tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41143305460483562532024-03-12T21:31:28.376-04:00The Other WayThe purpose of this blog is to keep you informed about our adventures in Latin America.
Here, we will post photos, videos and anecdotes of our journey.Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-3045802024961447802013-06-22T22:09:00.001-04:002013-06-23T21:07:04.693-04:00Soloy: Part 2. Fire and Cocoa<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dtbd_v-oRFU/UcZMCMze2aI/AAAAAAAAASo/7tw9paV_owI/s1600/DSCN3591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dtbd_v-oRFU/UcZMCMze2aI/AAAAAAAAASo/7tw9paV_owI/s320/DSCN3591.JPG" width="320" /></a>When we got off the bus, well into the night, without a flashlight or cell phone coverage, we expected a long walk through the forest until we reached the home of our host family. We were supposed to meet Juan Carlos, our local contact, at the entrance of the town hall, and from there, he would take us to our new home. Having read the prospect on the website of one of the local NGOs, we expected an extremely inaccessible rural and impoverished town, where water had to be carried from the river and traditional values limited many aspects of life, from the dress-code to social interaction.</div>
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Much to our bedazzlement, when the bus dropped us off, we walked a mere 200 meters down the paved road and arrived at the house we would live in for the next few weeks. It was easy to find the house, for they were burning leaves right at the entrance, creating a massive wall of fire and smoke, through which one could spot a small entrance between the bushes aligned along the road, delimiting the property.</div>
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We walked through the smoky curtain and saw a concrete structure with light green walls, a large, single window on the facade and a slightly sloped tin roof which ended in a small overhanging "roof" made of dried banana leafs above a concrete floor. The porch was completed by a measly hammock, swinging on the two thick branches which supported the structure a few meters directly in front of a wooden door. A few trees and bushes surrounded the house, but it was hard to tell whether they had been planted there on purpose.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wFRpgKTTU90/UcZMJHzqIJI/AAAAAAAAAS8/3y1_1E_4YVM/s1600/DSCN3841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wFRpgKTTU90/UcZMJHzqIJI/AAAAAAAAAS8/3y1_1E_4YVM/s320/DSCN3841.JPG" width="320" /></a>Timidly, allowing Juan Carlos to make the first steps, we walked through the yard towards the front door. As he shouted a greeting to "declare" our presence, I inadvertently got my neck caught on a metal wire inconveniently hanging across the yard. Its purpose was clearly to hang clothes, but during the month we spent in Soloy, my head was the only thing that came close to hanging from it. Of course, I was the only one ever bothered by it, as everyone else could carelessly walk underneath without needing to crouch.</div>
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Ignoring everything happening around me, I massaged my neck with one hand and felt the air in front of me with the other, in case of any other elevated traps. When I reached the concrete floor, a few women dressed in long, colorful traditional dresses emerged from the door followed tightly by a parade of children. Unsure as to the proper etiquette of salutation, we tamely extended our hands with broad smiles spread across our faces. With the unequivocal courtesy we had come to expect, their tame and subdued voices welcomed us to their home. It was hard to distinguish how many children there were, or the names of the five women we had just met. We were shown into our room; a humble but ample room with no furniture other than two large mattresses resting on home-made wooden structures. We sat our backpacks down and accommodated our eyes to the dark as they put two small chairs out in the porch. We sat down on the chairs as they did the same on the floor, conversing mildly as the dancing flames dimly illuminated their faces. We could sense the astonishment of the children, who would murmur and giggle amongst themselves, and the intrigued amusement of the women as we rampantly summarized who we were and what we were doing there, yet we also got the feeling that although they understood the words we were saying, they somehow didn't fully comprehend the message we sought to communicate. It was not the first time this had<span style="color: red;"> </span>happened to us, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. In fact, minutes later, it happened again.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-NmRdfppNk/UcZL5kQXJFI/AAAAAAAAASQ/Vn0tl6hcuBk/s1600/DSCN3558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z-NmRdfppNk/UcZL5kQXJFI/AAAAAAAAASQ/Vn0tl6hcuBk/s320/DSCN3558.JPG" width="320" /></a>After the conversation died off, they led us through the main room of the house - one of three, counting ours - and out the back door. A large, dirt yard spread in front of us with formidable mango trees emerging from the ground and growing upwards<span style="color: red;"> </span>and away to drape the sky with their leaves. Such was their immensity that the full moon, bashful in the presence of the seething fluorescence of cities, but ardent and intense in remoteness, couldn't breach the arboreal overcast.</div>
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Immersed in the darkness, against the black backdrop of the mountain, a faint fire nervously illuminated figures of all sizes and motions in its near surroundings. Some of the women, as well as a large man, laid on the hammocks and the children used logs and stumps as benches and seats. The scene, complete with a feeble fire under a large metal pot, seemed like the closest I would ever come to see one of those provisional cowboy campsites from spaghetti westerns that I have always felt drawn towards. The sight of a few people sitting around the comfort of a fire, waiting for a long overdue meal, surrounded by the fantastic darkness of nature, always seemed to me like one of the most righteous definitions of freedom.</div>
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When we stepped into the circle illuminated by the fire and were introduced to the rest of the family, the giggles, the amazement, the awkward courtesy of two vastly distant worlds coming into contact, all repeated themselves. We ate a large bowl of rice as we became acquainted with our new family and surroundings, amazed at the voracious velocity with which the children and babies devoured their plates, which were by no means smaller than ours. After washing our dishes in a gush of water emanating from a tube - part of the aqueduct system which supplies nearly every house in the area - we retired to our room to digest and reflect.</div>
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The next morning we awoke at dawn with the unmistakable pandemonium of children on vacation. As we came out of the house, the children didn't attempt to hide their skepticism, as the youngest ones hid under and behind their mothers' skirts. The older ones managed to muster timid grins, which would grow into full fledged smiles in barely a couple of days. Before we realized, the children would be agog every time they saw us, running excitedly towards us.</div>
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After a filling but forgettable<span style="color: red;"> </span>breakfast consisting of an insipid boiled corn paste and over sweetened coffee, Juan Carlos appeared from behind the small bean field adjacent to the house<span style="color: red;">,</span> and took us on a walk through the town. As we meandered towards the center of town, Juancho enlightened us about the history of Soloy, the advancements of their modern history and ultimately, the challenges they face as a community. As if to highlight their challenges, when we stopped by the Mayor's office to request an appointment and present ourselves as volunteers, ready to help the town in any way we could, the secretary told us he wasn't there, and that if we wanted an appointment, we would have to come back another day. Although we persevered with our intent to meet him for the next few days, the Mayor was never present.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v5IIMrHE-Rs/UcZL6rfC1GI/AAAAAAAAASc/hG5R4rk2Rjo/s1600/DSCN3538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v5IIMrHE-Rs/UcZL6rfC1GI/AAAAAAAAASc/hG5R4rk2Rjo/s320/DSCN3538.JPG" width="320" /></a>Nonetheless, our walk was far from futile. We visited a hostel, a Bahá'i center with facilities to house more than fifty guests, meeting rooms and a radio broadcasting station. We didn't see many signs of fervent Bahá'i - or Christian - believers, especially in church service attendance, but the town highly valued the Bahá'i center because of the radio station, which served as the news outlet for the whole area until it was struck by lightning in late November. Since then, it had become a nuisance to communicate important matters to the whole town. Luckily, word of mouth wasn't far removed from their mass communication methods, and lacking the aid of 'modern' technology wasn't a catastrophe.</div>
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Our last two stops were by far the most stirring. We visited the largest locally owned enterprise and the home of an indigenous activist for women's rights and a leader<span style="color: red;"> </span>in the community. The business was owned by Arsenio, a quiet and humble man among many, but one who had the distinct gift of carefully choosing his words<span style="color: red;"> </span>and the timing of his delivery. Despite being the most successful business owner amongst the locals - who were at a competitive disadvantage against foreign entrepreneurs who arrived with resources and capabilities that one could simply not acquire in the Comarca -<span style="color: red;"> </span>his tailor shop consisted of four employees equipped with classic Singer sewing machines working tirelessly from dawn to dusk under a tin roof.</div>
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Arsenio was clearly proud and aware of his accomplishment, but there was no sign of complacency in his lexicon or in<span style="color: red;"> </span>the attitude of his employees. He clearly had more ambitious visions for his business.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5iQcN-sGNk4/UcZL0Mtw1VI/AAAAAAAAASI/kvNUwLYZiIc/s1600/DSCN3532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5iQcN-sGNk4/UcZL0Mtw1VI/AAAAAAAAASI/kvNUwLYZiIc/s320/DSCN3532.JPG" width="320" /></a>Relativity plays an ironic role in the comparison of societies. More often than not, in the eyes of those who truly seek an equal society, a business owner who desires more success, more money or more growth, is seen as an icon of greed. Nonetheless, in a humble, if not poor, community, a person who makes a name for himself and his business is seen as an example, a role model for the rest. Of course, one could say that the big fish in the small pond is still smaller than the big fish in the large ocean, and that a man like Arsenio still lacks many of the comforts that many people would consider basic, and is therefore not greedy for aspiring for more. However, isn't greed measured by what one has and wants compared to his fellow man? Is it really fair to judge Arsenio compared to people and luxuries that he may not even know exist? Shouldn't his level of greediness, if you will, be measured in comparison to the 74 year old senile woman who walks past his shop everyday with a heavy bag hanging from her head as she tries to make a living selling oranges? Or the families who buy state-enforced school uniforms from him so their children can go to school and receive five free meals a day, offering them a nutritious alternative to bland rice and the occasional bean?<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y6sqqCqKCiw/UcZMIwoZb3I/AAAAAAAAAS0/XlYami0dZhY/s1600/DSCN3798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y6sqqCqKCiw/UcZMIwoZb3I/AAAAAAAAAS0/XlYami0dZhY/s320/DSCN3798.JPG" width="320" /></a>By no means is this an attempt to paint over the image I may have depicted in your mind with the first phrase I wrote about Arsenio, for that is the man I remember, and the rest are cumbersome cul-de-sac reflections. In fact, in a simple, yet characteristic demonstration of thoughtfulness and hospitality, Arsenio invited us to enjoy a traditional cocoa drinking experience that same evening. For centuries, the Ngäbes, like so many other native americans, have had a special place for cocoa in their culture. In days past it was used primarily as a nearly sacred ingredient in ceremonies, and considered the most valued resource available. Consuming it provided strength and courage for their warriors, and lucidity for the shamans, which allowed them to connect with the forces of nature. During funerals and rites of passage, everyone present would drink cocoa for four nights, dancing and talking until the sun rose. </div>
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Although these rituals are barely - if ever - carried out, many people still follow the rules of old when drinking cocoa. Traditionally, cocoa is never mixed with sugar, it is mashed during the day, boiled in water, and served hot in <i>totumas </i>(organic vessels made from an inedible fruit, used as cups or plates). Peculiarly, it is customary in Ngäbe ceremonies to drink a multiple of four full totumas before leaving the ceremony.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lv1kz5o8Mr8/UcZMIu7JaEI/AAAAAAAAASw/1E7HHz1MXgA/s1600/DSCN3642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lv1kz5o8Mr8/UcZMIu7JaEI/AAAAAAAAASw/1E7HHz1MXgA/s320/DSCN3642.JPG" width="240" /></a>Drinking Ngäbe cocoa on a full moon night was one of the most unique and fascinating moments on this trip. The smell emanating from the cocoa was mellow but dense and delectable. It seemed as if in the next few seconds, a luscious, intense, liquid form of the best Swiss chocolate would flow silkily through our mouths. However, the taste was bitter, thin and watered down. Although it was by no means undrinkable, I much prefered the captivating smell, which now I could only compare to the disappointing flavor. Fortunately for us, we had to follow the custom and continue drinking three more cups. Amazingly, the more we drank, the more savory became the beverage. Our lips moistened and our minds cleared, as our senses merged and assimilated the experience together.</div>
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Before returning home for dinner, we had time to visit one of the houses at the end of the road. There lived Emerita and her family, in a spruce property with a gorgeous traditional rancho, a large house, a separate building for the kitchen and pantry and probably the only front yard with trimmed grass in a twenty mile radius. The backyard was a more ordinary sight, with log benches, a poultry pen, a few random banana trees and a bunch of extraordinarily plentiful orange trees.<br />
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As Juancho introduced us to Emerita and her family, we were immediately captured by her commanding poise. Emerita is<span style="color: red;"> </span>a sturdy, vigorous, middle aged lady, and it was evident by the behavior of the teenagers in the house, and the heed given to her by those present that she was a woman of strong character.<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMo7eDFKO_w/UcZYWMJDTaI/AAAAAAAAATY/JpAb_0IQCcs/s1600/DSCN3644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bMo7eDFKO_w/UcZYWMJDTaI/AAAAAAAAATY/JpAb_0IQCcs/s320/DSCN3644.JPG" width="320" /></a>Through our multiple conversations with her we came to find out that aside from a certain degree of preeminence, she drew her strength from undeniable competence, dynamism and con<br />
viction. Before us stood a woman who had suffered as much as she'd lived, but whose will to live, and help others live - adequately - was more tenacious than whatever fortune had ever stood in her way.</div>
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By means of our initial conversations with Juan Carlos, Arsenio and Emerita, we discovered what was needed from us in Soloy, but it was the incredibly stimulating properties of the cocoa that got the ideas flowing through our heads on how to adapt a seemingly simple solution to an intricate problem.</div>
Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-7118091756274032152013-06-11T13:32:00.000-04:002013-06-12T19:05:06.301-04:00News from PalmeraAfter six months of unanswered emails, worrying lack of news and uncertainty, we had admittedly began losing hope regarding any positive results from our work in Palmera, our first project of this trip. We had sent countless emails to the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation asking for news from the Cabecar Indigenous Reserve, and for the report we had written for them, so we could perhaps attract investment, tourism and volunteers to continue the process that the Foundation had started and we had enhanced during our nearly <a href="http://unchartedways.blogspot.com/2012/12/wekte-bas-ra-projects-and-daily-life-in.html" target="_blank">two months living with a local family</a>. We had found a magnificent community, rich in resources and culture, but lacking in infrastructure. A very promising land where a terribly apathetic mindset obscured the vision of the future for the youth, despite their eagerness and commitment to education.<br />
It was exactly with education, the bridge between preserving their ancestral history and bringing positive development to the community, where the key to the gate of the future lay for Palmera and the majority of its inhabitants. Although we focused our activities on strengthening the link between these two factors and improving local understanding of their importance, we hit a massive road block very early in the form of corruption.<br />
The newly appointed principal of the high school had taken advantage of the seeds planted by his predecessor, now working a few hundred meters away as principal of the elementary school, and didn't take long to harvest the rewards. There was factual evidence that he was repeatedly using school funds for personal use, buying personal hygiene products, food and alcohol, as well as rather heavy accusations of drug use on school grounds and in the presence of students. In addition, the president of the board of education, otherwise known as the town drunk, had taken a liking to the methods of the new principal and soon became involved in these insidious activities. The most worrying result of these acts was the constant cancellation of classes, three or four times a week for lack of food in the school cafeteria, and the inability of the faculty to buy teaching materials. Teachers had to use their own money for such purchases.<br />
The students displayed a flagrant mistrust in the educational system as was demonstrated by the lacklustre attendance, which was well under fifty percent. Many of the young boys would rather work with their fathers in the nearby plantations. The girls, many of whom were already mothers, could not afford to waste their precious time at a school that didn't provide a meal nor an education, and preferred to tend their domestic duties, as Cabecar tradition dictates.<br />
Infuriated upon realizing this, and urged on by members of the community, teachers and students, we wrote a letter to the regional authorities and the local board of education, asking for an internal investigation, a new directive and a series of conditions in order to achieve transparency and a more efficient administration in the years to come.<br />
The effects of the letter were immediate, although not as impactful as we had hoped. As news of a board meeting to assess the situation spread through the town, fierce tension invaded the faculty, the student body and the general population, as everyone began dividing between those who supported the principal and those who quietly disapproved. Fortunately, there was a third group: those who had taken a stand against the principal and the president of the board. Unfortunately, the group only consisted of our host family, the school cook, as the teachers who had initially inspired and incited us to take action, ultimately denied everything in fear of losing their jobs. The board meeting, which was dramatically similar to a court trial was hindered by the principal, who made sure it was scheduled during school hours so that the few students who were willing to take a stand against him would not attend. Much to our dismay, Leo, the father of our family forbid us from attending, fearing an angry reaction from the two characters involved, who had proven to be rather unpredictable.<br />
As we had expected, without lack of support for our cause, the principal asserted his position at the board meeting, gaining support from the board members, whom he and the president had appointed. The appointees were illiterate, an unlawful situation, as we came to find out.<br />
Our projects at the school became severely hampered on account of our actions, as we were no longer welcomed at the school. Some of the teachers were certainly reluctant to be seen speaking to us, so we spent most of our time with our family.<br />
What had begun as an emotive and devoted campaign, ended quietly as we left Palmera without any visible results to our actions. Eventually, once we had the time and resources, we extended our letter to the Ministry of Education, but only received an acknowledgement of receipt from them. The past few months we had often wondered, albeit hopelessly, what had been of the situation in Palmera, and whether Leo, his family or anyone in town had fed the fire that we had ignited.<br />
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Surprisingly, yesterday we received a great piece of news from the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation.<br />
The principal of the school has been sanctioned, and is being very carefully watched by the Ministry of Education. They are assessing the situation and may fire him in the coming weeks. From now on, the principal is not allowed to cancel classes, nor does he have access to funds, as it goes directly from the Ministry to the suppliers. The members of the board of education are now named democratically by the people and the student government has been given additional support and power. The people of Palmera are satisfied with these changes, which they directly attribute to the document we drafted in early November.<br />
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We left Palmera more than half a year ago, with an amazing experience to remember for the rest of our lives, but disappointed at being unable to make a lasting impact. Over the past few months, a mountain of disappointment had began to build on the foundations created during our time in Palmera as we poured our hearts and souls into several projects along the way but failed to see the end results. Thus, as you can imagine, it is extraordinarily rewarding and fulfilling to receive these news.<br />
We can now see more clearly the importance of embroidering experiences, even the most marvelous ones, with actions which will last beyond memory.<br />
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<b>"<i>They are small things. They don't bring an end to poverty or lift us out of underdevelopment, they don't enforce social responsibility in means of production and exchange, and they don't expropriate Ali Baba's caves. But perhaps they set in motion the joy of doing, and translate it into specific acts. And, when all is said and done, acting on reality and changing it, although just a little bit, is the only way to prove that reality is transformable.</i>" </b>- Eduardo Galeano (Uruguayan journalist and writer)<br />
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You can find the report we wrote to the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation and the letter to the Ministry of Education in our new 'Documents' section.Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-42835453897736867732013-05-07T17:22:00.000-04:002013-05-08T13:26:34.156-04:00Soloy: Part 1<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I beg you forgive me for the late deliveries of this
blog. Although it would be ideal, and fairest to you readers, to update our
experiences in a timelier manner; time is the most ephemeral of things, and it
is extremely difficult to keep up with it. As time vanishes, thus escape my
memories of events, from the most transcendental to the most banal. We promise
to keep up with our stories, if you promise to transport yourself to the time at
which they happened. The line at which our experiences develop is much faster
than my pen</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In a young, yet promising 2013, we found ourselves motivated as ever,
but gasping for a breath of fresh air in the form of tangible results to our
work. Everything we had done so far had been well intentioned, but lacked the
outcome we desired. However, we hoped to steer in the right direction despite
waves and currents diverting us from our course. We try to remember that obstacles,
like waves, always seem most intense, imposing, and unconquerable from the
trough; before confronting them. But once you reach the crest, descrying from
above, you can see the sea with clarity, and the wave soon becomes part of your
wake. Sailing through calm waters is for those who lack wind to power their
sails. Thus, we let the challenges that arise tempt our motivation and skill,
ready to witness our path from atop the wave.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVipWqW4ywA/UYlk4JV8rLI/AAAAAAAAAQw/Stf1vw9jL6w/s1600/DSCN3472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVipWqW4ywA/UYlk4JV8rLI/AAAAAAAAAQw/Stf1vw9jL6w/s320/DSCN3472.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Returning o dry land; in February, we traveled to Soloy for our next project. There, the summer threatens to dry up the mightiest river or the most resilient crop, and the wind never dwindles. The gusts of wild wind, or 'breeze', as the locals call it, steal anything that isn't tied down. Sadly, despite an abundance of real wind, many members of the community do lack the aforementioned metaphorical wind. Although to a lesser extent than in Palmera. There are a number of individuals in the community who are properly organized and informed, who work hard to achieve what they want. However, apathy and abandon reign as the leading philosophy for the majority of the population, who aspire to little more than brief moments of material satisfaction without regard for long term consequences. Ironically, it doesn't land too far from the description of more 'advanced' communities in 'developed' countries.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is really sad to
witness natural beauty being ruined by pollution, unity by violence and the
future by greed, ignorance or addiction. But the thing that saddens us the most
is witnessing a great potential walking head down, unarmed, hidden in the
shadow of these problems.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As our voyage progresses, and thus our experience and education – unlimited
and insufficient and unlimitedly insufficient – I realize that there are no
insurmountable problems; only unwilling people. Having said that, the most
positive aspect of our trip has been the people we have encountered. It's a
pity, therefore, that the answer is the same to the opposite question.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So we found ourselves in Soloy, wedged between the two landmarks that intersect Panama. Symbols of the prowess of man and nature alike, the Interamerican Highway and the Continental Divide proudly form the spine of the country. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the Western section of the Divide, growing softly from the flat
lands resting at its sides, the Serranía de Tabasará is dominantly poised; an
acutely eroded arch in which peaks were formed by volcanic intrusions, of which,
Volcan Barú, the nation's tallest summit, oversees the slow industry developing
around its fertile soil. Its skirts, abounding with meandering creeks, commanding
rivers, and a nuanced spectacle of shades of evergreen jungle full of intricate
vines and exotic animals, have long shared their secrets and protective mantle
with the Ngäbe Indians.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Oqqdok5hbw/UYlk_LAwXJI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/7vx7Bjv8_3k/s1600/DSCN3624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Oqqdok5hbw/UYlk_LAwXJI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/7vx7Bjv8_3k/s320/DSCN3624.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, like so many other indigenous populations throughout the world,
the Ngäbes fight an everyday battle against the overflowing currents of
modernity and the industrial exploitation of natural resources. As fortune has
it, the Ngäbes are settled on the nation's richest soil, a magnet for foreign
mining and energy companies as well as government leaders of questionable
principles.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Soloy is one of the main towns in the Comarca; not much more than a
strip of pavement with houses lined up at its edges, like buttons on a shirt. Located
at the end of the main road plunging from the Interamerican Highway into the
Comarca, Soloy provides a meeting point for merchants, artisans and farmers. The
center of town, which has two multipurpose stores and a restaurant is also a
transfer point for the transportation system, as the public bus stops there and
taxis, cars and horses transit the area taking people – and food – to and from
communities inaccessible by bus.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KKoHp-2XAp4/UYll4D6eRZI/AAAAAAAAARg/iD9ywH_xNP0/s1600/DSCN3790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KKoHp-2XAp4/UYll4D6eRZI/AAAAAAAAARg/iD9ywH_xNP0/s320/DSCN3790.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We lived in a particular section of Soloy called Boca Miel, about 2 km
away from the center of town, where the pavement ends and dirt paths ramify in every
direction. The Ngäbe Buglé Comarca is divided into seven districts. Soloy is
one of eight corregimientos (a country subdivision for administrative purposes;
in other, simpler words, a town) in the District of Besikö, located in the
south-west of the Comarca. The Comarca is populated by the Guaymi Indians, and
receives its name after its two linguistic subgroups, the Ngäbe, and the Buglé,
whose languages are mutually unintelligible. Most of the adults speak their
native language regularly, as well as Spanish, albeit rather limited in some
cases. However, the youth pose a cause for concern, for many do not know more
than a few basic Ngäbere words. Worryingly, their Spanish is often a carnage of
the already mutilated Spanish spoken by their elders.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WXRsn1SDbKI/UYlvhRJ5zqI/AAAAAAAAASI/fMla1XKyqw0/s1600/DSCN3858%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WXRsn1SDbKI/UYlvhRJ5zqI/AAAAAAAAASI/fMla1XKyqw0/s320/DSCN3858%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The comarca hosts approximately
160,000 people in an area of roughly 7,000 km<sup>2</sup>. Soloy is home to
some 1,500 people, most of which live in terrains with a few structures ranging
from huts to concrete houses and about half a hectare of arable land. The
houses vary in form and material, with concrete, zinc, bamboo and other timber
used interchangeably. Zinc roofs, often deemed in Western society as a sign of
underdeveloped neighborhoods, were proliferated in the Comarca as a substitute
for traditional palm roofs.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">More durable, stable and expensive, zinc became a
luxury item when it was first introduced a couple of decades ago. An
irrevocable trait of human nature, envy, soon converted this developing world
architectural icon into a must-have throughout Soloy and other neighboring
towns.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8iX1Hnm7XU/UYll09u5k8I/AAAAAAAAARY/DngJwYQPcWQ/s1600/DSCN3788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8iX1Hnm7XU/UYll09u5k8I/AAAAAAAAARY/DngJwYQPcWQ/s320/DSCN3788.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although most households have stable concrete structures where the
family sleeps and stores their valuables, many still have traditional
"ranchos" in their properties, under which they have hammocks and
usually sleep there on warm summer nights. Since there are only two seasons in
Soloy - dry and rainy – the hammocks out in the open air are still the
preferential sleeping arrangement for the majority, especially nostalgic adults
who see their childhood lifestyle quickly fading away.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are two sections of the town which are distinct from all the others. The center of town, and Barriada 2000. The latter is an infamous aglomeration of huts, people and trash which constantly emanates a profane smell of burnt plastic. An accelerated image of the development of the area, the Barriada was created in response to the establishment of the new school in Soloy at the turn of the century. As the news of the educational center reached the more remote, isolated villages of the Comarca, an influx of families arrived in Soloy.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSgCIhngrO8/UYll8Eki-SI/AAAAAAAAARo/P9H99YTUXZ0/s1600/DSCN3846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YSgCIhngrO8/UYll8Eki-SI/AAAAAAAAARo/P9H99YTUXZ0/s320/DSCN3846.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ready to sacrifice whatever commodities they had at their permanent
