Hola mi familia!
It's been a while, but I can guarantee that I have kept my promise. Whether it is making a financial committment to a surf board, doing a belly ride (translates to clinging to my board in utter fear) down a steep face, eating unknown fruits and food, or asking people for directions and other advice in English or Spanish (only you would understand why this is still a biggie for me), I have tried to resist resistance everyday.
Instead of going through a full list of what I did, which might sound repetitive after a while (surfed scary wave, ate something new, surfed scary wave, ate something new), I thought I would write about a few overarching lessons: the importance of investing in appropriate resources, being scared, and encountering the unknown (through food).
Lesson One: if you're going to commit to something, you have to invest in the proper resources. For years I've been loathe to do this. If I can cut costs by jerryrigging say a klenex box into a desk organizer I will. Sometimes this simply doesn't work. Case and point: buying a surf board. Let's get this straight, the save money plan did not involve a piece of plywood and some waterproof varnish. It did involve renting as opposed to buying.
Usually I'd be a big advocate of renting. Not only does renting save resources, it has potential to save you money. In this economy a few people are thinking outside of the box and placing their hardly used appliances for rent in their neighbourhood. If done right, renting can also build community.
That said sometimes it is better to buy. I have used my board almost everyday since I bought it. Owning the used 7'2" allows flexibility which is important since most of our surf sessions have been early morning and sunset surfs (before and after most business hours). Buying a board has also allowed me to have continuity. While the waves might vary from place to place, my board won't. I get to practice on a single board and focus on technique (by which I mean not getting schooled by the ocean repeatedly) instead of spending each day readjusting to the new balance of the new boards.
Just as renting has its social merits so can purchasing. This board is well used already meaning my purchase did not directly contribute to the demand for more resources. The board also came from a local shop, not some chain surf store. The money went directly to the community and not to a large corporation. In fact it came from the same shop where Ian bought his first surf board, five years ago.
All of this is well and good, but a financial upside is nice too. Not only would renting cost me more in the long run at the rate we're surfing, I would also not have the "investment" (all be it depreciating) that I do now. When I leave I can always sell the board and get some of my initial investment back.
Lesson two: Being scared helps you grow (aka no guts, no glory). Mom please refer to the photos of me on facebook where you will see me jumping off a point by the Montezuma falls. That feeling of sheer terror aptly reflected in my face at that moment is something I aspire to. If I'm not conquring a calculated risk at least once a week... Well, I should be! Calculated risks are potential points of growth. Even if I fail (as I have on many a bigger wave than I could handle) I know the experience can offer lessons for my next like endeavor. Hopefully, conquering my jellied legs and finally jumping off that point will make it easier to take the plunge, not only into pools, but on waves, and in the rest of life. I didn't die, i wasn't hurt, and I conquered a fear. This is the mentality I'm trying to bring to surfing. If it's a little beyond my reach: go for it. Rick is great at this and grows in his surfing because of it.
Lesson three: if you can't translate it and people are eating it, eat it too. Even liver and onions can turn into a good story at least.
Rick has gotten so used to my "if I don't know it I'm eating it" attitude that when he goes out to pick us up something to drink, he'll try to find the weirdest thing possible. On our stop in Nicoya enroute from the very tourist town of Samara to Nosara, Rick did a recon mission for hydration. I figured he'd pick up a piña con leche but when he returned he had two arroz y piña batidos in his hands-- rice based based smoothies with pineapple. (The consistency is kind of like melted azuki bean icecream).
On a hiking trip through Cabo Blanco National Reserve on the tip of the Nicoya Penninsula, Ian and Elisa introduced us to termites as appetizer. Termites are more like dessert actually. They taste like a mint tooth pick. (Sam, you and your friends might want to try termites in light of your affinity for chewing those eucalyptus toothpicks). Popping a bug in my mouth was not exactly on my to do list, but when would I get the chance to eat a termite again? Mom, if you're looking for a business venture maybe look into chocolate covered termites.
