My first day at work, our weekend in Turrialba, the TLC, and a ridiculously long post that took way too long to write
First days at a new job are always a little nerve-racking. New people, new places, new responsibilities. Add to that new country, new city, and new language and you've got an idea of my first day on Friday. Here's a timeline to give you juuuuuust a little better idea.
6:15 a.m. Up. I think to myself, What the hell have I gotten myself into?
6:45 a.m. Out the door, catch a ride to my friend's place. Since he works reasonably close to my new job, the plan is to catch a ride with him to his work, then catch a cab to mine.
7:45 a.m. After enduring San Jose traffic for an hour (who knew?), I'm now standing on the side of the road, trying to hail a cab. Finally, mercifully, one pulls over and I hop in.
8:00 a.m. I walk up to the office right as my two bosses (husband and wife) get out of their car. We all walk in together and jump-start the day.
8:15 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. Work, work, work. I've got two million questions about the state of the magazine and my boss is kind and patient enough to answer them. All of them. Now, you may wonder how we could get through two million questions in 75 minutes. Don't.
Anyway, as the day goes by and the rest of the staff trickles in, I struggle to grow adjust to a Costa Rican custom: kissing members of the opposite sex on the cheek to say hello (and good-bye for that matter). It was a bit strange, especially with people that I had met once, for five minutes, a few days ago. I guess I'll get used to it.
9:40 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. My boss and I leave for a meeting that I didn't know about the night before at our client's office. We're there to go over the cover shot for the current issue. The entire meeting is conducted in Spanish. Whew.
11:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Wrapping up odds and ends and then kissing everyone good-bye (except for the guys).
12:30 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. This 90 minutes is spend on my commute home. First, I catch a bus from the office to downtown San Jose (40 minutes). I walk from there for about 10 blocks to the other bus stop (20 minutes). Finally, I catch the bus back to our barrio and walk the last block home (30 minutes). That's fun.
2:00 p.m. to 4:15 p.m. Internet research to find a suitable place to learn Spanish. I also have to pack for the weekend, because, did I mention, Heather and I are going to Turrialba to chill with the family who owns the house we rent. Oh, and my company is having a dinner tonight all the way across town at a posh Brazilian restaurant. Too bad it's pouring outside and I have exactly zero colones in my wallet.
4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m. I set out on foot to the local ATM. By the time I get there, my pants are soaked half way to my knees. Smart. I catch a cab the rest of the way. For the first 15 minutes, I have the honor of listening to the driver berate his son over the phone. I can't believe the son's insolence either!
5:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. Getting to know the crew. Wine, drinks, stories, and jokes are shared. Pictures are taken. Fun is had. Almost all in Spanish. Is it me, or am I getting just a little better at this language?
8:05 p.m. Regrettably, I'm the first one to leave. Gotta get back to the house, meet up with Heather, and catch the bus to Cartago (where we're meeting our host family to drive to Turrialba). On the way back, me and the taxi driver talk about music, politics, the United States--I don't think we stopped talking the whole way. Is it me, or am I getting just a little better at this language?
9:00 p.m. to 10:45 p.m. On the bus to Cartago. We're 20 minutes late (my fault, of course), but we find the family near the bustop and head for Turrialba. I fall asleep on the drive, exhausted from my day. Little did I know at the time that Saturday would be just as tiring, though for completely different reasons.
SATURDAY
Saturday is now officially known as "The Great Adventure," though I like to think of it as "The Day I Was Sure I Was Going To Die." It all started innocently enough, a little breakfast at the house and the a short ride up to check out Volcan Turriable. Except apparently, Mother Nature (and Costa Rican infrastructure) didn't see things that way. After driving for about 20 minutes, we said good-bye to paved roads and hello to major problems.
To say that the road up to the volcano was the worst road I've ever been on would be an understatement. And as if bouncing our way up the mountain at 10 mph wasn't bad enough, it was at this point that the gods decided to reward us with some rain. At first, I didn't think anything of it, but as we passed 6,000 ft., I realized that the road was worsening and the car struggling. A few minutes later, we were stuck. Every time we tried to go forward, we slid backwards. Backwards, as in, towards the edge of the road, as in plummeting to our certain death backwards.
