Costa Rica is a verdant, picturesque and wildly diverse wonderland. In just a few hours, you can drive from sparkling beaches to mountaintop cloud forests, from spewing volcanoes to class IV rivers and almost anything in between. Some call Costa Rica a paradise. Others call it their personal hell.

An oft-quoted statistic, and one that I cannot back up with any facts other than those batted around online, is that 30-70% of expats pack it in and move out of Costa Rica within one year of their arrival. This doesn’t refer to exchange students, international interns or those looking to temporarily live abroad, so even 30% is a huge number: three of every 10 expats who sell their things, uproot their lives and change their world will decide that Costa Rica is so bad, so absolutely intolerable, that they have no choice but to flee.

Even if it’s not true, even if the real number hovers lower than 30%, most expats, whether they live in Costa Rica or elsewhere, know someone who has thrown in the towel and gone home. Usually, culture shock is what does it — in Costa Rica, many cite unexpected crime rates, infuriating bureaucracy, racism or some combination of factors that make the adjustment more trouble than it’s worth.

Of course, my opinion is that Costa Rica is worth it. Because what, if not our wildest dreams, is worth our hard work and perseverance? Too often, we get caught up in the 9-to-5 daily grind, working to fulfill someone else’s dream, and stop to pursuing our own. When did we forget that things aren’t always easy, or that the things we want most deserve (and often require) the biggest effort?

Costa Rica isn’t for everyone, of course. We do have crime, the government has made an art out of pushing papers (even if it is ugly, paint-splatter art) and foreigners are the subject of racism. But there is no country, no place, not even a tiny town in this world that doesn’t have several cons to balance out its pros. If living in Costa Rica is your dream, pursue it. But do so wisely.

Dreams are valuable, and they deserve patience. Don’t rush toward the reward before carving out a path to your goal. I admit, I am meticulous in this regard — I take days, weeks or even months to flesh out each idea, decide if it’s viable and then chart each step toward its completion. Call this the logical, practical and even boring side of wish fulfillment, but it’s a necessary part of almost any goal.

In my case, moving to Costa Rica required planning, research and then more planning and research. My advice is to forget the glittery guidebook prose and read about real expats in Costa Rica — there are many online resources, including blogs, internet groups and informational websites. We love to complain. Read about the annoyances, assess the risk. Use your imagination, and put yourself in those situations — would you, could you tolerate those conditions? Be honest with yourself. Costa Rica isn’t perfect on paper, and it’s even more flawed in person.

The road to happiness is bumpy, especially in Costa Rica. (Have you seen the potholes?) You may have morose days, petulant moments and weeks of monumental frustrations, but if this country is right for you, you’ll find that it is all worth it. Which brings me to my point: though I fully intend to reboot this blog and get back to my writing roots, I also want to provide a resource to those interested in Costa Rica living.

Let’s talk about life in Costa Rica. Let’s talk about what pisses us off. Let’s talk about what makes us happy. Let’s talk about it all. For a bit of fun and a preview of what’s to come, there’s a short list I like to call…

You know you’ve adjusted to life in Costa Rica when:

-Eating mashed potatoes, fried yucca, and rice all in one meal is completely normal. In fact, the first two count toward your daily vegetable servings, even on that weird, new pyramid.

-You’re not surprised that a new 3 bedroom home costs only $40,000 more than a 1990 Toyota.

-You know that “Tico time” is a euphemism for “I’m going to be at least an hour late,” and you make plans accordingly.

-You hear somebody say “de nada” and wonder what country they’re from. It’ll always be “mucho gusto” to you.

-Spiders, cockroaches, scorpions and tarantulas don’t belong inside, but no longer cause you to run screaming from the room.

As spring struggles to life in the States, rainy season begins here in Costa Rica and I think of new beginnings. The cyclical nature of the seasons never fails to delight me: though I know that change lies just beyond the horizon, its newness and freshness always surprise me. That jolt may be just what I need to remind my subconscious to wake up.

Over the last few months, I’ve thought about whether to continue this blog — it hardly seems fair to call myself a blogger when it’s been so long. But there’s a tiny voice inside my heart, and it’s telling me that it doesn’t want to quit. I love to write; I want to write. Chronicling my experiences has been a thrilling and gratifying exercise — it’s a way to never forget, to hold yesterday’s events forever in the palm of my hand.