I can drink orange juice or cola or not eat termites when we're back in Canada. Even if something induces a similar gag reflex in me as natto does (in this case, liver) I will never know unless I try.
And that's the cincher. You never know until you try, and that's what this trip has and will continue to be about. Who knows, maybe today I'll try to turn on the face of the wave while standing instead of clinging to my board in fear. Or maybe I'll just eat something I can't translate.
Pura Vida!
- Posted using rcBlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Catching up in montezuma
2/9/10
Montezuma seared us for four days, but last night it rained. Around six a.m. Rick and I went for a quick walk in the rain. It's one of the few times rain hasn't been cold when it hit his skin. For me, it still feels chilly-- but I am chilly just about anywhere.
Last night Elisa and Ian ferried and bussed from San Jose into Montezuma. Since they don't have a phone (and since Montezuma is a one street town), the plan boiled down to "we'll find eachother". Sure enough, within five minutes of sitting at Cafe Organico (closed yesterday because of the elections) Elisa and Ian walked up.
We traded stories over dinner and imperial beer, then continued with Cuba libres (in a can!) on the starlit beach. They've spent the last three months travelling from Mexico through Central America. They have stories of scratching three-toed sloths, surfing amazing barrels, sketchy cab drivers, the works. They are a joy to be with.
Accountability:
I've promised to account for my acts of non resistance. After several acts of nonresistance when we first arrived in Montrzuma, the streak (thankfully, considering the events that precipitated the other acts) have slowed down considerably.
Day two in Montezuma:
To escape the boiling sun, we hiked to the waterfall. If you are planning a warm trip with any hiking involved, I recommend shelling out for some sturdy sandals. While slippers are comfortable and easy for me to use on most terrain, the rubber ones are useless once thy get wet. Hence the muddy patch on my surf shorts.
The first set of falls are pretty high. Even the Ticos who would do back flips from about fifty feet uperely joked about jumping the top.
I didn't do a backflip or jump from 50 feet, but I did jump from the little rock that the tourists and Ticos jumped from. That moment right before I jumped my brain pretty much calle me an idiot. There was no reason to jump, I could posibly get hurt-- and for what? A little self imposed wager? I had to look at Rick who held the camera and waved me on. Before I could think again I jumped.
I am still alive. I definitely would have regretted it if resistence got in the way. Even if you meet with resistance at first, you can overcome it. You don't have to preempt it to win.
Day three and four:
Did I mention that we wake up to breakfasting capuccin(???) monkeys in the morning? They are super cute. In the distance we can hear howler monkeys, and a few branches from our door or porch we find iguanas, bats, and squirrels! It's a good life.
On these days we resisted the urge to do everything. Beaten by the heat, we had enough energy to snorkel before a long nap, Spanish vocabulary, and some Pablo Neruda.
Sometimes i think snorkeling is an act of nonresistance. There is a part of me that would rather not know I'm swimming near the dreaded pufferfish. In a place unfamiliar to me (and where I've seen beached pufferfish) the smidgen of anxiety is hightened when I put on the mask and dive in.
The waters in the small bay were cloudy due to the waves. This does not make me feel better. It's a catch 22. On one hand I kind of don't want to know what dangerous creature I'm swimming with. On the other hand isn't it better that I know so I can get the heck out of here?
In the end the evil that is known is better dealt with than the evil that is not. To my fortune though, I saw no pufferfish-- just a school of silver fish and one fish that resembled an angel fish with the two tendrils but grey bodied and yellow fillaments.
At night, when it was cool enough to venture out we experienced the clipping pace of Montezuma night life. Hippies were juggling in the street, the restaurants were pack, and people wandered alon the road with their Imperial beers in hand.
After a rather expenisve cachaca (I'll let you know when I know what it is) drink, we hit the beach for a starlit walk. The milky way strips through the center of the sky. Directly above us stood Orion. Even though the beach is just a few meters from town, this sky is perfect for watching shooting stars. One exploded in the atmosphere over the horizon.