residences, they built temporary huts in a space provided by the municipality
so they could live during the school year. However, temporary plans gave way to
permanent relocation, and soon, an entire hillside, once washed by a crystaline
creek, fertile and brimful with handsomely robust mango and orange trees,
became a ghetto where somber shacks are separated by still streams of black,
garbage infested mud, and dirt paths occupied by curious, energetic children
weary of an insipid, mundane life confined to poverty.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mocked and degraded by their neighbors and forgotten by local
politicians, the Barriada 2000 is obviously a source of shame, and to some
extent, disgust to the rest of the community. Unresourceful and abandoned, the
people who dwell there have little to do in the face of the structural disaster
in which they live. Initiatives have been proposed and outside organizations
have declared their intention to improve their conditions, – beginning with latrines
– but sadly, the rythm of affairs, already slow in this section of the world,
is nearly stagnant.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWyiIg5Xals/UYlmEWRJ2HI/AAAAAAAAAR4/DGRBHZ0v39o/s1600/DSCN3893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kWyiIg5Xals/UYlmEWRJ2HI/AAAAAAAAAR4/DGRBHZ0v39o/s320/DSCN3893.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In many aspects, Soloy is very different from other Indigenous Communities we have visited. The road and the proximity of the houses attract businesses and tourism, opening a large gate to the outside world. This has a noticeable effect on the people, who are distinctly less timid than in more secluded places. The first contact we made with the Ngäbes was in the bus station in David, minutes before departing to Soloy on a yellow school bus, one of many specimens sent to Panama after their retirement in the US.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There, I
found a scene worthy of a commercial. Three middle-aged Ngäbe women sitting on
a bench, jauntily drinking soft drinks while waiting for the bus. They were
naturally dark, with long, radiant black hair flowing casually in the wind and
dipping behind their shoulders, playfully appearing over the colorful tones of
their traditional dresses, which covered their bodies down to their
ankles. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn't resist the urge to take a photo, thinking what a glorious
photograph this would have been a few decades ago, yet ready to hear a nearly
inaudible "no" for an answer, or a shy affirmation which would result
in them turning their faces the moment I snapped the photo, as it so often
happened elsewhere. My bold request caused them to giggle like young teenagers,
which prompted me to respectfully back away. However, as I turned my back, they
all said "sí, por favor!" At that moment, once again deceived by the
wrong idea of what we would encounter in the mountains, - this time caused by
the official website of a local NGO which hadn't been altered in more than ten
years - I believed I had captured a photographic jewel.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After spending one day in Soloy, I came to realize just how mundane that image was...</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NhZV5KLsLSU/UYllqEv1swI/AAAAAAAAARQ/VB2GyIBL0MQ/s1600/DSCN3756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="576" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NhZV5KLsLSU/UYllqEv1swI/AAAAAAAAARQ/VB2GyIBL0MQ/s640/DSCN3756.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-21705339120367087672013-05-01T22:51:00.001-04:002013-05-01T22:52:57.162-04:0010 Simple Hitchhiking TipsTo go along with our last <a href="http://unchartedways.blogspot.com/2013/04/san-isidro-to-david-hitchhiking-mission.html" target="_blank">post</a>, we have decided to write down a few tips for hitchhikers, which for us have become rules.<br />
<br />
We hope this can be useful to those of you who decide to hit the road.<br />
<br />
<h4>
1. Be informed.</h4>
What is your final destination?<br />
How long does it take to get there?<br />
Know the roads.<br />
<br />
<h4>
2. Plan your journey.</h4>
If you don't reach your destination in one day, have a backup plan to sleep in a safe place.<br />
<br />
<h4>
3. Safety backups.</h4>
Make sure someone knows where you are.<br />
<br />
<h4>
4. Quantity matters.</h4>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two is the perfect number for hitchhiking. Being alone can be a
little risky, and not every car will have space for three people plus
luggage. </div>
<br />
<h4>
5. Don't hitchhike at night.</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
6. Placement matters.</h4>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some believe that hitchhiking is best done in well populated areas, because more cars go by, and the amount of bystanders will somehow fend off any evil doers.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We believe the opposite. Hitchhiking is most effective in less traveled roads. We suspect people are more willing to pick up someone if they believe that person will have a tough time finding a ride. However, if a lot of cars drive by, most will discard the thought of picking a hitchhiker up by thinking "someone else will do it."<br />
<br /></div>
<h4>
7. Don't get in cars with tinted windows.</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
8. Check the car for signs.</h4>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As soon as you get in, check for things like religious symbols, the
driver's clothing, baby seats or anything that might let you know what kind of person has picked you up. Also, the initial conversation is rather revealing.</div>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
9. Keep your belongings close and accounted for.</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
10. Look friendly, be friendly.</h4>
Be kind, thankful and well mannered, the people who pick you up will be more willing to pick up the next hitchhiker they see if their experience with you is enjoyable.<br />
<br />
Drivers are also scared of picking up strangers, so look polished and SMILE A LOT!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10243278492217720115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-1998456585050092522013-04-20T23:51:00.001-04:002013-04-21T21:51:18.112-04:00San Isidro to David - A hitchhiking mission<div style="text-align: justify;">
On January 17th, the eve of our intended entrance into Panama - a country of transit, of separation and union, of thin contour but thick authority - we decided to avoid the easy yet expensive and uncomfortable bus ride through the mountainous section of the serpentine Interamerican Highway and the congested southern border crossing of Paso Canoas. Instead, we dove into the murky, unpredictable waters of hitchhiking. We were fully aware of the usual dangers associated with this alternative way of traveling, and wary of the particular risk of our undertaking, for we inescapably had to exit Costa Rica by the 19th, or else we would be forced to pay absurdly hefty fines.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHu9VDIazLU/UXNULPcsh7I/AAAAAAAAAP8/QsnTWVWu-kg/s1600/Imagen+395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHu9VDIazLU/UXNULPcsh7I/AAAAAAAAAP8/QsnTWVWu-kg/s320/Imagen+395.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We began the day as early as possible, in the fashion of what we now have began calling 'travel day', and after sharing a heartfelt 'see-you-later' with Esther, our neighbor, we set out to conquer the road. We erroneously thought that the best place to hitchhike would be the Interamerican Highway, for traffic is fluid and constant as it intersects San Isidro. After one hour of bypassing cars and trucks, whose drivers regarded us with distrust, disbelief, or mockery, we began to consider changing our spot and our route. Toute de suite, as we picked our bags up and headed to the other side of the city, a folksy local stopped a few meters down the road and offered us a ride 20 km out of the city. After a few minutes, our impromptu driver received a call urging him to return to San Isidro.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps more than any other incident that day, this opportune phone call would decisively alter the course of our hitchhiking adventure. This was an opportunity to frequent the coastal road. Our newest friend dropped us of in the western side of the city, where the road towards Playa Dominical begins. We learned that this path is preferred by those who descend towards Panama or the Costa Rican duty free paradise town of Golfito, as it is faster, straighter and more pleasant. In retrospect, it proved to be a good decision. Within a quarter of an hour we were in the back of a jeep with a couple of Jehova's Witnesses.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vaQZt4xQ0WE/UXNU6PzRKwI/AAAAAAAAAQI/hJZbnXmVIXY/s1600/Imagen+550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vaQZt4xQ0WE/UXNU6PzRKwI/AAAAAAAAAQI/hJZbnXmVIXY/s320/Imagen+550.jpg" width="320" /></a>Much like on a snowy peak, one's emotions while hitchhiking can abruptly change from a restful blanket of powder snow into a rummaging avalanche swiftly occupying every inch in its path. Every time a friendly face breaks our expectant and patient wait to bring us closer to our final destination, an exhilaration of intrigue, nervousness and relief rushes through us.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Elated, we collect our cluster of bags and dart towards the car, as if afraid that the driver will regret his decision and take off before we can reach it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One must be careful though, for all the excitement can play tricks on anyone, even the most responsible travelers. When a car does stop before you, remember that you most probably wont coincide with that person again, so it is always a good idea to double check your belongings before stepping out. Common sense would dictate so. It is common knowledge that common sense is not that common, although perhaps neither is knowledge. In any case, 'common sense' is often forgotten in times of urgency. That is why we recommend to turn this practice into routine.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Needless to say, we acquired this piece of advice by learning from experience, after forgetting our cell phone in the back seat of the Witnesses' car. Thankfully, a nearby information center allowed us to call our phone, which we had remembered to charge the previous night (also an useful practice before 'travel day') and after a few attempts, they answered.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zpyuwUD0_yI/UXNTCNE68bI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/0Uq_66uFFZg/s1600/Imagen+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zpyuwUD0_yI/UXNTCNE68bI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/0Uq_66uFFZg/s320/Imagen+011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fortunately, they hadn't gotten very far and, although a bit reluctant - understandably so - they committed to bringing it back to us. Between one thing and another, we had lost an hour of valuable time and potential rides, but we had all of our belongings and were once again ready to hit the road.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Little by little we advanced along the coastal road, including a ride which caught us right in the midst of preparing a pitiful but delicious road-side picnic. We were in no position to refuse a ride, but our half-made tuna and tomato sandwiches were not negotiable. So, we jumped into the car with the tuna half spread and the tomato half cut; juggling to stop them from dripping all over the backseat and eager to devour them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After four kind drivers and ten hours on the road - on wheels as well as on the road's shoulder with our thumbs up - we suddenly found ourselves shelter-less, minutes from dusk, in one of those crooked, lawless towns born out of a junction, where good never stops and bad always returns. As darkness neared, we began to fear that our romance with the risk and intrigue of hitchhiking would result in rose petals on the ground. However, a desperately polite plea hurled to the swift passing of a car - one of many petitions lost in the dust and odor of the asphalt - met obliging ears. Not without prior conjugal resolution, Marcia and Andres, a couple with a turbulent past but kind and charitable disposition, turned the car around and offered us a ride to the border; and to their home.<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--AlPqlZvZ2c/UXNTL3h2PUI/AAAAAAAAAPc/nPJBw_V5lqI/s1600/Imagen+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--AlPqlZvZ2c/UXNTL3h2PUI/AAAAAAAAAPc/nPJBw_V5lqI/s320/Imagen+001.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">We spent the night comfortably on an inflatable mattress installed on the kitchen floor of their humble home, ten minutes from the border. Without asking for anything in exchange, they shared their food, time, faith and life stories with us.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Having spent the best part of their youth as victims of poverty, crime and pitiless romance, both had now found in religion and each other the strength and wisdom to overcome the cruel adversities of life; which in Marcia's case included several years in prison. Not for a second did we feel frightened or uncomfortable after this revealing confession. In fact, we felt lady luck's smile shining above us once again after having found a couple so inclined to help us in such a precarious circumstance. The following morning, they prepared our last Tico breakfast (which consists of re-cooked rice and beans) and accompanied us to the frontier, where we complied with the necessary paperwork, and within an hour had entered into our second country: Panama!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This time, we only had to wait fifteen minutes for Edgar, a young Panamanian who also resorted to hitchhiking in his travels, and thus, did not hesitate to pick us up. As if it were customary when picking up hitchhikers, Edgar also treated us to a meal. Nonetheless, a meal and a ride wasn't enough for Edgar. He also took us to buy a Sim card for our phone and dropped us off at the doorstep of our hostel! Lastly, before we parted ways thinking we would never see this kind-hearted man again, he offered to take us to visit the mountains and beaches surrounding David, where one can find the touristic attractions of western Panama, aside from the over exploited archipelago of Bocas del Toro.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-twDh71frGpc/UXNT_ol81LI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Xrkw27hbQgU/s1600/Imagen+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-twDh71frGpc/UXNT_ol81LI/AAAAAAAAAPo/Xrkw27hbQgU/s320/Imagen+020.jpg" width="320" /></a>Incapable of wasting a chance to discover new places, just a few hours passed before we were in Edgar's car once again, heading to the famous mountain town of Boquete, a tourist favorite where an international coffee and flower festival was taking place. We spent a wonderful day in the mountains, but bypassed the festival, for it was an over hyped and overpriced magnet for easily impressed tourists and a reason for impoverished locals to spend their measly savings on alcohol. The mountains proved to be much more enticing, as we drove and walked through stunning cliffs, waterfalls and rivers. As we marveled at such a scenic contrast to the flat, dry, asphyxiating heat of David (just 40 minutes away) we discussed Panamanian politics and the ongoing power struggles between the implacable indigenous communities that reside in the mountains and the national government. The current government of Ricardo Martinelli has completely disregarded the autonomy of the Indigenous Comarcas (an Indian Reservation with the characteristic of a quasi-autonomous province) and unrelentingly sought to cash in on their untapped resources by granting construction permits to multinationals so they can build hydroelectric plants, mines and power lines to feed the increasing demand for resources and electricity in Panama City and Costa Rica.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ironically, despite Edgar's antindustrialist comments and his advocation for traditional agriculture, sustainable development methods and the preservation of indigenous communities and the environment, he works at a hydroelectric plant; the main symbol of foreign industrial imposition, of economic disparity and rural underdevelopment in Panama. At first we were reluctant to hint at the hypocrisy of his words, but after a few more rendezvous we gained enough trust to engage in a conversation about the friction between ideals and reality, thought and action. He explained that in Panama the options for electromechanical engineers are few and limited, and that he had spent a great deal of time and money in university to end up working in low-income, low-satisfaction jobs. While we understood the desire to challenge himself and reach his full potential, we couldn't help but to think that the high pay was more motivation than the excitement of hydroelectricity or the lack of other options. Nonetheless, there is always another way.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="color: purple;"></span></div>