So I’m awake. This time, I make but one promise to myself. I will write. I will remember these moments, because I’ll only get to live them once. Every day, every smile, every revelation is important — I will record my memories, my experiences, my thoughts. The good days, the funny stories, the extraordinary experiences and the light-bulb revelations — I will share them.

I began to blog in order to remember what my Swiss-cheese brain would otherwise forget. I am sorry for being selfish these past months, but I write this entry with renewed vigor and recommitted purpose. If wanting to be better is the first step to self-improvement, then I am on my way (again). Thank you for sticking with me.

2 Comments

• On March 31, 2009 at 4:35 am, Arp wrote:

  I'm happy to have you back with more to look forward to. I'd assumed that life was good and keeping you away from the computer :-)

• On March 31, 2009 at 9:11 am, Staci wrote:

  hooray! I'm glad you are continuing to blog. In a few days I will have read from start to finish and finish as of yesterday was November 2008. Swiss cheese brain sounds about right, I can identify. Loose collection of thoughts meandering around just waiting to slip away into the black hole of the past.....damn, I'm going to have to unearth my own blog from the cyber-graveyard where it's laying. Somehow the goings on in Chicago don't seem as exciting as Costa Rica....then again, it's all in the presentation eh? :) Cheers to your blog, can't wait to finish pages 100-present day! :)

I’m alive and well, too well perhaps. That is to say, when life is satisfying, I find that I have much less to write about. And if blog silence is any measure of happiness, I am deeply content.

That said, I apologize for having disappeared into the nothingness. I do have thoughts bumping around in my head, things that I wish to discuss. Such as my theory that tico culture is inherently passive-aggressive. Or the homesickness that has crept up on me… I miss the smell of autumn! And the peacefulness that I’ve found in my life, largely thanks to a simpler and slower lifestyle. There are so many things, but I currently lack the energy or drive to write them. Sometime soon, I hope to revive this blog (if there’s anyone still reading, of course), but I first need to knock down my writer’s wall, block by block.

In the meantime, I extend my apologies to all, and thank you for your patience.

11 Comments

• On November 11, 2008 at 5:29 pm, Jonathan wrote:

  Hello, glad to know from you again. I wish everything is going well for you though. Hope you can write more often jeje.

  Saludos...

  P.D.: You could write something on your twitter too :P. jeje

• On November 12, 2008 at 1:36 am, Julie wrote:

  Welcome back!

• On November 12, 2008 at 10:06 am, Oscar wrote:

  I knew you couldn't resist the pull and had to come back, sooner or later, to post something, even if it's nothing more than barely a teaser. At least, it reassures me that it's not in vain that I've kept an eye on Gringuitica all these past weeks (months?!).

  ...

  Hey, are we gonna be neighbors soon now?

• On November 12, 2008 at 10:23 am, Erin wrote:

  Thanks guys, I'll try to write in the next week (I'll be on vacay, so the perfect time to write a bit).

  @Oscar: Nov. 22! I cannot WAIT!

• On November 16, 2008 at 8:17 pm, Jorge Vargas wrote:

  Hi!

  Nice work! Keep it up!

  Greetings!

  Jorge V.

• On November 19, 2008 at 7:01 pm, Jessica wrote:

  I miss you, Ive been checking at lest once a week!

• On November 23, 2008 at 10:37 pm, Saratica wrote:

  I hear you on all counts! I'm into my new life here and it all seems so normal and satisfying (for the most part) that it just doesn't seem NewWorthy... but I'm trying to stay on top of it. Nice to hear you again and to know things are good.

  The passive-aggressive thing: I was talking to a friend about that just yesterday. I think it's why even the most mild-mannered tico becomes so ferocious while driving...

  Pura vida back atcha - see you.

• On November 25, 2008 at 10:26 pm, Lorena wrote:

  I'm glad you're back! I stumbled across your blog a couple of months ago and was immediately interested as I had just come back from a failed attempt to do TEFL in South America. It took a month, but I got the interviews, got the job offers, but ultimately got so homesick that I came home. I was in Buenos Aires - there were a lot of reasons that I picked BA over other South American cities, but was ultimately disappointed. Once I got there I realized that the whole reason I wanted to do TEFL was so that I could experience life in a foreign, Spanish-speaking environment at a slower pace than my life in the U.S. Anyways, I really enjoyed reading your blog entries and admired your optimism and courage.