We are in Costa Rica
Montezuma seared us for four days, but last night it rained. Around six a.m. Rick and I went for a quick walk in the rain. It's one of the few times rain hasn't been cold when it hit his skin. For me, it still feels chilly-- but I am chilly just about anywhere.
Last night Elisa and Ian ferried and bussed from San Jose into Montezuma. Since they don't have a phone (and since Montezuma is a one street town), the plan boiled down to "we'll find eachother". Sure enough, within five minutes of sitting at Cafe Organico (closed yesterday because of the elections) Elisa and Ian walked up.
We traded stories over dinner and imperial beer, then continued with Cuba libres (in a can!) on the starlit beach. They've spent the last three months travelling from Mexico through Central America. They have stories of scratching three-toed sloths, surfing amazing barrels, sketchy cab drivers, the works. They are a joy to be with.
Accountability:
I've promised to account for my acts of non resistance. After several acts of nonresistance when we first arrived in Montrzuma, the streak (thankfully, considering the events that precipitated the other acts) have slowed down considerably.
Day two in Montezuma:
To escape the boiling sun, we hiked to the waterfall. If you are planning a warm trip with any hiking involved, I recommend shelling out for some sturdy sandals. While slippers are comfortable and easy for me to use on most terrain, the rubber ones are useless once thy get wet. Hence the muddy patch on my surf shorts.
The first set of falls are pretty high. Even the Ticos who would do back flips from about fifty feet uperely joked about jumping the top.
I didn't do a backflip or jump from 50 feet, but I did jump from the little rock that the tourists and Ticos jumped from. That moment right before I jumped my brain pretty much calle me an idiot. There was no reason to jump, I could posibly get hurt-- and for what? A little self imposed wager? I had to look at Rick who held the camera and waved me on. Before I could think again I jumped.
I am still alive. I definitely would have regretted it if resistence got in the way. Even if you meet with resistance at first, you can overcome it. You don't have to preempt it to win.
Day three and four:
Did I mention that we wake up to breakfasting capuccin(???) monkeys in the morning? They are super cute. In the distance we can hear howler monkeys, and a few branches from our door or porch we find iguanas, bats, and squirrels! It's a good life.
On these days we resisted the urge to do everything. Beaten by the heat, we had enough energy to snorkel before a long nap, Spanish vocabulary, and some Pablo Neruda.
Sometimes i think snorkeling is an act of nonresistance. There is a part of me that would rather not know I'm swimming near the dreaded pufferfish. In a place unfamiliar to me (and where I've seen beached pufferfish) the smidgen of anxiety is hightened when I put on the mask and dive in.
The waters in the small bay were cloudy due to the waves. This does not make me feel better. It's a catch 22. On one hand I kind of don't want to know what dangerous creature I'm swimming with. On the other hand isn't it better that I know so I can get the heck out of here?
In the end the evil that is known is better dealt with than the evil that is not. To my fortune though, I saw no pufferfish-- just a school of silver fish and one fish that resembled an angel fish with the two tendrils but grey bodied and yellow fillaments.
At night, when it was cool enough to venture out we experienced the clipping pace of Montezuma night life. Hippies were juggling in the street, the restaurants were pack, and people wandered alon the road with their Imperial beers in hand.
After a rather expenisve cachaca (I'll let you know when I know what it is) drink, we hit the beach for a starlit walk. The milky way strips through the center of the sky. Directly above us stood Orion. Even though the beach is just a few meters from town, this sky is perfect for watching shooting stars. One exploded in the atmosphere over the horizon.
We are in Costa Rica
Out of the city an in to...