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It is precisely this type of conformism, exercised by those who know the repercussions of their actions, and who, above all, can chose other forms of employment, which contributes to the multiple obstacles in the path towards equality, justice, and sustainability. Just to clarify, we are not arguing in favor or against hydroelectric power, nor are we saying that Edgar is a bad guy - in fact he is generous, respectful and considerate far beyond the norm - but that is exactly what is frustrating, that even such an altruistic and knowledgeable person is not capable of sacrificing his standard of living or his career for the sake of his ideals or values. We believe that all of us are victims of comfort, and it is only when our own comfort is at risk, not when our beliefs are challenged, that we decide to act.</div>
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In David we stayed in a hostel called Purple House. As the name indicates, it is purple. The problem is that everything in the hostel is purple. The walls, chairs, plates, cups, blankets, furniture, decorations, doors, soap. Everything. Is. Purple. It's surprising that the owner - a serious, almost rude lady with a good heart and the need to please every client that steps in her hostel - isn't purple, or at least crazy. After a couple of days I began to feel a bit claustrophobic, or rather, p<span class="st">orphyrophobic<u></u></span> and was itching to move on to our next project and less monochromatic surroundings.</div>
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Thankfully, after three nights of interesting yet speculative conversations - a dogma of the backpacker - we finally managed to escape our halt and found our next destination: Soloy.</div>
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Although we didn't learn anything new about the secrets of human goodness and generosity, this experience allowed us to meet people of various backgrounds and unconditional generosity. In any case, we did ascertain that hitchhiking is not an outdated or extremely risky way to travel. Of course, this isn't true in every country, but if you employ routine caution, there is no reason to fear the worst and all the reasons to enjoy an alternative way to travel and meet people.</div>
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Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-90598850909389937172013-03-09T18:38:00.000-05:002013-03-10T20:57:38.014-04:00San Isidro del GeneralThere's a current stereotype circulating through the Central American isthmus which declares de Ticos to be arrogant, condescending and materialistic. In our three months in Costa Rica we met a wide variety of people of all ethnicities, professions and economic classes. Granted, we didn't visit the entire country, nor did we meet the entire population, but the people we did have the fortune of meeting proved otherwise.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N1bKvO4w-VI/UPXhW4ThNMI/AAAAAAAAANw/HXMtBgZEd64/s1600/DSCN2553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N1bKvO4w-VI/UPXhW4ThNMI/AAAAAAAAANw/HXMtBgZEd64/s320/DSCN2553.jpg" width="320" /></a>The fact is that, like most stereotypes, it is the stigma -and often the people whom adhere to it - that results as superficial and condescending. It seems ridiculous to expect a specific behavior from the grand
majority of a population as soon as you cross the threshold of a
country.<br />
It would be interesting to investigate how such general judgments of character come to be, for, through traveling - or meeting travelers - one discovers that every person is unique, and that there are personality types of all sizes and colors in every country, region, city or neighborhood.<br />
Of course, there are distinctive features in different cultures which set us apart from one another, which are often confused and called stereotypes. These are not stereotypes, they are traditions.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uYiS119NsNI/UPXhaJDM_iI/AAAAAAAAAN8/7d3dv4-VdO0/s1600/RSCN2446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uYiS119NsNI/UPXhaJDM_iI/AAAAAAAAAN8/7d3dv4-VdO0/s320/RSCN2446.jpg" width="320" /></a>We learned this the easy way, by tuning our daily routines in accordance to local conventions, in one of Costa Rica's most traditional towns. The most important city in the south Pacific region of the country, San Isidro dwells in the Valley of the General, cradled by the mountain ranges which forge the backbone of the country - a topographic spectacle. Comfortably sized and located, it offers an ideal alternative to the hectic, thick agglomeration of San Jose. On all sides, nature's elegant grandeur is expressed in variant forms.<br />
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The mountains host several types of ecosystems; lowland, cloud and highland forests, which alternate with each passing mile, as one circulates the torturous roads intersecting them.<br />
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To the east, the beaches offer a convenient escape, only half an hour from the city. To the west, the highest peak in Costa Rica - Cerro Chirripo - oversees the development of the whole nation. At its feet, the steady traffic of the interamerican highway and the organic plantations; in the distance, volcanoes, jungles and the two oceans compete to attract international tourism.<br />
During our stay in San Isidro del General we became acquainted with many people whom we will remember for a long, long time.<br />
Everyone we crossed paths with during that month provided us with an opportunity to discover just how the stereotype strays far from the truth.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NLUruxm1y4I/UPXhWfjnpuI/AAAAAAAAANs/MUM1y7sxTIM/s1600/DSCN2600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NLUruxm1y4I/UPXhWfjnpuI/AAAAAAAAANs/MUM1y7sxTIM/s320/DSCN2600.jpg" width="320" /></a>The main contributors to making our sojourn such a special experience were Rafa, our coworker and flat-mate, who casually and gleefully shared his appartment and his humor with us; Beate and Federico, the founders and directors of Planet Conservation - the reason we were in San Isidro; and of course, our sweet and affectionate neighbor, Ester, who was accomodating beyond belief, and endued us with a sense of familiar belonging which is often longed when one is away from home during the holiday season.<br />
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At last but not least, are Diego and Karina, a young and spirited couple with a perennial duet of smiles and laughter. Not even Diego's blossoming music - an original fusion of the smooth warmth of bossa nova, the irreverent passion of a Latino and the soul filled energy of writing about one's own intimacies and skepticism - could surpass their immaculate attitude towards us.<br />
Whether we were out having fun, working, or at home, all of these people and many others made sure that we had a home, friends and family.<br />
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Despite working in an office - a rare setting for backpackers - we felt the mellowed detachment of a vacation much more than in <a href="http://unchartedways.blogspot.com/2012/12/wekte-bas-ra-projects-and-daily-life-in.html" target="_blank">Palmera</a>. The main factor responsible for such an irreverent attitude towards standard office etiquette was the flexible ambiance of Planet Conservation. Federico and Beate have created a special atmosphere to work, perfectly adapted to the typical informality of the town. Music, jokes and laughter would blatantly eclipse the rustling sound of keyboards and printers. It was a rather enticing mood to work in, without being a time-consuming distraction. After all, at the end of the day, the work that needed to be done, was done.<br />
Planet Conservation is a young organization specialized in serving as a link between tourists and students seeking to volunteer or intern at community based environmental and sustainable projects. In addition, they offer consulting to local businesses and hospitality establishments seeking to obtain green certification.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-udluAJ8FKZg/UTvF69zW4AI/AAAAAAAAAOo/e9RZGuO00e0/s1600/2.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-udluAJ8FKZg/UTvF69zW4AI/AAAAAAAAAOo/e9RZGuO00e0/s320/2.BMP" width="320" /></a>In celebration of their five year anniversary, they want to institute their own programs in order to directly participate in the preservation of the planet. Aside from routine office work such as translations or accounting, our main collaboration was in that department. We researched, drafted project proposals and searched for funding opportunities for two programs: turtle conservation and environmental education for children. In addition, we built a playground made of recycled materials in a kindergarten for children from low-income families; for which we gathered donations throughout the town.<br />
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Overall, our time in San Isidro was educational, interactive and inspirational. We were able to visit the mountains and the beach, made lifetime friendships, and met people of all characters and backgrounds, all willing to share their lives and homes with us.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10243278492217720115noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-48328490882666734722013-01-10T18:03:00.003-05:002013-02-25T21:10:27.383-05:00Boruca - New Year with the Devils<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WnzI4HDV8Q/UOix1oQJqeI/AAAAAAAAAHE/xgKpeizjlPw/s1600/DSCN2735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WnzI4HDV8Q/UOix1oQJqeI/AAAAAAAAAHE/xgKpeizjlPw/s640/DSCN2735.jpg" width="640" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">On the last day of 2012 we boarded yet another bus in our long </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">list of ill-fitting buses and </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">headed to </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">Boruca, the main settlement within the Boruca Indigenous Reserve. Do not be
mislead by the use of ill-fitting, for, despite their leisurely pace, the
quality of the buses is more than sufficient. The problem at hand is that the
seats are designed bearing in mind the average height of Costa Ricans, which,
for men, is nearly 20 cm less than the stature of yours truly. As you can
imagine, negotiating bumpy roads with barely a few inches of meager legroom and
a vacuum behind your head which lets your neck wobble like a boxing ball is not
a pleasant experience.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t2FnLBxbBVs/UOiy2MP0hrI/AAAAAAAAAIE/1SxBexfTuaA/s1600/DSCN2872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t2FnLBxbBVs/UOiy2MP0hrI/AAAAAAAAAIE/1SxBexfTuaA/s200/DSCN2872.jpg" width="150" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a two hour journey
during which we constantly had to ask our neighbors where we had to get off, the
driver informed us that we had reached the entrance to Boruca. Unbeknownst to
us, we were twelve kilometers of devastatingly steep, arid dirt away from the
actual town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQIIooZfYY/UOixUlMiEYI/AAAAAAAAAGk/7-FL1ma-gbQ/s1600/DSCN2724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3sQIIooZfYY/UOixUlMiEYI/AAAAAAAAAGk/7-FL1ma-gbQ/s200/DSCN2724.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In hindsight, we regarded
the sheer path ahead of us and the gleaming noon sun with too much disdain. We nearly
paid for our foolishness and disrespect when, after half an hour, unable to
find a shade to rest, we began questioning if we had made the right decision.
Luckily, a kind family coerced us into riding in the back of their pick-up
truck and turned what would have been a painstaking five hour hike into a 30
minute rollercoaster ride through the jarring unpaved hills.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once in the town, we
installed our camping tent and proceeded to discover what the town had to
offer, including a majestic waterfall and an ancient blend of dancing and
bull-fighting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vRdlI55AfbM/UOi05NDNMdI/AAAAAAAAAKM/73IrpGm-lYs/s1600/DSCN3020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vRdlI55AfbM/UOi05NDNMdI/AAAAAAAAAKM/73IrpGm-lYs/s200/DSCN3020.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ik9VJpTUlDY/UOixe3vtOnI/AAAAAAAAAG0/BQokZHbytkQ/s1600/DSCN2728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ik9VJpTUlDY/UOixe3vtOnI/AAAAAAAAAG0/BQokZHbytkQ/s200/DSCN2728.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;">Submerged in the Talamanca
Mountains and encircled by the scenic valley of the Rio Grande de Terraba, this
secluded site was once part of a vast territory. Before the arrival of the Spanish Empire in the 16</span></span><span style="line-height: 115%; vertical-align: super;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">th </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">century, the <i>Coto, Turruca, Borucac, Quepos </i>and the <i>Abubaes </i>feuded over the region of the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, from present day Quepos to the frontier with Panama. Today, the Boruca are a composite group of nearly 2500 people, formed by the descendants of the dispersed tribes, who are said to have survived the invasion thanks to the aid of natural spirits.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6vIn7M2omI/UOi1iyjmNEI/AAAAAAAAAK4/M-JPaY1fGdQ/s1600/DSCN3032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6vIn7M2omI/UOi1iyjmNEI/AAAAAAAAAK4/M-JPaY1fGdQ/s200/DSCN3032.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Despite crowning a
captivating mountain range and proudly boasting a phenomenally picturesque
cultural tradition, Boruca is dreadfully indistinct from any ordinary Costa
Rican town. Granted, this characteristic has positive and negative aspects. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hk8VdbmzSuE/UOizJtQAZAI/AAAAAAAAAIk/JIRjbgsGAIE/s1600/DSCN2918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hk8VdbmzSuE/UOizJtQAZAI/AAAAAAAAAIk/JIRjbgsGAIE/s640/DSCN2918.jpg" width="176" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The first indigenous reserve to receive
government aide, Boruca has been endowed with electricity, well equipped
schools and a centralized structure for a quarter century. The view, otherwise rural
and organic; adorned with banana-leaf-roofed </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">ranchos,</i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> is abhorrently obstructed with cables, a massive cross,
satellite dishes and a devastating amount of garbage.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hk8VdbmzSuE/UOizJtQAZAI/AAAAAAAAAIk/JIRjbgsGAIE/s1600/DSCN2918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tourists, often deceived
into visiting insipid cultural sites, may consider the town fairly
unexceptional if they visit during any other time of the year. But, peculiarly coinciding
with the end of the Christian year, from the evening of December 30<sup>th</sup>
until the twilight of January 2<sup>nd</sup>, the Borucas celebrate the <i>Fiesta de los Diablitos</i> (Festival of the
Little Devils) in commemoration of their survival against the forces of Spanish
conquistadors. This ritual with a side of party and a pinch of brawl is
anything but dull. The festivity is a flaming showcase of their culture and
spirit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a6zUm1F9-a4/UOizYT8g3kI/AAAAAAAAAI0/-cgno_l_UFo/s1600/DSCN2941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a6zUm1F9-a4/UOizYT8g3kI/AAAAAAAAAI0/-cgno_l_UFo/s200/DSCN2941.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Minutes before midnight
on December 30<sup>th</sup>, the town’s elder summons all the <i>diablitos </i>– basically any male over 15
years old – to his house. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once there, the diablitos commence parading the town
stopping at every house to drink <i>chicha</i>
(fermented corn liquor) and eat <i>tamales</i>.
