There are a few places I call home. I’ve called Zomba home, I’ve called Seattle home, I might even head a post “Home Again” if I landed in Ireland. Heredia, Costa Rica, is one of those places for me, and that’s where I arrived today. I’m not sure how this is all going to work (the blogging, I mean) because last time I was here I did all my journal writing in Spanish, which really helped with my vocabulary and my grammar. But I just don’t see myself writing about the same stuff twice—especially since I’m still transcribing my journal entries from Africa.
When I arrived at Maria’s house, Ricardo, the driver IPED hired to pick me up, tried to tell me which door was hers. But I had been surprisingly able to orient myself in the dark, and as soon as I saw the wall to Maria’s building I knew exactly where I was. When Maria came to the gate, we both screamed and hugged for a good, long time, and then Maria began chastising me immediately, why did it take so long for me to get back? Juanca and Karla (who seems to be going by Daniela again) came out and hugged me, too. They introduced me to the new small, yappy dog, Peggy II* (Peggy I died sometime in the last 3 years), who redeemed herself slightly for being small and yappy by falling asleep cutely in my lap.
I’m in the same room as last time, although somehow there’s even more furniture in here than there was; there seems to be the same amount of open floor space, though. I’m going to do yoga tomorrow, I think, and I may have to do it on a weird diagonal to get my mat to fit. Maria said this is now her room, though, but she didn’t want me in anybody else’s house, so she’s going to stay upstairs, when Cristian and his sister used to live, for a week until another of her student rooms opens up. Which makes me feel special, both that she’d go out of her way for me, specifically, and that she trusts me in her room.
There are so many things that come flooding back to me. Maria showed me how to use the shower, and I couldn’t remember why I remember it as being difficult. It seemed easy enough, although once again I was struck by the concept of open (wrapped) wires. In a shower. So I thought, hmm, maybe it was the fear I had of touching the wires that I remember. But no, there I am, starting the shower, and I think I’ve accidentally turned the flow on too high and have tripped something or otherwise had some sort of effect I have never been able to sort out, thus rendering my shower cold. Really, I wasn’t running the shower with enough water to turn on the heater. It’s a good thing it’s in the high 70s at night here, and that I now know how to skilfully wash my hair in a cold shower without causing hypothermia.
Also, I forgot about throwing away toilet paper. As soon as I saw the little garbage can next to the toilet, I remembered. And then I couldn’t figure out how I ever forgot. But then, I still don’t remember how bad the mosquitoes are, or other daily issues. My memories are so clear on some things, and so hiding behind the curtain on others; it’s very strange.
Maria also chastised me for letting my Spanish slip. It’s funny, because we talked for about an hour, over a variety of topics, and I was just feeling pretty proud of myself for keeping up with most of the stories she was telling. I wasn’t even getting that brain-is-full exhaustion I get. But Maria (rightly) pegged that I haven’t been practicing. When I explained how Chichewa and Spanish get all tangled up, with occasionally a bit of Portuguese thrown in there for good measure, she became sympathetic and said she was sure, once I get into class, all of the Spanish that is inside will come out. I certainly hope so.
*Maria says she is skilled at driving her dogs crazy, and that’s how she likes them.
