Costa Rican Culture Shock: Cover Your Ears

Everyone’s stereo has its own groove. Culture is the same way. From headbanger to salsa, enjoy sound bites of daily life as heard by a prairie girl in small town Costa Rica.

Some like it loud.

Toucans and macaws fly the friendly skies here in the tropics. Their unique calls sound for miles, but they’ve got nothing on the people. Local eardrums must be made of sterner stuff. Be it church worship or vendor trucks that loudspeaker their way through the neighborhoods, volume is set high. Fun and resonance just go together. Every grocery store promo has musical hoopla. When your neighbor rents a karaoke machine for their backyard party, earplugs and fan noise are your best friends. Or if you’re keen, go over and join them.

Curbside delivery available.

About those bullhorn trucks: it was a glorious day when our ears first caught the muffled words of the jingle we’d heard for weeks. “Eggs, big and fresh!” was so catchy it became a family joke.

While not always easy to understand, the assorted ding ding men are convenient. Many people rely on feet and public transportation to get around. From my front gate, I have options to buy fruits & vegetables, nursery plants, tamales, get rid of scrap metal, donate to charity, change my political leanings, and hear the latest toy store Christmas sale.

My all time favorite, though, has to be the broom man. With his own voice and a loaded shoulder, he walks the block singing out, es-CO-bahs. That sounds so much cooler than brooms, you have to admit.

No mail for you.

One thing that never comes your way: mail. Sure, we get junk flyers tucked into our gate now and then, but no correspondence or bills to the house. There is a postal service. You can rent a P.O. box and do your own pickup. Why don’t they deliver? One reason is address. As in, we don’t have one. In language school we filled out government forms with something like: 150 meters south of the school, blue house with the green gate. Even in the middle of the big city, things can still feel down-home country.

If you never get paper bills, how do you know what you owe? You go online or to a store with your ID to check and make payments. Fast shut off for no-pay is a great motivator for personal responsibility.

One new arrival’s learning curve went like this: Each morning he looked at his gate for bill slips. Cable adverts showed up, utility statements did not. Water went out. That’s normal here, right? Power went out. Interesting. After a bit of this double deficiency, he asked the neighbors how they were coping. What? Did you pay your bills? What bills? Go to the liquor store on the corner and pay them. How much? Don’t worry, the lady at the checkout will tell you. It sounds crazy but works pretty well and saves trees to boot.

Mini Marts Everywhere.

Since many families do life without a car, little convenience stores called pulperías dot the neighborhoods. All the basics within walking distance makes life easier. An old story plays out the day of a mama Tica going out in the morning to buy an egg for breakfast, then back out in the sunshine to get an egg for lunch, and later stopping in for the egg for supper. Small houses, invasive critters, and preference for fresh cooked meals sway people away from big pantry stock ups. Temps never get cold enough to keep you indoors, either.

I’m still a big fan of the big chill, though. I joke with ladies about my batch cooking/freezer meal strategy. They shake their heads and smile. Poor gringos. My family seems well-fed, so they don’t worry about us too much. I took a sliced, frozen loaf of banana bread to a neighbor once, stretching my vocabulary to explain slice-by-slice versus whole-loaf thawing. New territory for both of us: me with words, her with an ice block on the counter. The next day she raved how it tasted delicious after being *eyes wide* frozen.

My shelves tend towards apocalypse-prep abundance, but I’m told stores do an excellent job of keeping food handy until you need it. Every week’s shopping pivots around the community farmer’s market. Plantains, avocados, pineapple, and mangoes: the tropics do them right. The best prices and selection of all things fresh draw crowds all morning. Bakeries are also popular; family kitchens and recipes run to stove tops rather than ovens. Bread with sour cream makes a nice addition to afternoon cafecito, so baguette loaves parade the sidewalk for the traditional “little coffee” break. Whatever time of the day you like it, locally grown coffee is a mountaintop highlight.

One of my favorite Costa Ricans recently moved to Florida. She vetted this series for things lost in translation or needed to complete the picture. Her verdict: “This makes me miss home. I’d kill for a pulpería.”

It’s no shock that life is different in the land of pura vida. Whether you put in earplugs or sing along, buy only for today or pack the cupboards, Costa Rica is a great place to live a soundtrack with the ones you love.

Catch the rest of the Culture Shock experience in this three-part series: Up Close and Personal & Talking Trash.

What does “home” look like for you? What do you miss most when you travel? Share your favorite stories and tips in the comments.

Macaws Photo by Alan Godfrey on Unsplash

Costa Rican Culture Shock: Talking Trash

Culture quirks. Everyone has some, whether on a personal or national scale. Do you squeeze the toothpaste in the middle or from the bottom? Does the roll go in front or behind the end of the bath tissue? Talking today about some local flavor we experience as expats living in small town Costa Rica.

Bathroom humor.

Allow me to get this out in the open. We don’t flush any sort of paper products here. None. It all goes in the waste basket next to the toilet. Plumbing aperture and septic systems set the law of the land. But if you do forget, don’t go after it. This is not a hill we die on.