The diablitos wear intricate hand-carved and painted balsa wood masks and
burlap sacks covered with jute and banana leaves. The procession is marked by
the relentless collisions against a bull – a few of the men take turns carrying
a heavy costume and bashing the diablitos– which represents the Spaniards. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The name ‘diablitos’, the
horned masks, and the fighting symbolize the shrewdness, guile, courage and
ardor that served them so well in resisting invading forces, while the sharing
of drinks and food is indicative of their undeniable hospitality, not only among
themselves, but with the few tourists who venture into the town to witness this
astonishing display.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The masks are the main
attraction and source of income throughout the year, when the diablitos drop
their costumes and work in the fields, in San Jose or manufacturing masks and
totems. However, during the festivity, it’s the evolving interaction with the
bull that draws the most attention, as the diablitos, increasingly inebriated
and aggressive, rampantly quarrel with the 40kg structure of the bull.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Adding to the uniquely
vibrant imagery of Boruca during these dates, each diablito proudly and
carefully carves and paints his own mask with colorful feathers, dramatic images of trees, flowers, animals
and of course, hostile, menacing horns. Each mask is exclusively
ornate, especially during the pinnacle of the feast, on January 2<sup>nd</sup>,
when approximately 100 locals dress up and taunt the bull until it eventually
gains ground and takes down all the diablitos. </span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8DF4P3c54c/UOix0PHB7dI/AAAAAAAAAG8/UQvdOiQ0GhI/s1600/DSCN2743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8DF4P3c54c/UOix0PHB7dI/AAAAAAAAAG8/UQvdOiQ0GhI/s200/DSCN2743.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, the bull runs away, but
the diablitos, inspired by the animal spirits that aided them centuries ago,
rise from the dead, hunt down the bull and toss it into a blistering fire as
they soar around the flames celebrating the victory. The revelry that ensues is
even more exhilarating than in the previous nights, as the citizens of Boruca
put on their best outfits and party well into the night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHidXGYaUI8/UOiyvK52dGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/qM2HcYKScjY/s1600/DSCN2907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHidXGYaUI8/UOiyvK52dGI/AAAAAAAAAH8/qM2HcYKScjY/s200/DSCN2907.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So far we’ve had the
chance to meet members of three different indigenous groups, while visiting two
reserves. Despite being branded with the name ‘indigenous’, each of these
groups is very different from the others, not only regarding cultural characteristics
such as language, art and organization of society, but also with respect to
progress and development – where they find themselves at this moment in
history. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vVFXdrt0iE8/UOiztCmS85I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/EvgljnSZd_Y/s1600/DSCN2959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vVFXdrt0iE8/UOiztCmS85I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/EvgljnSZd_Y/s200/DSCN2959.jpg" width="120" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Their openness to the world outside their barriers, their knowledge of
world events, acceptance of tourism and external influences, as well as other
aspects beyond their endemic culture are shaping their societies in ways undeterminably
good or bad. Time will be the judge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBjW8KMsAqg/UOizshwRF6I/AAAAAAAAAJM/Z957BZpZRIk/s1600/DSCN2957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBjW8KMsAqg/UOizshwRF6I/AAAAAAAAAJM/Z957BZpZRIk/s200/DSCN2957.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These groups continue to
be called indigenous but the meaning and usage of this word has loosely
dissipated in modern times. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines indigenous
as “having originated in and being produced, growing, or living naturally in a
particular region or environment”. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekHXPQP9TwQ/UOi1Ioz1BsI/AAAAAAAAAKU/tzIdvdJCfPk/s1600/DSCN3027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekHXPQP9TwQ/UOi1Ioz1BsI/AAAAAAAAAKU/tzIdvdJCfPk/s200/DSCN3027.jpg" width="172" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
for ‘indigenous peoples’, there is no universally accepted definition, but according
to Wikipedia, there are three elements used to describe the term: the voluntary
perpetuation of cultural distinctiveness, an experience of subjugation, marginalization
and dispossession, and self-identification. However, according to these two
definitions, most of the world’s population is indigenous. Surely, there
must be something more to the essence of the word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SuxgWy53MRU/UOi0yTCjKQI/AAAAAAAAAKE/d6FlCtKdhE4/s1600/DSCN3015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SuxgWy53MRU/UOi0yTCjKQI/AAAAAAAAAKE/d6FlCtKdhE4/s200/DSCN3015.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colloquially, ‘indigenous’
is used to describe a close relationship with nature, respect for all things
living, separation from the modern urban society, and the upholding of ancient
traditions as core community values. Through the experiences of the last few
months we have come to the realization that perhaps ‘indigenous’ is no longer a
term to define a place of origin, but rather a way of living, a philosophy and
a sentiment.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GuZb8TqAmvc/UOi0M5NjMYI/AAAAAAAAAJk/QhujoG0AHSc/s1600/DSCN2965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GuZb8TqAmvc/UOi0M5NjMYI/AAAAAAAAAJk/QhujoG0AHSc/s200/DSCN2965.jpg" width="193" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The indigenous people of Boruca, as well as many others throughout the world are in danger of extinction. </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">‘Being indigenous’ is not passed on genetically. It requires education, reason, sacrifice and determination.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jKOXPjPXzCE/UOi0dBEnLYI/AAAAAAAAAJs/6dog6yTj9ak/s1600/DSCN2983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jKOXPjPXzCE/UOi0dBEnLYI/AAAAAAAAAJs/6dog6yTj9ak/s200/DSCN2983.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 18px;">Thus, the inhabitants of Boruca will continue to be called indigenous because they live in the land that their ancestors fought and cared for, and have the physical traits of their parents; but must of them won</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’t be indigenous in regards to the colloquial understanding of the word </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">– unless they consciously choose so.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4woB4R8Ub6I/UOi1J2GLOrI/AAAAAAAAAKc/ZuFOpXFhbbM/s1600/DSCN3030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4woB4R8Ub6I/UOi1J2GLOrI/AAAAAAAAAKc/ZuFOpXFhbbM/s200/DSCN3030.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="line-height: 18px;">‘Being indigenous’ is not about being different, about suffering from marginalization and racism, but about preserving the unique and valuable elements of their ancestry. We</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">’ve met many </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">‘indigenous people’ who do not enjoy a traditional way of living, or who do not respect nature, just as there are many </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">‘non-indigenous people’ throughout the world who share the indigenous philosophy.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Progress will come not through imposing or opening the doors to the modern world, but by building a bridge through which education, information and respect can travel both ways.</span></div>
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<br />Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-62218863851231109872012-12-31T00:02:00.000-05:002013-01-05T15:36:54.762-05:00Infiltrated volunteers: Matapalo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s remarkably inspiring to witness the
amount of people who gladly sacrifice their time, and often
money, to become part of a cause much larger than themselves. Since arriving in
San Isidro in early December, we have had the chance to meet and work with
several volunteers. Whether they are committing their efforts entirely selflessly
or as a way to expand their knowledge on a specific subject, the result is undeniably
constructive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Volunteering is able to decrease the
disparities in society, such as poverty, segregation and exclusion. The pillars
of volunteerism; solidarity and commitment are comforting constants upon which
we can rely as the driving force for the crucial adjustments we must make to
our way of living; both as individuals and as a society. The principles of
volunteerism are remarkably pertinent in increasing the competence of those
exposed, vulnerable and weak so they can attain a safe and sustainable living
situation as well as to improve their physical, financial, spiritual and social
well-being. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h6k746ad5R0/UN-XH8C67FI/AAAAAAAAAF4/TmesvAv_oLE/s1600/DSCN2538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h6k746ad5R0/UN-XH8C67FI/AAAAAAAAAF4/TmesvAv_oLE/s320/DSCN2538.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Although by many standards we are
considered volunteers, we have decided to create a different term for our
specific situation to be able to differentiate ourselves from the many charitable
people we have crossed during our work at Planet Conservation. We have recently
begun calling ourselves “freelance volunteers”. By no means do we intend to emphasize
our work with this differentiation. In fact, our work lacks any real, or
quantitative, value until we finish the journey and are able to produce substantial
and defined conclusions, while ‘regular’ volunteering yields direct results.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In fact, we began calling ourselves this
rather pompous name when we attempted to explain the type of work we have been
doing and not many people seemed to understand that we have traveled here on
our own account. While we have the most sincere respect for genuine eco-volunteering
and ‘voluntourism’, we are not in the business of paying to do work. Our trip
has different goals.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v1wNf-XvAf8/UN-UagdE_OI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/F2KVZyKMj7M/s1600/DSCN2475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v1wNf-XvAf8/UN-UagdE_OI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/F2KVZyKMj7M/s320/DSCN2475.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The benefit of being freelance volunteers
is that – so far – we cohabit and collaborate with a broad assortment of people
with different perspectives, backgrounds, ideas and knowledge and learn about countless
topics. By volunteering with different organizations, we can improve
our understanding of the obstacles, the solutions and the issues faced by enterprises
intended to promote and improve the global well-being. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We do not intend to limit our work to
foundations, NGOs, or government projects. It has been repeatedly but
appropriately recognized that small acts can have a huge impact. Groups of
organized neighbors, families and even individuals can immensely influence
other people’s lives, communities and the habitat that surrounds them. These
actions, born out of altruism are perhaps more effective than those of massive, institutionalized, bureaucratic organizations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After only one week of living in San
Isidro we got to discover just how powerful a relatively small act can become.
Not only in the purpose of the act itself, but in the economic and moral
improvement of a whole community.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bHERZkfER4Y/UN-TPATivII/AAAAAAAAAE8/w7NBS6RmaHo/s1600/DSCN2447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bHERZkfER4Y/UN-TPATivII/AAAAAAAAAE8/w7NBS6RmaHo/s320/DSCN2447.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Twenty-five years ago, in Matapalo, a
small fishing village in the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, a humble, ordinary
family dared to confront a shortsighted and selfish tradition and changed the
future of a whole town and innumerable creatures. The mother, thoughtful and
loving as mothers ought to be, acknowledged a problem where others only saw
food and business. Attentive, she had witnessed how year after year, the sea
turtle arrivals in the colossal esplanade of Playa Matapalo were no longer counted
in the thousands. The locals, who eagerly awaited turtle season to consume and
sell the delicious and expensive eggs, had perhaps never considered that those
eggs would eventually grow to be the turtles that fed them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Moved by what she considered a problem of
utmost significance, she convinced her family to build a makeshift hatchery in
their backyard. Judiciously, they would patrol the beach at night in search of nesting
mothers. As the turtles placidly descended towards the ocean after finishing
the phenomenal, yet arduous task of laying eggs, they would run in and
carefully excavate the camouflaged pits and take the eggs to the hatchery,
where they could shelter the hundreds of unborn hatchlings from menacing predators.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FM_6u3-sUJ4/UN-T2gE0N8I/AAAAAAAAAFE/Kr3wkBFFx-E/s1600/DSCN2468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FM_6u3-sUJ4/UN-T2gE0N8I/AAAAAAAAAFE/Kr3wkBFFx-E/s320/DSCN2468.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The family turned a deaf ear to the
complaints, threats and general unhappiness of their fellow citizens and
continued with this process for nearly 6 years until, in 1991, a local Costa
Rican Organization stepped in and elevated the project to another level. Now,
the ASVO Matapalo Turtle Conservation Program is the oldest communal turtle
conservation project in the nation's Pacific coast. An area which once suffered
a 100% loss of nests is now down to almost zero.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our placement at Planet Conservation was
opportune enough that we were able to spend a weekend visiting the project
before turtle season ended. The motive for deploying us at the Matapalo Project
was to examine and analyze how a turtle conservation program operates. For
three days, we lived and worked as regular volunteers in the ASVO house. We
were ecstatic about the prospect of witnessing a turtle (although not an <i>arribada</i>, a communal arrival of hundreds
of turtles for a few nights) or perhaps the birth of a nest; but our chances
were faint, given that the season was practically over. Our main hope resided
on the mere eight nests that remained in the hatchery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCzh5uqc3mY/UN-U9tEieZI/AAAAAAAAAFY/oH-Up6N1WwM/s1600/DSCN2493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCzh5uqc3mY/UN-U9tEieZI/AAAAAAAAAFY/oH-Up6N1WwM/s320/DSCN2493.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">The first night we patrolled the beach in
complete darkness for two hours, covering the four kilometers under the
auspices of ASVO with the guidance of a young, but experienced volunteer.
