Tri-monthly Update

Well, I’ve given you guys about three months to catch up on my first two weeks in Costa Rica, so maybe its time I gave you a little more material. Honestly, I’ve started writing new blog posts probably 12 times over the last few months, but I’ve never really gotten around to finishing any of them. Hopefully that’s not a bad reflection on my commitment level. I’ll make sure not to let potential law schools in on all of my incomplete endeavors.

As much as I would love to catch you up on the entire last three months in this post, I neither have the will nor the endurance in my fingers to do it. So, I’ll try to hit the highlights as well as I can remember them. I’m sure as I write I’ll remember certain details or funny characters from previous stories so this will be completely unorganized and random. OK, cue James Joyce stream of consciousness…

I’ll start with probably my most exciting story of my time here. I got held up. Straight-up robbed at gunpoint.

Scary?
Yes.

Kinda badass now that I look back on it?
Debatable.

Anyway…
I was leaving Mallory’s house around 1 on a Friday night, about 4 or 5 weeks ago. The night had already been quite eventful, as one of my friends (her housemate) had broken her nose doing drunken gymnastics at a friend’s party. So, slightly buzzed and still laughing at Deidra’s hospital stories, I took a walk down the street to catch a cab back to my house. I hadn’t walked more than half a block when I passed two guys on a motorcycle parked at the street corner. As I kept walking, I saw the guy on the back of the bike hop off and start following me.

*Flashback to orientation week*

From the first day I got here, I’d heard stories about oblivious gringos getting robbed while walking alone late at night. Hell, during orientation two police officers told us then-oblivious gringos for 45 minutes straight not to walk alone late at night. So there I was, a relatively well-informed gringo walking alone late at night with Daddy Yankee’s little gangsta brother on my tail. So, acting on advice given to me by Mallory, via Oprah, I got my keys out of my pocket and wrapped them around my fist, ready for the first fight of my life. Unfortunately (fortunately?), I avoided any scuffle. The guy whips out his 9, points it at me and starts screaming God-knows-what at me in Spanish. I was able to pick out “Le mataré” among a few other phrases which all translate to “I’m gonna kill you.” Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a situation where there’s a gun pointed at your face, but its not terribly comfortable, especially when homeboy’s yelling things at you in hood-Spanish.

So, quickly deciding that I WOULD like to watch American Sportscenter and eat Pita Pit once again, I forked over all I had without testing the integrity of his assertions. Luckily, I was paranoid enough in the first place not to bring my ATM/debit card with me, so I only lost my digital camera (pictures too, unfortunately) and about $20 in cash. Left with only a few coins, I had no choice but to walk about 15 minutes through darker, sketchier streets in order to afford a taxi ride home. So, needless to say, I’ve been a little more selective about when I walk alone around these parts. I think the paranoia that set in for the first few weeks after the incident is dissipating, but I do my best to stay away from biker duo’s and late-night strolls through the city.

Despite my near-death-encounter, the trip has been pretty amazing so far. I’ve been away for almost 3 ½ months, and I can admit I’m fairly adjusted to life without cell-phones and short, efficient car rides. I take the bus pretty much everywhere, and although it’s a pain-in-the-ass when you have to wait 45 minutes at the bus stop, at least I’m reducing my contribution to Global Warming. My Spanish is slowly, but steadily improving with each day, even though sometimes it sure doesn’t feel like it. My classes at the University are still way over my head, and I’m close to, if not failing all of them. But hey, it’s kinda like when you’re little and your dad throws you in the pool when you’re totally not ready to swim without your floaties. You spend the first 3 seconds of what seems like the last 30 seconds of your life flailing around then you realize that you’re still alive and that there are like 73 other little non-Spanish-speaking kids around doing the same thing, barely keeping their heads above the water. I definitely can’t swim yet, but hell, at least I can breathe.
(I’m not sure exactly how appropriate that metaphor was, but bear with me. I haven’t written in English in quite some time.)

I have many other stories that I’d love for you to hear, but would rather not type at the moment. Ever since the crocodile attack, it’s been a struggle adjusting to typing without a left hand.
I miss you all and lets hope I make it back alive to see you all again.

Pura vida mis amigos,
Juanito

SHOUT OUTZ:
-Big ups to my homedawgs in the 405, especially you foolz that are coming to visit in about a week. Remember to bring a change of underwear, because Costa Rican food will tear you up.
-Let me holla at all the momma’s out there. My mom especially, happy mother’s day
-And finally, big shout out to M-Phizzle on the job searchizzle. What’s a wangsta way to say “I miss you”?