However, when you travel back to the states after learning the rhythm, you are going to look around “holding the bag” in a lot in restrooms during re-entry. Enjoy the naughty glee when you remember you can do the drop.

It’s a dirty job.

Trash: we all have some. Especially those of us who can’t flush the Charmin. A block-wide barking chorus hales the 3x/week pass of the garbage truck. Maybe dogs think the scruffy workers are thieves on the prowl. Humans are grateful the bags of junk depart quickly to a better place.

A word of warning: canines are so earth-friendly, they sniff out stuff that’s “still perfectly good” in the elevated trash baskets. They recycle it for you—puppy piñata fashion. All you have to do is pick up the scattered carnage the next morning. What could be more helpful?

Getting there.

Roads here are both man’s best friend and white knuckle events. Highways span mountains and rivers to coastline and cloud forest, enabling tourism to carry the economy in a big way. Swurvy, scenic routes introduced this girl from the land of flat, square grids to her first taste of stop-the-car sickness. The obstacle course of pedestrians, traffic as close as latin air kisses, and weaving motorcycles, make driving practically a full contact sport. Whatever the destination, you are paying attention. Narrow gravel and asphalt tracks without shoulders keep you on high alert.

Before smartphones hit the scene with GPS anointing, our family traveled by map and faith. We watched the stores on the roadside, often named by town, to see if we had struck the right road. It went like this: guess the correct turn. Look up the next few towns on the map and chant the unfamiliar words to keep them in your head. Scan the businesses as you enter each town for a Ferretería (hardware store) Lindora or a Soda (diner) San Mateo.

Now the Waze app gives directions without having to stop and ask, with a side of humor when the pronunciation software goes bilingual. Ticos probably feel the same about my Spanish.

As involved as driving is here, I have it on authority that locals like it that way. A friendly Costa Rican in line at the airport told me about his commercial transport career. Twists and turns are interesting. Driving in the Midwest was Novocain to his brain. To every interstate system, a time and fan base under heaven.

So no need to talk trash about the land of Pura Vida. If you forget the pickup schedule, don’t worry. The dogs will let you know.

Be sure to catch last week’s culture shock debut: Up Close and Personal, and stay tuned for next week’s wrap up: Cover Your Ears.

What culture quirks do you prefer? What has bumped you? We’d love to start a conversation.

Bottle on the Beach Photo by Scott Van Hoy on Unsplash

Costa Rican Culture Shock: Up Close and Personal

Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home.” She’s right, but each nest has its own charm. Mission life is an opportunity to get cozy in many places. As we hug friends back in the prairie over the next few days, it’s a great time to share some cultural quirks of living in small town Costa Rica. You won’t even need your passport.

Hello is an art form.

Once you adapt, you may never go back. Here ladies greet everyone (male and female) with a slight embrace and a kiss to the air beside the cheek. Repeat, kiss to the air. You are giving the sound, not the real smooch. If you feel comfortable, go ahead and touch your cheek to theirs. It’s like the Christian side hug, but with faces.

Always go to your left, so that right cheeks are side by side. Trust me, it’s just driving in your lane. Everyone’s right cheek is common ground. Do not be tempted by any force of nature or physics to change this up. Even when it works, it’s awkward. And if one goes left and the other right, you end up in one of the few spots that bump the Latino personal space bubble. So be wise: go left.

Man-to-man hellos happen by handshake here like normal. In my opinion, girls have all the fun. For someone who once debated if hugging a non-husband, non-family male was kosher, this style of greeting has become sweet. The bit of physical touch is zero about romance and all about courtesy. Try it. You might like it.

Side note: A funny little dance happens as a gringo when you meet someone and you size each other up to see if you’re going tico-style hug or stateside handshake. Especially between two expats.

And when you travel back to the states, it’s just going to feel cold to offer the business handshake. So my apologies in advance, Nebraska peeps. I love you too much not to pull you in for a moment.

Don’t forget to ask about their day, their family, their pets, and how they are feeling. More questions means more love.

When you enter a room, plan to make the rounds greeting everyone. It’s the best way to kick off any gathering.

Near and far.

Culture here is zoomed in. People stand closer. Cars drive closer (to people and other cars). Houses are built closer, often sharing walls. Land lots on our block span about 22’ wide, so homes link together Lego-style to make the most of space. Laws delegate who owns and cares for each side based on the compass rose. Taxis zip up and down our narrow street, sometimes within arm’s length of the foot traffic. From jeans to grocery aisles, life is just lived tighter. It feels normal now.

But you can’t come right up to our front door. After 5 years here, that would freak me out. Gates and walls are everywhere, reaching to the sky, holding passersby a comfortable distance away from doors and windows. People stand and chat through their wrought iron. For good reason, everyone makes security a priority. Even warm climate culture has healthy boundaries.

So please, come say hello. Tap your keys on the gate and let’s chat. We aren’t afraid to get up close and personal in the land of pura vida.

Be sure to catch the second serving of this three part series: Talking Trash.

What’s your culture of hello? Has your personal space ever been breached? Please leave a comment and tell us your story.