Robert is one of thousands German high school graduates volunteering abroad. A
sign of a progressive country headed in the right direction, the German
government subsidizes young men and women who wish to expand their knowledge
and gain a bit of expertise in a chosen subject before beginning the next step
of their academic career.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">It was too much to ask to see a turtle, but we did enjoy the serenity of
walking through a misty beach depending only on the stars and a couple of
fishing boats for illumination. Patrolling is only one of the many duties of
the volunteers and staff. Depending on the month, various teams ranging from
one to three people keep their eyes peeled as they march through the sand
retrieving nests.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bsRzSOzqL6M/UN-VjfcTRJI/AAAAAAAAAFg/K0yp1zNoaUc/s1600/DSCN2516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bsRzSOzqL6M/UN-VjfcTRJI/AAAAAAAAAFg/K0yp1zNoaUc/s320/DSCN2516.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The other important duty is done in three
turns of four hours. From dusk till dawn, teams of two must watch over the
hatchery in case of births and to keep any predators – human or otherwise –
away. The rest of the volunteer responsibilities are domestic, such as cleaning
the house and washing the dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On Saturday, our second day at the
project, we participated in cleaning duties, played a rough football match on the beach and celebrated an early Christmas with the staff and volunteers, who joined hands to cook a lavish feast of local dishes. In the afternoon, we visited the edge of a natural park; where a river, a beach and a forest have created a peaceful sanctuary. <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We accompanied a crew of volunteers and staff to this remote location
with an honorable purpose, to liberate a young raccoon. A few months back, a
local farmer had brought Miko, a cub, and his sister to the ASVO volunteer
home, hoping that they could heal their wounds. Miko, unable to bury his
instincts, had grown into a young, quarrelsome and rebellious pet. Sadly, the
female didn’t survive surgery. After a passionate debate, the staff had decided
that the most humane solution was to set him free.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On our second and final night we were
appointed to guard the hatchery from midnight until four in the morning. Since
we didn’t want to miss the possible, but improbable birth of baby turtles, we
asked the volunteers taking the first shift to warn us in case of any hatchings.
To their surprise, they encountered a nest full of nervous hatchlings, zealously
waiting to flee for the open ocean.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-etsiF-9PpkU/UOEZAldoVfI/AAAAAAAAANk/oMI02Zi8WIM/s1600/Diego+y+Julia.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-etsiF-9PpkU/UOEZAldoVfI/AAAAAAAAANk/oMI02Zi8WIM/s320/Diego+y+Julia.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With
the fresh, luscious taste of passion fruit mousse lingering in our palates, we
eagerly bequeathed our unfinished plates and sprinted towards the hatchery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Methodically, but unable to conceal our
enthusiasm, we counted the 85 newborns and moved them to the beach in a large container.
Our hands were tremulous with excitement, as we set the bucket down six meters
from the water and carefully placed every single courageous little creature on
the sand. Once the last of the instinctive wanderlusters had departed, the
nervous giggle we had uttered throughout the process was suddenly amplified
into a triumphant, exuberant laughter to escort the turtles past the
breaking waves as it echoed in the dark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We couldn’t help but compare our lives to
those of the valiant young turtles. The adorable, even jocular display is a
rather didactic event for us. Yet to taste the sweet tenderness of a mother’s
care, they must confront many of nature’s most bitter lessons. The friable pack
embarks without any deliberation on a quest towards a most unsure and ambiguous
objective; life. Granted, instinct, not reason, is the driving force of their
actions. But wouldn’t our lives be more valuable, and worth living if we devoted
them to do what we know to be right without fear of the obstacles that may stand in our
path?</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<br />Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-89377551389179288602012-12-25T14:07:00.001-05:002012-12-30T17:55:51.043-05:00Puerto ViejoIt's unequivocal by now that we are tracing the footprints of Lady Luck. However capricious a mistress she might be, her love affair with our journey blooms splendidly in our favor. We must not grow arrogant though, for fortune is perfidious, and of many lovers. So, we walk cautiously, aware and informed, but intrepidly, for, after all, fortune favors the brave.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JX36sqNFBHM/UNnyYxtuH3I/AAAAAAAAALM/eyPvB299d0U/s1600/DSCN1378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JX36sqNFBHM/UNnyYxtuH3I/AAAAAAAAALM/eyPvB299d0U/s320/DSCN1378.JPG" width="320" /></a>Although we relished the unexpected opportunity to visit Cahuita, we started to grow restless after a breezy week of idle strolls. We had nowhere to go until Tuesday the 11th of December - commencement date of our assignment with Planet Conservation in San Isidro del General. Thus, we woke up early on an unusually bright morning, decided to follow the trail o<span style="font-family: inherit;">f traditional</span> tourism and headed south towards Puerto Viejo. Our main intention was to spend a placid day at the beach, for, despite all the attractions and entertaining possibilities, our budget had already suffered enough from the inflated touristic prices. Also, we wanted to find a hostel whose name we didn't remember, and whose owners we didn't personally know.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-80OpTi0NpZ8/UNnzAlb4uQI/AAAAAAAAALU/SJVoah-mXog/s1600/DSCN2110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-80OpTi0NpZ8/UNnzAlb4uQI/AAAAAAAAALU/SJVoah-mXog/s320/DSCN2110.JPG" width="320" /></a>A few months ago, when we first made public our plans of embarking on our current voyage, Michael Pepple, a dear friend of ours, put us in contact with David Sloan and Danielle Kravetz, the owners of La Ruka, a friendly and accommodating lodge near Cocles beach, in the vicinity of Puerto Viejo. Regrettably, by the time we arrived in the unbridled, colorful enclave of Puerto Viejo, we had forgotten the name of the hostel, and had the wrong phone number. After a few futile attempts at asking for directions to hostel 'La Amistad' or 'La Alegria', I, stifled by the heat, gave up.<br />
However, Julia, persistent as ever, amicably approached a store to inquire "one last time, otherwise we'll go to the beach." The shopkeeper, another Spaniard far from home, cordially invited us to use his computer to investigate further, as he, despite publishing a monthly local magazine, had never heard of the made up hostels which we were naming.<br />
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With the correct name but no directions, we continued our unguided walk to the beach. Then, as if it had magically appeared out of the jungle, we saw it: La Ruka. Dave and Danielle have recently acquired the locale from its cynical past owner, and now live there with Dave's brothers, who work as members of the friendly staff. La Ruka is the quintessence of its proud owners who, through love and dedication have created a home for themselves, and anyone who wishes it to be. Easily appreciated at first glance, the hostel is a harmonious assemblage of jubilation, relaxation and camaraderie.<br />
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Dave and Danielle were amusingly baffled with our sudden appearance. Following a brief introduction, they offered us a pair of dowdy bikes and sent us on our way to Manzanillo, a remote village where the streets end and paradise begins.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CyH6YZBTS04/UNnv4bGGy6I/AAAAAAAAAKo/hPkNXvf8-FI/s1600/DSCN2128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CyH6YZBTS04/UNnv4bGGy6I/AAAAAAAAAKo/hPkNXvf8-FI/s320/DSCN2128.JPG" width="320" /></a>The easternmost spot in Costa Rica, Manzanillo is an appetizer of the gaudy wildlife that extends behind its kilometric beach. Lined with coconut trees, soothing waves and wooden dories, Playa Manzanillo ends gently as the Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Reserve begins. There, the prolific jungle is adamant to the frequent onslaught of the indomitable waves, who repeatedly smash against reef and rock, creating an instant raw spectacle for those who venture into the hidden treasures of fine sand. As one roams the hills outlining the coast, the serpentine roots of the corpulent, propitious trees serve as natural steps. Occasionally we would hear a vociferous troop of howler monkeys, but, despite its famed reputation as an animal sanctuary, we didn't see any animals, marine or terrestrial. Nonetheless, the breathtaking views were worth the bike ride.<br />
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Upon our return to La Ruka, we learned that we missed out on the best part of the reserve, for we didn't reach the end of the path. Exploring without a local guide has its negative consequences, but we were able to admire the mystic scenery by ourselves. Since Dani and Dave had been too busy to spend the day with us, we decided to meet in Cahuita the next day. After a peaceful morning exchanging stories and experiences at the beach, they invited us back to Puerto Viejo for the night to celebrate the life of a dog. Earlier that morning, the owner of the Tasty Waves Cantina - a close friend of Dani and Dave - had lost his lovable pet: a droll, adventurous dog appropriately named <i>Nacho Borracho</i>. A party unlike any others; somehow both tender and wild, it was a great occasion for us to discover just why they call Puerto Viejo "Costa Rica´s Miami." Music and exultance swarm the electric streets as the mingling, exuberant crowd of tourists and locals lavishly partakes in carefree celebrations.<br />
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The next morning, enchanted by the jaunty atmosphere of Puerto Viejo, and by the comfort of real beds, we decided to stay one more day. Dani and Dave, incredibly generous and considerate, didn't hesitate to invite us again to spend the night at La Ruka, even offering us surf boards, bikes or scuba equipment to liven up yet another lovely day. We tried our luck with surfing, but the gnarly waves furiously hurled us around before we even attempted to swim beyond their breaking point.<br />
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Eventually, our fleeting visit to the Caribbean had to end. After two idyllic, gratifying nights in Puerto Viejo, we said goodbye to La Ruka and its endearing owners and returned to Cahuita. The next morning, we woke up early and sat out on the main road hoping to catch a ride, all the way to San Jose, where we had to find a bus that would take us to San Isidro del General.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p9L_REeXabE/UNnxLT6BrDI/AAAAAAAAAK4/1_1FT9qyNi8/s1600/DSCN2228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p9L_REeXabE/UNnxLT6BrDI/AAAAAAAAAK4/1_1FT9qyNi8/s320/DSCN2228.JPG" width="320" /></a>After 45 minutes of potential cars bypassing our friendly sign, Julia stood up and determinedly announced: "the second car to appear is our ride". Astonishingly, the second car did pull over! The driver was another Spaniard, Juanca. The three of us enjoyed the road trip to San Jose, remembering our home country and cheerfully sharing our experiences in Costa Rica. After a long day of traveling, we stepped off the bus and were met by Federico Solorzano and Rafa Quesada, our colleagues and hosts in San Isidro del General. But that, our dear readers, is a whole 'nother story...<br />
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<br />Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-48672405395333232862012-12-18T22:11:00.000-05:002012-12-28T18:11:54.517-05:00Cahuita<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Dw18wLeBiY/UNEmXK89-SI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Bt2uqcaTH7s/s1600/DSCN1349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2Dw18wLeBiY/UNEmXK89-SI/AAAAAAAAAEA/Bt2uqcaTH7s/s320/DSCN1349.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Lulled by
the sound of calypso and reggae drifting through the heat of eternal summer, Cahuita
lies in tranquility between Limon, the most important port of the South
Caribbean; and Puerto Viejo, a haven for nonconformist renegades, surfers,
tourists and backpackers. It is is escorted by an uninhibited, paradisaical black sand
beach to the northwest and the monumental jungle of the Cahuita National Park
to the southeast. This minuscule town is, metaphorically and geographically, wedged
between two worlds.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Originally,
the animals that are currently found in the </span>National Park roamed freely, exempt
from hunters. Visitors are easily delighted by the sloths, caymans, monkeys,
snakes and several species of colorful birds that approach the jungle path conquered
by ants and mosquitoes.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1aGyMekCAgc/UNElHhdjiLI/AAAAAAAAADs/Roj0a94tspg/s1600/DSCN2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1aGyMekCAgc/UNElHhdjiLI/AAAAAAAAADs/Roj0a94tspg/s320/DSCN2016.JPG" width="320" /></a>However, the green and hawksbill turtles that once
chose the secluded shore to lay their eggs have long been absent from
this breathtaking ecosystem.<br />
In the 1750s, when only the most fearsome pirates
dared navigate through the sheltering reef outlining the coast, the <i>Miskito</i> Indians of Nicaragua traveled south following the migration
patterns of sea turtles in search of food. By 1828 they had permanently settled
in the prominent tip, naming it “kawe” “ta”, or “point where the <i>Sangrillo</i> trees grow.” The <i>sangrillo </i>trees were of special
significance to the new dwellers, for they used the red sap emanating from the
trunks to dye their fishing nets, thus avoiding the reflection of the sun on
the nets through the pristine waters.<br />
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<span lang="EN-US">In the 19<sup>th</sup>
century, the slave ships traveling near the coast often collided with the
treacherous reef. The natives, attentive and considerate, rescued the auspicious
survivors who had just evaded a life of forced labor in the cocoa plantations.