Now, when I woke up that day, death wasn't really on my menu, so I was going to do whatever I could to avoid it. Which led me to this: Getting out of the car, putting rocks behind the back tires, and pushing as the car slowly made its way uphill. If we got a good burst forward, I would have to run after the car, up the hill, at 6,000 ft., in the freezing rain, holding huge rocks, to put them behind the tires when we stalled again. After trying this method for about 20 minutes, with some success, we had all finally had enough. We parked the car and hiked the rest of the way to the crater. Where one of our umbrellas promptly broke from the wind. But the crater was cool, we got some good pictures (on their way, I promise), and we'll always have a good story to tell.
The drive back down was uneventful, as was the rest of our time in Turrialba. On Sunday, we visited the oldest archeological site in Costa Rica and then took the bus back in the afternoon. My plan for Sunday night: catch up on all the football I missed, watch the Sunday night game, get to bed early. Let's just say I was 0 for 3. When we got home our internet was out, it turned out that there was no Sunday night game, and I had to say up late to watch the local Denver newscast just to find out if the Broncos had won, which, of course, they had.
All that and it was back to work on Monday. I've been putting in eight-hour days so far for this "part-time" job, but I ain't complaining. The next issue of the magazine is really coming together, even though it's not published until February. I had two meetings yesterday, on different sides of town, one in English, the other in Spanish, and everything would've gone as planned if not for the protests. The massive street protests. Let me explain.
The good people of this country decided Monday and Tuesday would be a good time to take to the streets to protest the potential approval of CAFTA (known down here as the TLC). Roads were shut down, offices closed, and slogans chanted. Public support for the TLC is actually right about 50/50, but it was cool to see people who care about the future of their country making their voices heard. Of course, that didn't help me get to my second meeting on time, but the dude didn't seem to mind. He offered me some fruit, we looked through his slides, and he fell asleep with me in his office. Ah yes, living the good life in Costa Rica.
6:15 a.m. Up. I think to myself, What the hell have I gotten myself into?
6:45 a.m. Out the door, catch a ride to my friend's place. Since he works reasonably close to my new job, the plan is to catch a ride with him to his work, then catch a cab to mine.
7:45 a.m. After enduring San Jose traffic for an hour (who knew?), I'm now standing on the side of the road, trying to hail a cab. Finally, mercifully, one pulls over and I hop in.
8:00 a.m. I walk up to the office right as my two bosses (husband and wife) get out of their car. We all walk in together and jump-start the day.
8:15 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. Work, work, work. I've got two million questions about the state of the magazine and my boss is kind and patient enough to answer them. All of them. Now, you may wonder how we could get through two million questions in 75 minutes. Don't.
Anyway, as the day goes by and the rest of the staff trickles in, I struggle to grow adjust to a Costa Rican custom: kissing members of the opposite sex on the cheek to say hello (and good-bye for that matter). It was a bit strange, especially with people that I had met once, for five minutes, a few days ago. I guess I'll get used to it.
9:40 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. My boss and I leave for a meeting that I didn't know about the night before at our client's office. We're there to go over the cover shot for the current issue. The entire meeting is conducted in Spanish. Whew.
11:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Wrapping up odds and ends and then kissing everyone good-bye (except for the guys).
12:30 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. This 90 minutes is spend on my commute home. First, I catch a bus from the office to downtown San Jose (40 minutes). I walk from there for about 10 blocks to the other bus stop (20 minutes). Finally, I catch the bus back to our barrio and walk the last block home (30 minutes). That's fun.
2:00 p.m. to 4:15 p.m. Internet research to find a suitable place to learn Spanish. I also have to pack for the weekend, because, did I mention, Heather and I are going to Turrialba to chill with the family who owns the house we rent. Oh, and my company is having a dinner tonight all the way across town at a posh Brazilian restaurant. Too bad it's pouring outside and I have exactly zero colones in my wallet.