• On November 27, 2008 at 5:57 am, Greg wrote:

  It's so nice to see you back. Every now and then I would open your page only to find that there were no new blog entries. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. I'm happy to hear that things are going well for you and I look forward to your next writing. Pura Vida y Feliz Dia de Pavo tambien!

• On December 3, 2008 at 11:11 pm, thomas wrote:

  I look forward to your writing on passive-aggressive tico culture, if that's what you intend to do.

• On March 25, 2009 at 3:01 pm, Fred wrote:

  Hi Gringuitica,

  You should I hope that you will be back in your writing mode soon. I started following your blog last year and I found it very interesting and full useful information as well as entertaining.

  As an Expat myself, its always nice to read about other people's experiences in CR.

  Hope all is well,

  Fred

From the feelings of a casual vacationer to the powerful reactions of a new expat, the term “culture shock” explains away our experiences of cultural rejection and eventual assimilation, turning them into theory and process. But can an academic explanation of a very human experience really describe our feelings? As an anthropologist, I’m trained to say “yes,” but as an expatriate myself, I wonder.

There are four basic phases of culture shock. The first is called Euphoria, a.k.a. The Honeymoon Phase. As new arrivals or tourists, we are full of enough hope and excitement to cloud our vision and make cultural differences seem unimportant, even fun. However, after a few days or weeks, we move into the second phase, Irritation and Hostility. This stage is actually what many people refer to as culture shock - homesickness and frustration enter our daily lives, we get angry over little things, and experience depression. This second stage is usually the “make or break” stage, when expats either adjust to their new country or decide to go home.

If we safely make it through, we arrive at the Gradual Adjustment phase, where we begin to adapt to our surroundings and function normally in our new culture. We make efforts to fit in, to actively accept new things, and appreciate the differences of our new culture. Finally, after months or years in stage three, we graduate to the final phase, Adaptation. We are bi-cultural, able to function in both our native and adopted cultures without a problem. We have a strong command of our new language, and many of our old habits are replaced by new, one culture seamlessly folding into the other.

At least, that’s the theory. In real life, culture shock is a much more personal, individual experience. My euphoric phase was marked by an appreciation of the mountains that surrounded me, an amusement at the crazy drivers, and a sense of awe that I was finally here. By phase two, I still appreciated the mountains, but those crazy drivers were assholes, and my only wish was to be able to curse well enough in Spanish to give them a piece of my mind the next time one blew threw a red light as I crossed the street. There was no dulling sense of awe or wonderment anymore, I no longer woke up in the mornings congratulating myself, “You live in Costa Rica!” I was often frustrated by being stereotyped as a gringa, spoken to in English, and ripped off at every opportunity. If I had been just a little less mature, I would have stomped my feet and hurled myself to the ground for a good, cathartic temper tantrum. Every day.

For several months, I grappled with being a minority for the first time in my life. I wondered if the bus driver had given me incorrect change on purpose. I secretly raged at strangers who spoke to me in English, even though I spoke perfectly passable Spanish. I was angry. I wanted to know where all the nice ticos had gone. I wanted sales people to leave me alone, instead of breathing down my neck. I wanted people to just say “no” instead of “puede ser,” show me brutal honestly instead of feeding me white lies. But then, slowly enough to not warrant my own notice, the “want want WANT!!! turned into a gentle acceptance of my surroundings. All things tico started to make sense, without my consciously making sense of them.

Phase three is a happy place - I’m comfortable and calm, learning something new everyday. Like a child, I learn through observation, mimicking my tico friends in everything they do. Instead of using a finger or head nod, I see them use their lips to point out a location, and then I practice doing the same. They say “mae” every other word, and like a parrot, I say it, too. I’m learning how to time the traffic, and I cross streets without [much] fear. When it’s necessary, I know how to stop most errant drivers dead in their tracks with a few well-chosen palabrotas (bad words) and an icy stare. And about those mountains… they are still forever beautiful.