Right now Rick is recovering from heat stroke. I'm happy to have my debit card. We're both happy to have actually made it to Montezuma. But first, a flash description of Liberia isn't complete wihout mentioning the city's park. By the time we arrived and settled in at La Riviera hotel, it was about 10pm. The park, just a couple blocks down from us, and buffetting the famous church, was quiet. It looked like any sketchy and under used park in North America.
It turns out, that when the sun goes down at it's cool enough to do something other than hide from the sun, the park is the place to be. Friends, those young and those weathered, sit on the distinct Guanacaste benches and talk. Inside the lit gazeebo, kids practice their b-boy moves. Kids with bicycles pop wheelies near the steps of the church, making way every so often for skateboarders. In the trees, Costa Rica's version of the crow (mom, I will know what exactly it is before I leave) gather and sing until they fall asleep. There is nothing dull or sketchy about this park. I actually wish our parks were used more frequently or that I used parks more often (except when it's cold and rainy).
Today we woke up at 4 am to catch the 5 am bus to Puntarenas. The scenery consists of farmland and grasslands (but then again I slept for most of the ride). This is regular public transit and I was surprised at how many people had somewhere to be so early. It seems that many people work long hours and in some cases far from their homes to make ends meet.
Midway through the drive: a crash. Little pieces of glass flew all the way to the back of the bus where I sat. The bus stopped and confused passengers pushed their head through their tiny windows. The man in the seat in front of me pulled his head back into the bus and said "un moto." Had we hit a motorcyclist? After the confusion died down it turned out that something had hit the driver's side window and shattered it. He was okay and continued driving. The motorcyclist had just witnessed the event. I still have no idea what hit the window and we made it to Puntarenas otherwise uneventfully.
Of course once we were in Puntarenas we had no idea where to go. We scrambled for directions a few times and eventually got tickets to the ferry just before the boa left. Now from Puntarenas you need to catch another bus to get to Montezuma. Rick took the lead and asked man with what looked like (and turned out to really be) some intense looking bar battle wounds. Of course this guy is a taxi driver. Of course we said yes.
His name is Dago. He certainly gives entertaining rides. He spoke Spanish and was patient as we tried to follow his stories about his bar brawl and the poor conditions of the road in Central America. Along the way he pointed out deer, a red macaw, an iguana, and the way people grow trees and use them as fence posts, but cut the tree at the knotts so it does not grow any taller. We zipped past pot hole laden roads, travelled on back roads and somehow made it to Luna Llenas. Phew!
Now the adventure begins. We dropped our bags and headed straight to town to grab a couple of boards. After all, this is why we came to Costa Rica. By now we needed to replenish our colones stash and hit an ATM. Debit cards are okay to use in Costa Rica. We rented boards from the friendly staff at Montezuma tours and set off on a 25 minute hike in 90 plus degree weather over rocks and through trails to get to Playa Grande. When we finally got there, soaked in sweat, I realized I left my debit card in the machine. Way to be the stupid tourist. Here I was so excited to see Rick's first encounter with warm ocean water. My heart sank as I trekked back, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do despite all resistance.
There's a reason why lonely planet recommends you rent from Montezuma tours. The staff called the bank who operated the ATM. They rarely come in to town and it may take them 2 to 3 days to make it to Montezuma. But as luck would have it about six other people had recently abandoned their cards in the machine as well and security was on it's way already. In abfew minutes I was reunited with my debit card. Had I resisted giving up what I wanted to do (witness Rick's first jump into warm water) and not done what was necessary (find my debit card...or a ticket back to Victoria), I might have had to wait several days to potentially get my card back.
Booking it back to Playa Grande, four howler monkeys leaped from the palm trees and near a hammock on the beach. They ran around and switched who was in the hammock.
But the highlight was seeing Rick get into warm water for the first time. He waited on shore for me, not knowing how long I might be gone, to do something he had been waiting to do for so long. His act of nonresistance was an act of resistance. At some point we should really nail down what resistance really means in light of this.