This altruistic practice gave birth to the current community of Afro-Caribbeans
that give Cahuita its soul and essence. Today, the exotic cuisine, the long dreaded
surfers, and the centenary, colorful wooden houses built on pillars serve as reminders of the town’s heritage. </span><br />
However,
the traditional carefree demeanor of the Afro-Caribbean population has
transformed into a lazy and detached attitude which has paved the roads of the
picturesque town for foreigners trying to escape from their stressed and burdened
lives. </div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeqOyNR697Q/UNEkAVDIahI/AAAAAAAAADU/nET7n71H-rw/s1600/DSCN1819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qeqOyNR697Q/UNEkAVDIahI/AAAAAAAAADU/nET7n71H-rw/s320/DSCN1819.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Increasingly, local businesses and jobs are seized by Europeans and North
Americans, who arrive with more capital and proficiency. </span>While the locals
complain about the lack of job opportunities, the new residents blame them for
their lack of interest and organization.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Nonetheless,
there is one local whose interest in the progress of the community is
unquestionable and whose struggle and determination are exemplary despite his
years. His name is Winston Brooks. I</span><span lang="EN-US">n an </span>ironic parallel to his restaurant, whose superb quality is not demonstrated by its usually void tables, Winston is a<span lang="EN-US"> man who projects intelligence and vigor beyond
his humble and rusty appearance. "A duck wishing to be a chicken," he prefers the life of a farmer despite his private education and versed dialect. Thus, he hermits away in his farm, choosing the other Cahuita. The one that smells of sugarcane, labor and tar.</span><br />
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Although there is much to reveal about Winston and Cahuita's internal issues, we must first explain how we arrived at his doorstep.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6QpphwFEO4/UNEjR5Nz-zI/AAAAAAAAADE/U1osragy_gM/s1600/DSCN1711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6QpphwFEO4/UNEjR5Nz-zI/AAAAAAAAADE/U1osragy_gM/s320/DSCN1711.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">On the
morning of November 29<sup>th</sup>, we found ourselves wistfully but eagerly descending
the mountain in pursue of our next adventure; leaving behind not just a
remarkable family, but friends that would live in our hearts forever. Before
exiting the Indigenous Territory, we picked up Irene, the campestral and
buoyant Spanish teacher at the local high school. We had helped Irene with
personal and professional matters during our time there, and in return, she put us in contact with Winston, who gladly invited us to stay at his <i>Posada</i>. As the usual route was obstructed
by the flooded river, we were </span><br />
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forced to deviate and hike for three hours through an infamous
location known for armed robberies which ended with a hanging bridge much more frightening
than any delinquent.<br />
<span lang="EN-US">For this reason, we accompanied Irene on the way out, as
Leo guided us through the dodgy, yet scenic trail.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">After a hasty
goodbye with Irene, one of many in our incipient journey, we arrived safely in
Limon, following a quiet bus ride with Leo, as the three of us certainly
contemplated our imminent farewell. Although we had lunch with Leo in Limon,
the lingering feeling of separation made the meal a delay of events rather than
an enjoyable final feast. Happily, before we realized, we were stepping off a
bus in an intriguing new destination with an incurable air of summer bliss;
Cahuita.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YGJ_8xRvx0w/UNEipi4evEI/AAAAAAAAAC0/qgC5jdDVHE4/s1600/DSCN1322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YGJ_8xRvx0w/UNEipi4evEI/AAAAAAAAAC0/qgC5jdDVHE4/s320/DSCN1322.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">In Cahuita,
we were met by Sonia, a spiritual nomad with a distinct Spanish guise. As she
would likely say, life had taken her there, where she lived in Winston’s
ancestral home with her boyfriend and Winston’s ex-wife, Lucy.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US">The home, worthy
of a museum, is a 150 year old wooden structure which appears to stand on
wishful thinking and temperament, rather than firm foundations. Adjacent to it
is the <i>Posada</i>; erected but unpainted,
and the restaurant; full with potential rather than clients.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">During our
time there, we walked through the streets, spent hours in the idyllic white
beach of the national park and befriended a few charming locals, who were pleased
to converse with visitors concerned with local events. Apart from being devoured
by mosquitoes and marveling at the devastating force of the laboring ants, we spotted
a baby sloth, iguanas, a basilisk, troops of howler monkeys and white-faced capuchins,
caymans and a friendly talking parrot.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AmPqE9kBx8o/UNEkY-a3EKI/AAAAAAAAADc/N3qhG4osz10/s1600/DSCN1907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AmPqE9kBx8o/UNEkY-a3EKI/AAAAAAAAADc/N3qhG4osz10/s320/DSCN1907.JPG" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US">Whenever
Winston was able, we would sit down with him and enjoy a captivating conversation
about local politics, imperialism, or any relevant topic about which he could
offer an opinionated view. </span>During the day, he would work in his organic
plantation, where he took us once so we could learn about the difference between
bananas and plantains and how to plant them.<br />
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Our
experience in Cahuita was brief yet unforgettable. There, we met all kinds of interesting
characters with incredible backgrounds and stories. Its rich diversity – despite its minute
size – is both an obstacle towards communal understanding and progress and an
attraction for tourists of any kind. Its cultural and natural wealth is an
ocean of fascinating creatures and tales, where one can spend days upon days
wading through stories and adventures before realizing that time has swiftly gone
by.<br />
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Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-60414910866049345582012-12-04T20:09:00.002-05:002012-12-28T18:07:35.626-05:00Wektë bas ra: Projects and Daily Life in Palmera <div style="text-align: justify;">
We arrived in Palmera on October 21st with a plethora of objectives. Some were commissioned by the Humanitarian Foundation, whereas others were personal. Our primary instruction from them was to complete a report which would enhance their understanding of the community, their progress and their needs. </div>
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To do so, we carried out two workshops at the local high school. One was dedicated to their academic and professional futures, in hope of encouraging them to continue their education after graduation and fulfil their potential. The other consisted of a cultural exchange, hoping to emphasize the importance of their identity; helping them comprehend the significance of retaining their native culture. For many of the students, it is a sacrifice to attend school everyday. Many of the females are mothers and housewives, while the young men could be earning a living for their families at the plantations. Furthermore, the average student walks for an hour to get to school, and some have to walk for up to three hours, as they live in houses wildly scattered across the mountain. Thus, we were incensed when we discovered a grave and pertinent problem affecting the educational institutions. Casually conversing with teachers, locals and in our visits to the school, we found out that a couple of key functionaries of the educational institutions were malignantly involved in negligence and embezzlement, leaving the students without lunch on a daily basis and the teachers without equipment. Having ignited our fire within, we urged them to take action. On behalf of the community, we helped them draft a letter to the regional authorities, asking for an internal investigation, a new directive and a series of requisites in order to achieve transparency and a more efficient administration in the years to come.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pxe_LRZSN5w/UL6YsIdmX7I/AAAAAAAAAHs/XHLPYCbM1-o/s1600/DSCN0908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pxe_LRZSN5w/UL6YsIdmX7I/AAAAAAAAAHs/XHLPYCbM1-o/s320/DSCN0908.JPG" width="320" /></a>The foundation, who has been involved in numerous projects for the community, also collaborates closely with a group of artisan women. Envisioning increased visibility and documentation, we were asked to create a brief documentary on the intricate process of their craft; including pictures, videos and short biographies. However, we were disappointed by their lack of interest and cooperation when we summoned them to share their art. Sadly, the documentary will be undermined as a result. Similarly, the letter wasn´t signed by most of the people who initially endorsed it. What we initially thought to be fear of retribution may have turned out to be simply passivity or apathy. At the time of our departure, the powerful letter rested impotently in a dusty folder.</div>
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On a more positive note, we helped Leo, our host, write a proposal to build a lodge which will greatly improve the development and well being of the community. The Cabecar Cabin, as it will be named, will host tourists, students, researchers and will serve as a locale to impart technical courses. The foundation is now using this proposal to find the necessary funds to bring the project to life.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F-vevP1PxpA/UL6Z0yLKqdI/AAAAAAAAAII/T8L04ZhFMc8/s1600/DSCN1109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F-vevP1PxpA/UL6Z0yLKqdI/AAAAAAAAAII/T8L04ZhFMc8/s320/DSCN1109.JPG" width="320" /></a>Needless to say, our time in Palmera was a rich and fruitful adventure, and the perfect beginning to our journey. Not a single day went by without a new experience or lesson.<br />
For a month and a half, we were graciously hosted by a most exceptional indigenous family led by Genni and Leonel. Humbly but joyously, they live with Marilin (8), their cute and mischievous daughter, and their hardworking and curious son Junior (14), who loves Iron Maiden and playing the guitar. Their home is also graced by the presence of Genni´s lovely and bright stepsister Karen (10), who is a best friend and sister to Marilin; and Genni´s youngest brother Julio (16), who decided to leave the city of Limon and moved to Palmera this August, where he enjoys the peaceful and healthy life of the mountain and learns from Leo to become a working man.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ELo2CLcby8A/UL6arOgr7tI/AAAAAAAAAIk/e4Fs9fl5SLk/s1600/RSCN1145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ELo2CLcby8A/UL6arOgr7tI/AAAAAAAAAIk/e4Fs9fl5SLk/s320/RSCN1145.JPG" width="320" /></a>In the mountain, away from electricity, the sun is the axis of time. There, daily life is ruled by the beaming star much more significantly than in the smog forests of concrete. Work, travel and any outdoor activity is determined by its light, and must first consult with its appearance. In a rare day at the reserve, we witnessed a momentous event in the advancement of the community. Curiously, it further increased their dependence on the sun. In the largest gathering we experienced, representatives of 35 households bought a small solar panel from a local development NGO. The panel gathers enough energy to power three light bulbs and charge a cellphone, but it is far from producing enough electricity to sustain all the needs of a modern home. Although lacking electricity has many repercussions, most of them are simple annoyances.<br />
At dawn, the persistent rooster would succeed after three hours of irritating attempts of waking us from our slumber. If rain was pouring, we stayed at home and wrote in our journals or drafted projects. We would read, relax in the hammock on the porch, play with the kids or philosophized as we contemplated the waterfalls cascading over the roof. Regularly, the rain would overflow the source of water used in the home - a small basin in the ravine a couple hundred meters into the forest. If so, we would accompany one of hosts, following the hose from the house through the scenic and wild creek.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ik9D62hTbAA/UL6ZFsFOYRI/AAAAAAAAAH0/NyPAGCW7Vjo/s1600/DSCN0961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ik9D62hTbAA/UL6ZFsFOYRI/AAAAAAAAAH0/NyPAGCW7Vjo/s320/DSCN0961.JPG" width="320" /></a>When the weather permitted it, we would walk to the school or hike around the mountain, machete in hand. Also, we would help with domestic duties, such as cutting down trees, chopping them up for wood and carrying them back to the house; and collecting leaves and flowers to make paint, as well as picking oranges, lemons, cacao and other local fruits and vegetables. A week before the rain invaded us, we helped Leo dismantle the small warehouse adjoined to the house, and construct an additional room made of gorgeous red<i> pilón</i> (Hieronyma alchorneoides) taken from the "backyard".</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oWaXqE1uC9s/UL6Zc3R-TgI/AAAAAAAAAIA/fMj_66s1oEY/s1600/DSCN1019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oWaXqE1uC9s/UL6Zc3R-TgI/AAAAAAAAAIA/fMj_66s1oEY/s320/DSCN1019.JPG" width="320" /></a>Breakfast, lunch and diner consisted of rice, beans, and a boiled unripe banana. Often, they were accompanied by chicken, pork, or tuna, and never lacked a scrumptious glass of fresh juice. Vegetables would rarely be included in the meal. However, when they were, they had the flavour of fresh harvest that one can only savor in the mountain. <i>Palmito</i> (palm heart), <i>shirabata</i> (fern), <i>malanga</i>, <i>yuca, carambola </i>(starfruit)<i> </i>and sugar cane are some of the plants with which we delighted our palates. On occasion of our birthdays, we enjoyed a traditional feast, where we witnessed the slaughter of a 50 kg pig, which we marinated for a whole night and smoked it over a bonfire for a few hours. </div>
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Before the rain dominated the local scenery, we would walk to the plaza at three in the afternoon, to participate barefoot in the <i>mehenga </i>- a pickup football game in a dirt field mined with cow excrement and sharp stones. Girls and boys of all ages above 15 played, showcasing their well trained abilities. Of course, they have a lot of practice, as football is the only sport leisure activity practiced by the community. Usually, we played until darkness would force us to return home covered in dirt, sweat and else. At the house, we would shower with the same water used for drinking and cooking, which is diverted to and from the "bath". Albeit cold, showering outdoors with buckets of water is revitalizing. In the late afternoon, as we waited for dinner, we would sing and play with the children or converse about culture and problems in the community or listen to stories. After dinner, we would retreat to our humble room by 7:30 pm, tired and fulfilled.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B0eaT3p0b2g/UL6alTGSVtI/AAAAAAAAAIc/DDzyiVNzMec/s1600/DSCN1277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B0eaT3p0b2g/UL6alTGSVtI/AAAAAAAAAIc/DDzyiVNzMec/s640/DSCN1277.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-42607914437461969502012-12-01T19:53:00.002-05:002013-01-04T15:10:28.436-05:00Jishtiä ba shkina: Cabecar Culture and Landscape<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wf8aqzVl7QY/ULqgM4DnPHI/AAAAAAAAAFo/_kCufzu2mKQ/s1600/DSCN0557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wf8aqzVl7QY/ULqgM4DnPHI/AAAAAAAAAFo/_kCufzu2mKQ/s320/DSCN0557.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Deep in the jungle, where the imposing Cordillera Central begins its
steep bow to the flatlands, the Cabecar community of Palmera live
sheltered by the effervescent Zent river. From there, a sea of
plantations distance the indians from the susceptible waters of the
Caribbean, painting a never ending horizon melted between the clouds and
the murky tree tops.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Two hours uphill from the river <span class="Unicode">‒</span> a bastion
between two cultures struggling to coexist <span class="Unicode">‒</span> an exceptional family
shared their home, lifestyle and affection with us for a month and a
half. Their insatiable curiosity, motivation and courage made our
stay a blissful and uniquely memorable experience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There, only the
patios are cleared for the commodity of the inhabitants. Every other
inch of land is cloaked with an uncontrollable curtain of green, which
impetuously overflows into the prints of humankind. The diverse and
lively rain forest is appalling; palm trees of every kind, centenary
giants, covered with vines which sprout from everywhere and climb the
massive columns of red, white and green bark. Also, fleeting specs of
colorful birds, frogs and flowery ornaments adorn the evergreen sight.
