Zac and I have had more than our
fair share of travels in foreign countries, but this trip seemed
different. It was the first time that it really felt like a
vacation in the traditional sense—an escape from the humdrum routine
of life as working adults (if Zac’s grad school activities and my
perpetual existence in high school can even qualify). Our past
trips were kind of like vacations from vacations—like taking a break
from our easy life in China and going to Hong Kong or South Korea
for a week. The thrills of traveling abroad were muted because we
were living abroad, and so many of the experiences of traveling to
foreign countries, such as relying solely on public transportation
and tasting weird food, we were already experiencing on a daily
basis.
But this trip was different. We
had resided solely in the United States for a year before once again
heading Out There. The impetus for the trip was that Shanu, my best
friend, had been working in a Honduras as a Peace Corps Volunteer
and was in need of a vacation from her vacation, so we
decided to meet in Panama City and travel up to Costa Rica
together. The added benefit was that she was now fluent in Spanish
and would be our translator. Zac and I were also excited because it
was going to be the first time in all our travels that we even stood
a chance with the local language, having studied Spanish in school.
Once we’re Out There, it is so
easy to forget about normal life. All the other Americans we meet
are also traveling, and so it is convenient to forget that it is a
life of privilege that allows us to traipse about the world as if it
was our backyard. It seems normal. And due to its close proximity
to the U.S. and the ease of the language, Central America is indeed
America’s backyard. It’s crawling with expatriates, college
students, mission groups, Peace Corps Volunteers, and of course
busloads of tourists.
We met our first group at the San
Jose airport, where two older couples, accompanied by numerous large
boxes, were waiting for the same hotel shuttle as us. We asked if
they were a film crew of some sort, because no normal traveler would
come with so many boxes. No, they said, the boxes were filled with
sailboat parts. They hailed from Texas and now seemed to live on a
sailboat in the Caribbean. Such encounters can warp your mind. Why
take only a two-week vacation? Why not take a permanent one, with
only occasional forays back to the motherland for sailboat parts?
Their life of luxury was quickly taxed though, as an entrepreneuring
local charged them $5 to transport their boxes twenty feet from
inside the door to outside on the sidewalk. The older gentleman
muttered about that $5 rip-off while we waited for the hotel shuttle
(“I didn’t even ask him to carry the boxes! And then he asked for
five dollars!”). I had no sympathy. I mean, come on, you’re
living on a sailboat in the Caribbean!
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