The water felt warm enough to be water from the kiddie pool. It's warmer than the water at Ala Moana beach park on O'ahu. Catching waves was no problem as the force was enough to push you forward with minimum paddling on your part.
But travelers beware. Always drink plenty of water. This is certainly our mantra from now on as mindfulness is mine as well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
It turns out, that when the sun goes down at it's cool enough to do something other than hide from the sun, the park is the place to be. Friends, those young and those weathered, sit on the distinct Guanacaste benches and talk. Inside the lit gazeebo, kids practice their b-boy moves. Kids with bicycles pop wheelies near the steps of the church, making way every so often for skateboarders. In the trees, Costa Rica's version of the crow (mom, I will know what exactly it is before I leave) gather and sing until they fall asleep. There is nothing dull or sketchy about this park. I actually wish our parks were used more frequently or that I used parks more often (except when it's cold and rainy).
Today we woke up at 4 am to catch the 5 am bus to Puntarenas. The scenery consists of farmland and grasslands (but then again I slept for most of the ride). This is regular public transit and I was surprised at how many people had somewhere to be so early. It seems that many people work long hours and in some cases far from their homes to make ends meet.
Midway through the drive: a crash. Little pieces of glass flew all the way to the back of the bus where I sat. The bus stopped and confused passengers pushed their head through their tiny windows. The man in the seat in front of me pulled his head back into the bus and said "un moto." Had we hit a motorcyclist? After the confusion died down it turned out that something had hit the driver's side window and shattered it. He was okay and continued driving. The motorcyclist had just witnessed the event. I still have no idea what hit the window and we made it to Puntarenas otherwise uneventfully.
Of course once we were in Puntarenas we had no idea where to go. We scrambled for directions a few times and eventually got tickets to the ferry just before the boa left. Now from Puntarenas you need to catch another bus to get to Montezuma. Rick took the lead and asked man with what looked like (and turned out to really be) some intense looking bar battle wounds. Of course this guy is a taxi driver. Of course we said yes.
His name is Dago. He certainly gives entertaining rides. He spoke Spanish and was patient as we tried to follow his stories about his bar brawl and the poor conditions of the road in Central America. Along the way he pointed out deer, a red macaw, an iguana, and the way people grow trees and use them as fence posts, but cut the tree at the knotts so it does not grow any taller. We zipped past pot hole laden roads, travelled on back roads and somehow made it to Luna Llenas. Phew!
Now the adventure begins. We dropped our bags and headed straight to town to grab a couple of boards. After all, this is why we came to Costa Rica. By now we needed to replenish our colones stash and hit an ATM. Debit cards are okay to use in Costa Rica. We rented boards from the friendly staff at Montezuma tours and set off on a 25 minute hike in 90 plus degree weather over rocks and through trails to get to Playa Grande. When we finally got there, soaked in sweat, I realized I left my debit card in the machine. Way to be the stupid tourist. Here I was so excited to see Rick's first encounter with warm ocean water. My heart sank as I trekked back, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do despite all resistance.
There's a reason why lonely planet recommends you rent from Montezuma tours. The staff called the bank who operated the ATM. They rarely come in to town and it may take them 2 to 3 days to make it to Montezuma. But as luck would have it about six other people had recently abandoned their cards in the machine as well and security was on it's way already. In abfew minutes I was reunited with my debit card. Had I resisted giving up what I wanted to do (witness Rick's first jump into warm water) and not done what was necessary (find my debit card...or a ticket back to Victoria), I might have had to wait several days to potentially get my card back.
Booking it back to Playa Grande, four howler monkeys leaped from the palm trees and near a hammock on the beach. They ran around and switched who was in the hammock.
But the highlight was seeing Rick get into warm water for the first time. He waited on shore for me, not knowing how long I might be gone, to do something he had been waiting to do for so long. His act of nonresistance was an act of resistance. At some point we should really nail down what resistance really means in light of this.