Fortuitously, toucans, parrots, lovebirds and smaller melodies in motion would visit the line of trees around the house, thus announcing a halt to the incessant rain.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q18PHRe2qfk/ULqfOtBrMjI/AAAAAAAAAFM/3gawi1CL71M/s1600/DSCN0701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q18PHRe2qfk/ULqfOtBrMjI/AAAAAAAAAFM/3gawi1CL71M/s320/DSCN0701.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
the first three weeks, the sun burned our skin, sharply, as if through a
magnifying glass. The rain, backstage, awaited its opportunity to shine
- or rather, dim - briefly appearing to freshen the air and feed the
soil. At night, the moon was a mirror image of the sun, projecting all
of its might. It shone so bright that shadows grew from our feet as we
marvelled at the infinite spectacle of the milky way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The masonry
of the Cabecar women is dictated by the lunar periods. Only during the
three days before and after the full moon can they begin the formidable
labour of collecting <i>mastate</i>; the source of the material from which all
of their clothes were made in past times. For many years, the <i>mastate</i>
tree went unused, as the ancient knowledge of the craft had been
forgotten. However, recently, the women rediscovered the skill thanks to
an elder (our host´s father), who had retained the knowledge. But now
that their clothes are products of a foreign culture, the material is
used to make art instead.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L585j64igK8/ULql7IeAA2I/AAAAAAAAAGY/L_B62_8EPhk/s1600/DSCN0199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L585j64igK8/ULql7IeAA2I/AAAAAAAAAGY/L_B62_8EPhk/s320/DSCN0199.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although the women sell these art pieces, the local economy is not impacted by these products, as they haven´t yet reached their full market potential. As of now, they only receive symbolic amounts from the few tourists who approach the secluded area or from good willing acquaintances of the Humanitarian Foundation, who serve as intermediaries and sell the art themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the men work strenuously in the banana and palm oil plantations on the edge of the reserve, while the women take care of their small crops and farm animals. Moreover, the women spend countless hours cooking meals over wood and fire, waking up as early as three in the morning to have breakfast ready by six. Children and teenagers, as well as some inquisitive mothers, attend school <span class="Unicode">‒</span> a decade-long concept for them. Speaking of motherhood, grandmothers who haven´t reached thirty years of age may be shocking to most of us, but to them it´s an ordinary occurrence. Judging by their intricate and confusing genealogy, their family trees must look like a map of the Madrid subway system.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V1vcmA74yCQ/ULqgm09-JyI/AAAAAAAAAF0/u9UNK41-55c/s1600/DSCN1244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V1vcmA74yCQ/ULqgm09-JyI/AAAAAAAAAF0/u9UNK41-55c/s320/DSCN1244.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Upon our arrival, we had a romantic vision of archaic indians, alienated from the far reaching hand of globalization, but confused as they observe how modernity attacks their identities and impedes their way of life. We have found a timid community, but one that is aware of the events happening far beyond their land. Sadly, they absorb the new culture faster than they are able to preserve their own. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The fear and preoccupation for the loss of identity and culture is notable among the adults, and some of the youth. However, greed, comfort and a hint of innocent ignorance have submerged them into the convenience and amenity of the modern world. They are years past the traditional indigenous group that we erroneously imagined, but they still have a grip, however fragile, on the values and traditions that have persisted through history. The main channel through which this inheritance has travelled down the generations is the language. Cabecar is one of the four indigenous languages that are still active in Costa Rica, but marginalization leads many to reject their mother tongue and their roots altogether.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LmHzgU2W_fQ/ULqf1BMqF7I/AAAAAAAAAFg/g5uHio6xMaw/s1600/DSCN0430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LmHzgU2W_fQ/ULqf1BMqF7I/AAAAAAAAAFg/g5uHio6xMaw/s320/DSCN0430.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Life among the Cabecars is simple and quiet, but laborious. One does not need much, nor is there much to have, as humans do not own; nature does. The only possessions are their zinc roofed homes<span class="Unicode"> </span><span class="Unicode">‒ scattered around the mountain, it can take three hours to visit certain neighbors </span><span class="Unicode">‒</span><span class="Unicode"></span> and the bare necessities; bought at a supermarket across the river. Everything else is taken from the mountain respectfully, previously asking for permission in order to avoid the lethal bite of the<i> terciopelo </i>(bothrops asper) snake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Silence is constant, peaceful and harmonious. It is only interrupted by animals, rain and laughter <span class="Unicode">‒</span> the lighthearted reaction to problems. Silence, often mistaken by outsiders as stupidity, is a means of communication. However, it is much more than that, it is a protecting veil under which their affluent spirituality and philosophy has survived against the currents of imposing civilizations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is our hope that this sensational culture finds a way to avoid fading into the quickly rising tide of capitalism and evolves to maintain its own traditions while absorbing the benefits of technology and modern life.</span></div>
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<br />Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-2437806159828818322012-10-20T23:39:00.001-04:002012-12-28T18:01:53.922-05:00San José, Costa Rica<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1"><b>“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” </b>Jane Goodall</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">I've been in San José for two days, Julia just one, and we already feel like this trip was worth it. San José may not be the most beautiful city in the world, but it has quenched the initial assault of our thirst for adventure. I arrived here on Thursday night, as planned, although three hours late due to a problem with the aircraft's fuel line. Julia was on the standby list and didn't manage to board a plane until the next morning.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i-OmjGb36SY/ULqoMVIZsLI/AAAAAAAAAGs/OZSI99KreEk/s1600/DSCN0038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i-OmjGb36SY/ULqoMVIZsLI/AAAAAAAAAGs/OZSI99KreEk/s320/DSCN0038.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Upon my arrival, I served as tourist bait to the ageless trick of airport taxis, and received a prolonged voyage, which I amiably accepted, happy to be near the end of a lengthy and weary day. Sadly, the scenery wasn't one to marvel at, although I did receive an in-depth guide of local alcohols and foods, as well as a complete chronicle of accidents the driver witnessed in the last few weeks. As the clock neared midnight, I arrived at Tomoko's house. Tomoko is our <a href="http://www.couchsurfing.org/"><span class="s2">couchsurfing</span></a> host during our sojourn in San José, but she means much more than that to us. Not only has she absorbed our capricious arrivals incredibly graciously she also put us in contact with Gail, the director of the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation, whom she had worked with in the past. Together, they are the gateway to our adventure.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Regarding security, it's important to note that despite the repeated assurances of safety by the locals, probably advertising the charm of their beloved land, any locale, business place or home worth more than a favela is protected by fences topped by menacing barbed wire. Nonetheless, I must admit that so far we haven't felt unsafe or threatened at any point.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vQC7O5azODQ/ULqn-V43ivI/AAAAAAAAAGg/zcj5dT1y_yc/s1600/DSCN0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vQC7O5azODQ/ULqn-V43ivI/AAAAAAAAAGg/zcj5dT1y_yc/s320/DSCN0015.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">In fact, the biggest threat is the competitive and chaotic driving that the locals employ. Especially in the center of town, where a mix of overpopulated streets and imprudent pedestrians give way to the most unorganized and unkempt traffic I've witnessed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">I spent a restful night at Tomoko's house, a luxurious apartment complex. Not preposterous, yet definitely inconsistent with the squalid neighborhood not two hundred meters down the road, and the tin huts scattered across the mountains sighted from her eight floor balcony.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">In the morning, aided by the amenable directions of the building's security guard, I explored my way to two different buses, one to the center of town, and from there to the airport. While waiting for Julia, I observed the mechanics of the lyrical battle between official airport taxi drivers and the competition; freelance bargainers always ready to offer you "ten dollars less sir!"</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ay8yeo7kYXY/ULqozK40dXI/AAAAAAAAAHI/B2TW7Rqf8PM/s1600/DSCN0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ay8yeo7kYXY/ULqozK40dXI/AAAAAAAAAHI/B2TW7Rqf8PM/s320/DSCN0062.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">The past two days have left the awe of discovery imprinted in our expression as we visited San José in our comings and goings while getting acquainted with the local culture and putting the finishing touches to our back</span><span class="s3">packs, or as Julia call hers, "my room." However, the most impactful experience was the hour long conversation with a curious and inspiring personality, </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Gail, or Giselle, as the locals call her, unable to pronounce her name, has invited us to participate in a project that we couldn't be more excited about. We do not know yet the full extent of our involvement on the project, but she made it clear to us that we are to play a decisive role in the lives of the Cab</span><span class="s4">é</span><span class="s1">car indigenous community. Isolated from advancements in medicine, technology and dispersed in their own land, they have been in close contact with the Costa Rican Humanitarian Foundation for the past 15 years. The foundation has carried out a harmonious and fruitful effort to provide the community with education, adequate housing and modern communication tools; while managing to cultivate their desire to move forward but maintaining them as the conductors of progress. Despite the collaboration with the foundation, the Cab</span><span class="s4">é</span><span class="s1">cares still lack many of the privileges that most of us would consider essential, even rudimentary.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ryauf1f68HI/ULqoY4nIeaI/AAAAAAAAAG0/9_R8ifoCj5o/s1600/DSCN0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ryauf1f68HI/ULqoY4nIeaI/AAAAAAAAAG0/9_R8ifoCj5o/s320/DSCN0048.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Starting tomorrow, we will live among them, hoping to teach as much as we will undoubtedly learn from them. For at least a month, we will be ever so fortunate to cohabitate with these shy and enigmatic people, assessing their situation and reporting back to Gail.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">I dare not say more about this for fear of communicating false concepts, I'd rather be able to write on a blank page, than to have to write over the stains of an eraser.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Moments ago, we finished a most gratifying dinner with Tomoko, as we shared recipes from around the world. We provided Spanish Tortilla, while she served a savory home made plate of Japanese fried chicken, crowned with a palatable sauce and an assortment of vegetables. I'm typing this as Julia learns origami from Tomoko, and, counterintuitively, teaches her a folding trick of her own!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">Tomorrow we leave San Jos</span><span class="s4">é</span><span class="s1"> at 6:30 in the morning and we don't know for sure when we will be in touch again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1">We are forever grateful to Tomoko, Gail and the fate that brought us to them, for having placed this road before our feet.</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10243278492217720115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-82296353262698175782012-10-16T18:37:00.000-04:002012-12-27T13:16:24.050-05:00Departure<b>“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances
confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the
life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in
common hours.” </b> - Henry David Thoreau, <i>Walden, or Life in the Woods</i><br />
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It's hard to believe we have but two days until our departure. We've both been dreaming of that day for years, ruminating on the idea in our separate consciousness for much of our lives. Of course, and I speak for myself now, I was never sure what that day would bring, what the opportunity, prompt for seizing, would entail, or who would accompany me. <br />
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Close to a year ago, a fateful meeting between passion, fear and uncertainty injected a boiling shot of courage into our blood, giving way to an expression of love. Love for life, for justice; and for adventure, discovery. Love for a shared belief. Belief in the ideals quickly losing meaning in the parade of content and effortless philanthropy of the privileged. Of course, love and belief would need sacrifice in order to materialize, else they would fall into the deceit of feeling satisfied for having felt compassion, as if it made a difference. That we knew. Sacrifice is what separates ideals from action, dreams from reality.<br />
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Until recently, it has all seemed unreal. Borrowed from a great adventure story, too epic to dare explain it for fear of ridicule, too distant to confess our full ambition. It is clear to me that without the help and support of those who believe in us, and the commitment of others who share our cause, it would all have remained unsubstantial.<br />
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A mere few nights away from consummating months of gambling with our futures and juggling dozens of plans and decisions, the proportions of our journey have sized down from exaltedly epic to achievable. The details are perhaps not punctual enough, at least not enough to guarantee the conviction that we would wish to see in our loved ones, and perhaps ourselves. Nonetheless, the dream is lifted, and carried by the strength of our curiosity, youth and determination. Simultaneously, fear and uncertainty unwillingly yield to our desire to change ourselves and to discover another side of this world, with the prospect that, as Gandhi promised, "the tendencies in the world would also change".<br />
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At this moment, and perhaps not for many years after today, I cannot imagine the limitations of this adventure. I cannot predict how far our feet will take us, nor can I conceive what it might take to stop them. That is indeed an uncomfortable thought. Despite our vision and careful schemes, we cannot ever be the true masters of our future. However, I do believe that we have full governance of our present choices, and that is a very appeasing sentiment.<br />
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Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114330546048356253.post-34562962000534617392012-09-11T11:44:00.002-04:002012-12-21T17:51:41.661-05:00Welcome<h4>
Welcome to The Other Way</h4>
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We are very excited to be sharing this blog with you!<br />
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We expect great things from our trip, and we want to include all of you in our adventures.<br />
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To avoid treating the blog as a newspaper column, and hoping to make it more dynamic and interactive, we invite you to respond to our posts, comment or ask questions.<br />
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Access to the internet will be limited for the majority of the trip. However, every chance we get, we will be more than happy to reply to your comments and answer your inquiries. Of course, your words and support will also give us strength to carry on when we need it most.<br />
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This picture was taken over the summer in Galicia, where in 2011 we first decided to embark on this trip.<br />
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<b>Last but definitely not least, we wish to express our utmost gratitude to our families, whose unconditional support has made this trip possible.</b>Diego Beamontehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06249327439032610302noreply@blogger.com3