed new batteries...yay 6 years of post-secondary education!)
The day progressed from there, with ice breakers, breakfast, then poems and people talking about their time at MUSADE, and by lunch the main room was packed, there must have been over 50 people present. I was impressed with the turn out.
Many people shed tears as they spoke about either what MUSADE meant to them or how the organization had helped them, but I think the speech that actually moved me and the one I can most believe was actually genuine, was the one given by the old doctor who first considered MUSADE a viable enough option to invest some of the hospital resources into the community venture. I’d met the doctor before when he had come by Enid’s place for lunch one time, but hadn’t had a chance to really get his story then. It was great how you could still here the passion in his voice when he talked about importance of community based work.
What followed was a long line of recognitions and plaques, everyone who in anyway volunteered or worked at MUSADE got one. It took a while. But finally we got to the concert that Mari and her group were going to perform and one of the reasons why I did not want to be the technical specialist. The microphone did not have a stand so someone had to practically stand in front of the guitarist holding it, and even then it did not really pick up the sound. They ended up deciding against the microphone in the end.
The concert was well received and people especially enjoyed the Christmas song at the end. But finally it was time to cut the cake.
After everyone had eaten a slice, Enid declared that the main part of the party was over, but that they had karaoke and that of course the party was not really over until the last person left. I decided that this was my cue to relinquish my technical and photographical duties and head downstairs to check my e-mail.
After 30 minutes, hearing most of the party guests head out I figured it was probably safe enough to go upstairs and help clean up. About half way up I heard it, it was a raspy, too loud at times strained singing. I thoguht to myself that the doctor (who is 98 by the way) had decided to get in on the karaoke, and that was pretty cool. I was wrong, the individual singing was one of the middle aged women who was a member of the Board of Directors at MUSADE, and she was belting out what had originally been a soft romantic ballad by a Chilean artist.
Diena, bless her, chose that moment to come up to me and tell me that I had been there long enough and that they didn’t need my help cleaning up. I thanked her, grabbed my things and rant out of there, the opening strings of Livin’ La Vida Loca chasing after me.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Stealing...
Stealing in realife seems to be more of a fluid concept that story book morals would leave one to believe. Let me know what you think of the following examples, I have encountered recently. I will say that these cases are not necessarily about me, but they are all true.
Case example number 1, would you consider it stealing or a culture of sharing when you buy a tub of Hagen Das ice cream, put your name on it to have on a special occasion, put it in the freezer and come back in a couple days only to find out it had been completely eaten and have the culprit thank-you for it. To complicate the matters you happen to have been paying room and board in this person’s house for nearly 2 years and as such eating their food.
Case example number 2, you are living amoung a family, have a bag of cookies that were given to you by a friend, unopened in your bedroom, which you leave the door locked, a week later you find that bag of cookies open. In addition, you and another housemate find sweaters missing, not the first time, but this time the housekeeper and you find them in the room of the daughter of the house, including a sweater you had ‘lost’ so long ago you had nearly forgotten about it. Family members share belongings, and you would have certainly lent them had you been asked....so it this simply a case of borowing, the way an annoying younger sibling would?
Case example number 3, you are traveling in Nicaragua with your volunteer organization and onyour first day there, eating in a restaurant, you bag, containing your passport, credit cards, money, debit card, camera and ipod is stolen by someone you only catch a glimpse of as he runs off the terrace. Based on size and shape you figure it was a teenage boy, who had been wearing very old and worn clothing. Stealing? ... or doing what is necessary to survive when you have few other options?
Case example number 4, you are an international volunteer working in Costa Rica, your desk is on the upstairs floor along with two other international volunteers, you three are the regulars in that work space, although other coworkers within the organization to occasionally use the computer in the same area. One by one each of you, the three international volunteers, have lost atleast 10, 000 colones ($20), at some point in the last month at work, you specifically have 30, 000, no one else seems to have been hit, and the area is not one where outsiders of the organization would visit. The thefts had occured over five seperate occasions. Is this stealing, or is this balancing the economic inbalance that exists between Costa Rica and other richer nations?
Case example number 1, would you consider it stealing or a culture of sharing when you buy a tub of Hagen Das ice cream, put your name on it to have on a special occasion, put it in the freezer and come back in a couple days only to find out it had been completely eaten and have the culprit thank-you for it. To complicate the matters you happen to have been paying room and board in this person’s house for nearly 2 years and as such eating their food.
Case example number 2, you are living amoung a family, have a bag of cookies that were given to you by a friend, unopened in your bedroom, which you leave the door locked, a week later you find that bag of cookies open. In addition, you and another housemate find sweaters missing, not the first time, but this time the housekeeper and you find them in the room of the daughter of the house, including a sweater you had ‘lost’ so long ago you had nearly forgotten about it. Family members share belongings, and you would have certainly lent them had you been asked....so it this simply a case of borowing, the way an annoying younger sibling would?