The water felt warm enough to be water from the kiddie pool. It's warmer than the water at Ala Moana beach park on O'ahu. Catching waves was no problem as the force was enough to push you forward with minimum paddling on your part.
But travelers beware. Always drink plenty of water. This is certainly our mantra from now on as mindfulness is mine as well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
How Playa Grande kicked my butt
Sometimes nonresistance means getting schooled. I am not a good surfer. Mediocre would be stretching it. None the less I rented a board and joined Ian (expert surfer), Elisa (proud owner of a custom made fishtail from Nicaragua), and Rick (trekked to Costa Rica specifically for the surf) along the twenty minute hike to Playa Grande. Unlike the first day when the waves were small and gave just enough push for a fun ride, four foot and six foot waves formed just beyond the first break.
While the three surfers coasted past the break, I spet most of the time paddling frantically to beat the breaking waves that just pummled me back. Five strokes forward, eight strokes back. I guess it could have been frustrating. It was certainly tirig. But it was also really fun and there was no way in heck I was going to give up. I finally made it pas the break where the others were catching some sweet rides. Rick caught a nice drop, short and steep. Elisa seemed to ride one afterthe other, and as always Ian caught some sick rides (Rick caught one on film and almost got rammed by Ian in the process).
Out there I took a pounding. Graduate schools should ask their prospective students if they have engaged in any activities between graduation and now that would impair their academic capabilities. After some good whomps on the head by waves and the board, I would have to say yes.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
While the three surfers coasted past the break, I spet most of the time paddling frantically to beat the breaking waves that just pummled me back. Five strokes forward, eight strokes back. I guess it could have been frustrating. It was certainly tirig. But it was also really fun and there was no way in heck I was going to give up. I finally made it pas the break where the others were catching some sweet rides. Rick caught a nice drop, short and steep. Elisa seemed to ride one afterthe other, and as always Ian caught some sick rides (Rick caught one on film and almost got rammed by Ian in the process).
Out there I took a pounding. Graduate schools should ask their prospective students if they have engaged in any activities between graduation and now that would impair their academic capabilities. After some good whomps on the head by waves and the board, I would have to say yes.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Pollos y Higado
El pollos, mas pollos
Begin on any corner in Liberia and walk to blocks in any direction. I can just about guarantee you will find a fast food chicken restaurant. With names like pollo loco and with such proliferation, there was no way we could say no to pollo. So for the first time we ordered in Spanish.
Okay, this isn't a big feat since I muddled throuh it. "Para mi", that much was okay. But choosing between fried and barbeque came down to pointing. The chicken isn't much better for being from Costa Rica. Fast food is fast food.
We spent most of the day exploring the city and napping with the fan on full blast inbetween our ventures. Around 1pm we asked the helpful woman at the front desk where the bus stop for Puntarenas was. Her directions set us on the right path but it was a good thing we went to scout it out first. Along the way we asked several people where we could find the bus. In Liberia, there are some streets hat seem to serve as unmarked stops. This would be unhelpful to two wayward tourists. After bumbling around with broken Spanish, we finally found the very distinct station (you know, with five buses and twenty people queing up under the covered waiting area). That's just he obvious sign we were hoping for. It sounds like the earliest bus to Puntarenas leaves at 5am. Hopefully we make it.
And now for the moment of nonresistance:
For dinner, Rick and I headed to a small sports bar (looking for anything other than chicken). Forgetting to bone up on our foods en espanol and not bringing the essential tool: a dictionary, we were left to our own critical thinking skills to decipher the menu. Imperial beer, THE beer of Costa Rica apparently, was a no brainer. Rick ordered a dish that had at least one word he knew: bisteka. I was excited by the possibility to try something totally new and surprising. I chose the item that I could not translate at all.
FYI, higado y encebollados means liver and onions.
Lesson learned: nonresistance does not mean blindly jumping all the time. Often, it's good to jump knowing something about the terrain you're about to land in, or at least about the inflight path. Other times you just don't know what's coming until your fall is miraculously cushioned by the pillows that were always there. Then again you might just land in a pile of fried liver.