In many ways, I’ve already hit the fourth phase of culture shock, adaptation. But I don’t want to. Like in love, I don’t want my relationship with Costa Rica to ever feel stale. I never want to be so perfectly adapted that I take my surroundings for granted. It’s a vicious cycle - Costa Rica is not my native home, and so if I ever grew “used to” being here, I would never achieve cultural fluency. The day that I accept my Spanish as “good enough” will be the day that I stop improving my accent and vocabulary. If I ever stop questioning exactly when I should snap my fingers in disbelief or place them all together to indicate that something is full, I will always be on the dusty outskirts of tico culture. Without questioning and wondering about everything around me, I will never be able to discover all the amazing nuances of my new home and language.

May I never grow complacent and merely accepting of unique gestures, rolling mountains, artistic churches, perfectly laid stone fences, incredible forests, and linguistic idiosyncracies. Because to me, phase four — Adaptation — is apathy. It’s the acceptance of everything around you to the point of feeling so comfortable that no further effort is needed. But my love affair with Costa Rica is special, enduring, and for that reason, I hope to never adapt.

Two blogging buddies recently wrote that no one knows them completely. I know this feeling too well - to want to share everything with someone, yet know that you can’t is painful, torturous even.

My divorce left me relieved and happy with my newfound freedom, but it also left me broken. What had been a hopelessly romantic girl had given way to a slightly jaded woman, and it was evident. Ripping my heart off of my sleeve, I stashed it away in a soundproof vault and began to believe in things like “the only person that will ever look out for me is me” and “no one ever loves someone just as she is.” It never occured to me that this could be my heart’s defenses clicking into place; instead, I thought that I had finally discovered a Universal Truth.

I think there’s a process that every recently-single person goes through: First, there’s anger and rage toward the person you no longer love, and a spiteful satisfaction that you don’t have to tolerate his presence anymore. Then you graduate to the insecure phase, wondering how much of the breakup is your fault, and eventually convincing yourself that you are completely unlovable and will never walk hand-in-hand again. During these first phases, there is much introspection and self-discovery, and it can be excruciating. But when we allow ourselves to deal with our inner demons, we emerge as happier, healthier individuals. We move into the final stage of self-acceptance where we’ve come to terms with our past and are willing to move into the future, ready to love and be loved.

Those first two stages were hard for me, tossing me around like a kayak that had been carried into the Bermuda Triangle by a tidal wave, only to be welcomed to that maritime hell by a class-5 hurricane. But after confronting and dealing with each one of my fears, I knew that I would love again. And I was certain that our love would be perfect enough to make Aurora, Cinderella, Ariel, and all the rest of them absolutely green with jealousy.

I was single for 28 months before I met the last man I will ever love. For the first few weeks, I showed him my wildly confident, slightly flirtatious side. I was so convincing that I think I scared him a bit. But on the inside, I was terrified, and had no idea what I was doing. But with a good dose of humor and a generous serving of patience, we made it through the awkward first encounters and became a couple.

So then I thought, “finally! now is when it gets easy!” Wrong again. Opening up to Fabi — letting him into the confines of my soul — was anything but easy. Because when we finally let someone in, we give him the ability to hurt us. As I whispered my secrets and ground him a copy of the key to my heart, I felt vulnerable and fragile. And that is the opposite of easy.

But fear is no excuse to hold back. If we never risk, we never gain. And that it is why we must do the very thing that stands to lose us the most: open up and give of ourselves. With baby steps, I began to confide in Fabi and tell him my past, show him dreams, and share confidences. And with each little test I gave him, he proved that he was worthy. And knowing that was worth far more than 28 lonesome months.

My relationship would not work for everyone, but for me, it is the best union that will ever exist. With confidence that he will always love and accept me, I can share my laundry list of fears, mistakes, insecurities, and sins. I know that he will not always agree with me, but that his love will never waver and our relationship will strengthen, not weaken, from our complete, naked honesty. And this is why, someday, Fabi will know everything that there is to know about me.

Sharing yourself with someone will never be easy. In fact, I think it’s the most risky and frightening thing that we can ever do. But if you start small and open yourself up like a flower in bloom, you’ll find that this leap of faith is the best one you’ll ever make.