Case example number 3, you are traveling in Nicaragua with your volunteer organization and onyour first day there, eating in a restaurant, you bag, containing your passport, credit cards, money, debit card, camera and ipod is stolen by someone you only catch a glimpse of as he runs off the terrace. Based on size and shape you figure it was a teenage boy, who had been wearing very old and worn clothing. Stealing? ... or doing what is necessary to survive when you have few other options?
Case example number 4, you are an international volunteer working in Costa Rica, your desk is on the upstairs floor along with two other international volunteers, you three are the regulars in that work space, although other coworkers within the organization to occasionally use the computer in the same area. One by one each of you, the three international volunteers, have lost atleast 10, 000 colones ($20), at some point in the last month at work, you specifically have 30, 000, no one else seems to have been hit, and the area is not one where outsiders of the organization would visit. The thefts had occured over five seperate occasions. Is this stealing, or is this balancing the economic inbalance that exists between Costa Rica and other richer nations?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Nicaragua Day 9 – Relaxing and back to reality
(Costa RIca Day 63)
Today we split up. None of us were actually interested in sightseeing around Managua again before our bus back to Nicaragua, it wasn’t the last memory we wanted of Nicaragua. So, while Mari and Hiro decided to bus back to the market in Masaya to do some more souvenir shopping, I decided to just spend the morning at the hotel, enjoying the hot shower, writing and maybe seeing what was on T.V.
The shower was amazing. After I ended up watching Robin Hood Prince of thieves and starting my entries for this blog.
Maria And Hiro got back, just after our 11 am check out time, carrying large bags full of wooden bowls, containers, a hanging decoration and all sorts of other made for tourist artisan goodies.
They packed, we checked out and got to the bus station in time for our bus at noon.
Our movie selections started off with “The Devil Wears Prada,” and “Awake” both of which had the sound turned down very low and I watched with Spanish subtitles. The translations were almost completely correct. The third movie was a dubbed version of Mystic River, and which turned out not to be any more exciting in Spanish than it was in English.
About 7 hours into the trip, Mari and I started getting antsy, looking out into the dark landscape trying to see signs of something we recognized. The trip up had only been 6 and a half hours and that was with a much longer stop over at the border. I managed to catch a sign that read 44 km to Puntaranues, which is about 50 km outside of San Ramon.
We still have a long way to go.
We arrived at the mall at the edge of San Ramon at 9:30 pm. So excited to be off the bus that we couldn’t be sad about our vacation ending. Got home and just managed to unpack my toothbrush and throw clothes in the hamper before passing out.
Today we split up. None of us were actually interested in sightseeing around Managua again before our bus back to Nicaragua, it wasn’t the last memory we wanted of Nicaragua. So, while Mari and Hiro decided to bus back to the market in Masaya to do some more souvenir shopping, I decided to just spend the morning at the hotel, enjoying the hot shower, writing and maybe seeing what was on T.V.
The shower was amazing. After I ended up watching Robin Hood Prince of thieves and starting my entries for this blog.
Maria And Hiro got back, just after our 11 am check out time, carrying large bags full of wooden bowls, containers, a hanging decoration and all sorts of other made for tourist artisan goodies.
They packed, we checked out and got to the bus station in time for our bus at noon.
Our movie selections started off with “The Devil Wears Prada,” and “Awake” both of which had the sound turned down very low and I watched with Spanish subtitles. The translations were almost completely correct. The third movie was a dubbed version of Mystic River, and which turned out not to be any more exciting in Spanish than it was in English.
About 7 hours into the trip, Mari and I started getting antsy, looking out into the dark landscape trying to see signs of something we recognized. The trip up had only been 6 and a half hours and that was with a much longer stop over at the border. I managed to catch a sign that read 44 km to Puntaranues, which is about 50 km outside of San Ramon.
We still have a long way to go.
We arrived at the mall at the edge of San Ramon at 9:30 pm. So excited to be off the bus that we couldn’t be sad about our vacation ending. Got home and just managed to unpack my toothbrush and throw clothes in the hamper before passing out.
Nicaragua Day 8 – Leon Viejo, Leon sorta
(Costa RIca Day 62)
With great regret we left Big Corn Island early this morning to catch our flight back to Managua. The plane ride was dun, since the plane was small, a 20 seater at most, and we were able to see into the cockpit. I won’t pretend I knew what all the semi-shinny gadgets did, but they were fun to watch. We had already decided though that we would spend our day in Leon, rather than Managua and ran out of our hotel in Managua almost as quickly as we arrived.