Just because your blind jump didn't go as planned, you don't have to have a negative experience. I might never have tried liver and onions (and discovered that it might be even more gag-worthy than natto). The tortilla chips, salad, beer, chill, local atmosphere, and as always the company all more than made up for my translation impairment. And now I know the importance of learning this language as quickly as possible. Overthinking may be a product of an attitude of resistance to perpetuate a cycle of resistence, but thinking helps you make sound choices based firmly in knowledge. You can act without resistance without ordering liver.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Begin on any corner in Liberia and walk to blocks in any direction. I can just about guarantee you will find a fast food chicken restaurant. With names like pollo loco and with such proliferation, there was no way we could say no to pollo. So for the first time we ordered in Spanish.
Okay, this isn't a big feat since I muddled throuh it. "Para mi", that much was okay. But choosing between fried and barbeque came down to pointing. The chicken isn't much better for being from Costa Rica. Fast food is fast food.
We spent most of the day exploring the city and napping with the fan on full blast inbetween our ventures. Around 1pm we asked the helpful woman at the front desk where the bus stop for Puntarenas was. Her directions set us on the right path but it was a good thing we went to scout it out first. Along the way we asked several people where we could find the bus. In Liberia, there are some streets hat seem to serve as unmarked stops. This would be unhelpful to two wayward tourists. After bumbling around with broken Spanish, we finally found the very distinct station (you know, with five buses and twenty people queing up under the covered waiting area). That's just he obvious sign we were hoping for. It sounds like the earliest bus to Puntarenas leaves at 5am. Hopefully we make it.
And now for the moment of nonresistance:
For dinner, Rick and I headed to a small sports bar (looking for anything other than chicken). Forgetting to bone up on our foods en espanol and not bringing the essential tool: a dictionary, we were left to our own critical thinking skills to decipher the menu. Imperial beer, THE beer of Costa Rica apparently, was a no brainer. Rick ordered a dish that had at least one word he knew: bisteka. I was excited by the possibility to try something totally new and surprising. I chose the item that I could not translate at all.
FYI, higado y encebollados means liver and onions.
Lesson learned: nonresistance does not mean blindly jumping all the time. Often, it's good to jump knowing something about the terrain you're about to land in, or at least about the inflight path. Other times you just don't know what's coming until your fall is miraculously cushioned by the pillows that were always there. Then again you might just land in a pile of fried liver.
Just because your blind jump didn't go as planned, you don't have to have a negative experience. I might never have tried liver and onions (and discovered that it might be even more gag-worthy than natto). The tortilla chips, salad, beer, chill, local atmosphere, and as always the company all more than made up for my translation impairment. And now I know the importance of learning this language as quickly as possible. Overthinking may be a product of an attitude of resistance to perpetuate a cycle of resistence, but thinking helps you make sound choices based firmly in knowledge. You can act without resistance without ordering liver.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Remember to write it down first. While it's nice to pump out those words with your thumb, on the iPod with the blogger lite application, your post can be lost as quickly as you two-finger type.
Yesterday, the act of nonresistance: discovering that alligator does taste like chicken. Please accept this sentence in lieu of the lost post. Today... as we are finally sweating it out in Liberia, who knows what nonresistance will look like!
Later gators. We're off to our second morning exploration.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Yesterday, the act of nonresistance: discovering that alligator does taste like chicken. Please accept this sentence in lieu of the lost post. Today... as we are finally sweating it out in Liberia, who knows what nonresistance will look like!
Later gators. We're off to our second morning exploration.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, February 1, 2010
Pre-Trip Resistance: Just Do It.
Pre-Trip Non-Resistance: Booking a room.