Tree Frog Photo by Trevor Cole on Unsplash

Finding the Floor

We are winning the battle. The 8 days since our move to Atenas have been filled with sortie after sortie on boxes, dirt, and clutter. In a climate with windows open most of the day, even the stuff we are regularly using gets coated with grime. So, of course the things we had in storage all needed a good scrub. Add to that the “conquering instinct” within me that wants to clean each nook, corner, and shelf before any of our stuff touches down, and you have an idea of our busy week. The opposition’s one last stronghold is the office/school room. Today I will launch an offensive to neutralize the area. Every day, we take more ground, and liberate more of the floor in our house. Freedom feels good. Our nest is becoming cozy.

We’ve stormed some beaches in the ministry arena, too. Matt has led (and driven) his first two teams on their beach outing, and gotten up to speed on the children’s therapy needs in the Home this week. With three heaping carts between the two of us, we bought the groceries for the team arriving today, and packed out the car with farmer’s market produce. We laughed about me practicing yoga in the car because the sack of pineapples filled up the passenger foot room. I spent some quality time sorting the pantry in the team cabin, and got all sorts of inspiration for shopping lists organized by store aisle and price comparison expeditions. Things are going well and we are making a difference here.

We still have bumps, though. While we’ve been living in Costa Rica for over 10 months now, changing houses, cities, and assignments —all at the same time—is its own brand of culture shock. This morning, when my glasses got bent out of shape, I did, too. What was a 5 minute drive and a 5 minute fix in Omaha, is an unknown undertaking here in our new home. We got a lead on a place to try and scouted it out, but they were closed. Without a schedule posted on the door, or a phone number to call, we’ll try again next week. Hopefully, my gaze can get straightened out before our visit home in August.

We’ve come a long way. We are settling into a rhythm of where things go around the house, and how to pitch in around Hogar de Vida. The smell of baking bread has christened our kitchen. Seeing the curtains from our Nebraska house flutter in the Costa Rican breezes does something sweet in my heart. Our footsteps are beating some paths to familiar ground, but our toes are still nudging around in many areas. We treasure your friendship and prayers as we walk through this transition. There is still more floor to find.

Best of Times, Worst of Times

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” I haven’t read Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities since I cast away the polyester uniform skirt of high school, but I woke up this morning thinking about its famous opening line. Because, my dear friends, this season of language school qualifies for both monikers.

It’s the best of times. We are making lifelong friendships with incredible people who are following Jesus’ call to the nations. There’s an adventure waiting every time we step outside of our gate. What new expression will we learn? What breakthrough are we going to have in our ability to communicate? What is the Lord going to do today with the offering we are lifting up? The language and culture are opening up before us. Day by day, we grow and learn to love it more. There are small victories, like hanging a picture up on the wall to add warmth to your living space, finding great recipes for the unusual fruits and vegetables at the farmer’s market, or having an intelligible chat with a Tico neighbor. Then there’s the incredible love and support from people back in the states. Phone calls and letters that are like physical embraces. A monthly contribution statement testifying the sacrificial giving to this work that the Lord is doing through our family, like shouts of encouragement and blessing from across the miles. This experience is humbling and amazing.

It’s the worst of times. Language learning reduces doctors, teachers, and pastors alike into stuttering toddlers. All those cute mistakes our kids made in English don’t feel as amusing when we utter them in Spanish for the 40th time as well-educated grown ups. Tears spring up unlooked-for in classes from time to time. And the term “culture shock” isn’t an exaggeration. In their first week here, one family lost all their shoes set out 10 feet behind their wrought iron gate to someone’s ingenuity with a fish-hook and line. One sweetheart in the preschool is still trying to hold back the tears each morning as she lets go of her parent’s hand. We were regularly shorted change by taxi drivers until we thought to ask our teacher about the way things should work. While we are making this our home, at times everything here can feel very foreign. There are potholes to be avoided in our emotional adjustment that are just as real as those we step around on the sidewalk. And sometimes, as hard as you try to walk carefully, you twist an ankle anyway and find yourself hobbling through the week.

As the hands and feet of a community of people investing into God’s heart for the nations, we need your prayers. The increase of work involved with our 2nd trimester feels somewhat like a pressure cooker. The opportunity to expand our fluency is exciting, but the hours of effort involved in pressing through the learning process can be heavy. Several of us, our family included, are also still raising monthly support for this ministry that the Lord has called us to. We would be honored if you would consider yourself invited to join with us in a financial way. You can find our family’s giving information <here>.

It grieved my heart when our neighbors hacked their flowering bushes to the ground mid-bloom back in October. But this girl from the prairie didn’t know then, that in a month, the plants would spring back up in better shape and bloom more abundantly. As missionaries in language school, we are in a season of pruning. We press on, looking forward to the flowers and fruit that The Vine has planned for our branches.

Spirit lead me
  where my trust is without borders.
Let me walk upon the waters,
  wherever you would call me.
Take me deeper
  than my feet could ever wander,
And my faith will be made stronger
  in the presence of my savior. Hillsong United: Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)

The Good News Family

Following Jesus, Growing in Grace

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