The trick was, which Leon would we visit? The original Leon had been left in ruins after an earthquake some 500 years ago, and the new Leon, which stood today was built some 20 km to the west. Although we were really interested in seeing the excavation and reconstruction of Old Leon, we didn’t think we could get there without taxi and did not want to spend the money.
So we were quite ecstatic when we arrived in Leon to find out that there was a bus that the driver said drove right by the entrance to Old Leon. He said it was less than an hour away. Excited we got on, with that kind of timing we would be able to see both cities.
We had forgotten about Murphy, and the fact that not all people were like the people we had met on the island. Turned out “right in front of the entrance” meant about in front of a 7km road that led to where Old Leon lay. We knew something was wrong when the bus zoomed away as soon as we got off.
The group of men painting lines on the road got a good laugh when we asked them where Old Leon was and they pointed down the road telling us it was 7 km in that direction. Our faces must have been quite comical. Luckily one of them took pitty on us and offered to drive us there for what amounted to $6. We agreed, since the bus that would actually go by, wouldn’t arrive for another hour.
Old Leon itself, turned out to be pretty, an excellent spot for a picnic if one had the time, but unfortunately by the time we got there we only had an hour before we had to catch the bus heading back. We did get to see the ruins and an amazing view of the volcano that had caused the rumbling that had toppled the town. Unlike Arenal, you could see the purple and red tinted soil on this volcano.
We headed back into the town, which I swear could have been out of an old western movie and caught the converted school bus, which would take us back to La Paz where we could catch a bus to Leon. When we got to Leon it was already 5:00 pm, we were starving because we hadn’t eaten, and a little put off that we had not been able to get as much out of the day as we had wanted.
We bought the Nicaragua equivalent of a chicken pita from a street vendor, it was absolutely delicious, and made our way to the main square, hoping to at least get to see the cathedral. We did get to see the cathedral, but arrived just in time to watch them close the doors for the day. I guess we were too late to see inside.
So in case someone if keeping score, it takes a full 3 hours to go the 20 km between Leon and Old Leon by bus. Turns out there was a reason why Lonely Planet had taxi written down as the only mode of transportation between the two. We resolved to find the nearest hole in Managua and bury Murphy in it before we returned to Costa Rica.
With great regret we left Big Corn Island early this morning to catch our flight back to Managua. The plane ride was dun, since the plane was small, a 20 seater at most, and we were able to see into the cockpit. I won’t pretend I knew what all the semi-shinny gadgets did, but they were fun to watch. We had already decided though that we would spend our day in Leon, rather than Managua and ran out of our hotel in Managua almost as quickly as we arrived.
The trick was, which Leon would we visit? The original Leon had been left in ruins after an earthquake some 500 years ago, and the new Leon, which stood today was built some 20 km to the west. Although we were really interested in seeing the excavation and reconstruction of Old Leon, we didn’t think we could get there without taxi and did not want to spend the money.
So we were quite ecstatic when we arrived in Leon to find out that there was a bus that the driver said drove right by the entrance to Old Leon. He said it was less than an hour away. Excited we got on, with that kind of timing we would be able to see both cities.
We had forgotten about Murphy, and the fact that not all people were like the people we had met on the island. Turned out “right in front of the entrance” meant about in front of a 7km road that led to where Old Leon lay. We knew something was wrong when the bus zoomed away as soon as we got off.
The group of men painting lines on the road got a good laugh when we asked them where Old Leon was and they pointed down the road telling us it was 7 km in that direction. Our faces must have been quite comical. Luckily one of them took pitty on us and offered to drive us there for what amounted to $6. We agreed, since the bus that would actually go by, wouldn’t arrive for another hour.
Old Leon itself, turned out to be pretty, an excellent spot for a picnic if one had the time, but unfortunately by the time we got there we only had an hour before we had to catch the bus heading back. We did get to see the ruins and an amazing view of the volcano that had caused the rumbling that had toppled the town. Unlike Arenal, you could see the purple and red tinted soil on this volcano.
We headed back into the town, which I swear could have been out of an old western movie and caught the converted school bus, which would take us back to La Paz where we could catch a bus to Leon. When we got to Leon it was already 5:00 pm, we were starving because we hadn’t eaten, and a little put off that we had not been able to get as much out of the day as we had wanted.
We bought the Nicaragua equivalent of a chicken pita from a street vendor, it was absolutely delicious, and made our way to the main square, hoping to at least get to see the cathedral. We did get to see the cathedral, but arrived just in time to watch them close the doors for the day. I guess we were too late to see inside.
So in case someone if keeping score, it takes a full 3 hours to go the 20 km between Leon and Old Leon by bus. Turns out there was a reason why Lonely Planet had taxi written down as the only mode of transportation between the two. We resolved to find the nearest hole in Managua and bury Murphy in it before we returned to Costa Rica.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)