My family can attest to this: I disklike the phone (thank you amygdalae). I really, really dislike making reservations. Let’s face it, I’m not a huge fan of calling people period. I also hate (yes, hate) asking people for things (like a restaurant reservation). It’s silly, but it comes from a deep sense of resistance— that fear of looking like a fool. Now add to this my very, very, very limited grasp on Spanish. The thought of calling a hostel in Liberia and booking a room in Spanish made me a little nervous.
So I did what Serteens and productivity blogs have taught me: do the hard things first. The night before, I wrote down a list of phrases I would need. (While resistance is futile, planning is not). Then, first thing in the morning-- before resistance could get in my way-- I called la Hospedaje Casa Vieja and asked the essential question: “Los siento. Habla Ingles usted?” I held my breath. Had I said it wrong? Oh, please, please let the woman say “Si!”
“No. No hablo Ingles.”
Crud.
I regurgitated the phrases gleaned from Spanish apps, podcasts, and dictionaries. Finally, after a round of “Ah, por manana?” “No. No manana. Por dos de Frebreros, por favor….” The poor woman went to find someone who spoke English. It didn’t take long, as most people outside of the US can speak a second, third, and even fourth language. I booked the reservations (hopefully for the rights days), and now can only hope the staff at la Hospedaje won’t hold this lingual ignorance against me.
Lesson:
While my Spanish turned out to be less than successful, I learned that it’s better to override the resistance and try what you are afraid of. By giving myself a limited window to second guess the decision to call, I actually made it easier to accomplish the task. It's that "don't look down" theory while climbing. Your focus on the goal helps to eliminate the first obstacle to any task: resistance. It also allows you a clear head space to plan (although in this case, not so well) so that other obstacles that might fuel resistance are better addressed. So while it was nerve wracking to call and be the dumb tourist, knowing that a room is waiting for us when we get to Liberia late in the evening is so much better than having to hunt a room down on foot, in a new city, speaking (apparently) very poor Spanish.
Score:
Katie 1 Amygdalae 0
Day One: A Promise to Resist Resistance
Resistance
Thanks to the amygdalae, these tiny but efficient clusters of neurons, most of us are necessarily resistant to possible bad outcomes. E.g. Because you remember the emotions (particularly stress) of spending the night curled on the bathroom floor after downing tequila, gin, and perhaps something else you can’t remember, you never, ever play “catch up” when you come late to a party again.
Sounds like a great feat of evolution, right?
Hi. My name is Katie and I have a resistance problem.
Instead of utilizing the benefits of resistance, I’ve let my amygdalae take the reigns in life. Because of resistance, I am an awful decision maker. I over-think choices until it’s too late to really make the most of either choice. Case in point, deciding what snack to eat is a resistance-filled experience that often goes something like this: "I don’t want to commit to any of these snacks because what if I make the wrong choice. What if that’s not really the snack I wanted. What if I actually wanted crackers? But an apple would be healthier. But I really don’t like apples all that much. But it would be healthier than crackers...." It goes on and on.
Because I remember the disappointment of making a decision (possibly food related), I refuse to make the decision and eventually leave the kitchen empty handed. Now imagine how irritating it is for friends and family to witness this process when it comes to making ACTUAL decisions.
Hence the goal:
Take back the reigns from resistance while traveling in Costa Rica for six weeks. The object is to focus on what is important, get rid of the hemming and hawing, stop stalling with the irrelevant things, make decisions, say yes, and make the most out of this opportunity(whatever this may mean).
Held Accountable:
Productivity and exercise sites recommend you make a public promise to reach your goal. As a productivity blog junkie (who’d guess), that’s exactly what this blog is. My promise to you is to win against resistance at least once a day while in Costa Rica.
While getting to a computer might not always be possible (due to the no-resistance choices I make along the way), I will update you on my anti-resistance activities and be accountable for each day by doing backlogged updates once a computer is at hand.
Thank you for reading!
Comments about travel, Costa Rica, ways you've resisted resistance are all welcome. Thank you for joining my journey!
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