4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m. I set out on foot to the local ATM. By the time I get there, my pants are soaked half way to my knees. Smart. I catch a cab the rest of the way. For the first 15 minutes, I have the honor of listening to the driver berate his son over the phone. I can't believe the son's insolence either!
5:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. Getting to know the crew. Wine, drinks, stories, and jokes are shared. Pictures are taken. Fun is had. Almost all in Spanish. Is it me, or am I getting just a little better at this language?
8:05 p.m. Regrettably, I'm the first one to leave. Gotta get back to the house, meet up with Heather, and catch the bus to Cartago (where we're meeting our host family to drive to Turrialba). On the way back, me and the taxi driver talk about music, politics, the United States--I don't think we stopped talking the whole way. Is it me, or am I getting just a little better at this language?
9:00 p.m. to 10:45 p.m. On the bus to Cartago. We're 20 minutes late (my fault, of course), but we find the family near the bustop and head for Turrialba. I fall asleep on the drive, exhausted from my day. Little did I know at the time that Saturday would be just as tiring, though for completely different reasons.
SATURDAY
Saturday is now officially known as "The Great Adventure," though I like to think of it as "The Day I Was Sure I Was Going To Die." It all started innocently enough, a little breakfast at the house and the a short ride up to check out Volcan Turriable. Except apparently, Mother Nature (and Costa Rican infrastructure) didn't see things that way. After driving for about 20 minutes, we said good-bye to paved roads and hello to major problems.
To say that the road up to the volcano was the worst road I've ever been on would be an understatement. And as if bouncing our way up the mountain at 10 mph wasn't bad enough, it was at this point that the gods decided to reward us with some rain. At first, I didn't think anything of it, but as we passed 6,000 ft., I realized that the road was worsening and the car struggling. A few minutes later, we were stuck. Every time we tried to go forward, we slid backwards. Backwards, as in, towards the edge of the road, as in plummeting to our certain death backwards.
Now, when I woke up that day, death wasn't really on my menu, so I was going to do whatever I could to avoid it. Which led me to this: Getting out of the car, putting rocks behind the back tires, and pushing as the car slowly made its way uphill. If we got a good burst forward, I would have to run after the car, up the hill, at 6,000 ft., in the freezing rain, holding huge rocks, to put them behind the tires when we stalled again. After trying this method for about 20 minutes, with some success, we had all finally had enough. We parked the car and hiked the rest of the way to the crater. Where one of our umbrellas promptly broke from the wind. But the crater was cool, we got some good pictures (on their way, I promise), and we'll always have a good story to tell.
The drive back down was uneventful, as was the rest of our time in Turrialba. On Sunday, we visited the oldest archeological site in Costa Rica and then took the bus back in the afternoon. My plan for Sunday night: catch up on all the football I missed, watch the Sunday night game, get to bed early. Let's just say I was 0 for 3. When we got home our internet was out, it turned out that there was no Sunday night game, and I had to say up late to watch the local Denver newscast just to find out if the Broncos had won, which, of course, they had.
All that and it was back to work on Monday. I've been putting in eight-hour days so far for this "part-time" job, but I ain't complaining. The next issue of the magazine is really coming together, even though it's not published until February. I had two meetings yesterday, on different sides of town, one in English, the other in Spanish, and everything would've gone as planned if not for the protests. The massive street protests. Let me explain.
The good people of this country decided Monday and Tuesday would be a good time to take to the streets to protest the potential approval of CAFTA (known down here as the TLC). Roads were shut down, offices closed, and slogans chanted. Public support for the TLC is actually right about 50/50, but it was cool to see people who care about the future of their country making their voices heard. Of course, that didn't help me get to my second meeting on time, but the dude didn't seem to mind. He offered me some fruit, we looked through his slides, and he fell asleep with me in his office. Ah yes, living the good life in Costa Rica.
posted by Higgity Heitner at 9:30 PM
1 Comments:
Heitner, damn glad you were alive to write this entry! It was a good one. Good call on getting out of the car too, I was just thinking before you wrote that part, "I'd get the hell out of that car" as if I wasn't just about to read what you were going to do. Talk to you later.
Trav
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