Some Chapters from My Life

2/13/10

Walter and His Moto

This morning I woke at 6:20 and hauled myself out of bed at 6:30 to go grocery (groshery) shopping at the feria in Santa Elena. I stood at the road at 6:45 waiting for the 450 colones bus ride down to town. After I had been waiting for about a minute, a man rode by on his moto and stopped. I recognized him. He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s with a round face, light eyes and white hair. A few months ago when I saw him working at the feria he had asked me if I Lived by Hotel Villa Verde and I had replied that I did. He told me that he saw me every morning as he took his wife up to the reserve for work.
“At about 6:45?”, I asked.
“Si.”
“That’s me. That’s when I leave for work.”

And that was it. I hadn’t seen him again and figured that it was because I no longer leave my house so early.

So, this morning when I saw him heading down the mountain I knew he had just left his wife at work.
“Are you going to the feria?”, he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to go with me?”

I hesitated for a second, remembering them motor I’d seen skid out in front of me a few weeks ago, sliding on the gravel and spilling its driver onto the dirt road. The man offering me a ride had a helmet; I did not.

“Ok.”, I responded. I threw my pack over my shoulders, climbed on behind him and wrapped my arms around his barrel belly. This was not the wisest decision I’ve ever made, and I knew it. My rationale for accepting was not courtesy, or to save time 450 colones or because I was in a hurry (which I was not). I decided it was ok because everyone else does it, which is quite possibly the worst reason to ever do anything.

As we bumped down the mountain road (waving with a smile as we passed my friends waiting for the bus) I kept thinking about what to do if we were to skid out. Tuck and roll? Brace? Pray? Finally I just put my faith in my driver and had fun. I was eventually able to release my grip from his middle and hang onto the metal rack behind me, above the rear wheel.

The driver is a good friend of my land lady and was born in Monteverde. He name is Walter and his father used to own a farm in the area many years ago. As we talked tears streamed out of my eyes and down my face from the wind and dust. It was fun and I made a new friend.


A Poor Choice of Words

A few weeks ago at the school the high school students were consumed with tickle fever. Oh, the sweet flirtations of adolescence. There were fingers darting, elbows flying and squealing all over campus. I took a moment to appreciate my pre-pubescent students and kept my distance.
It took me by surprise then, when at the end of the day a boy in the junior class asked me, “Ginna, are you ticklish?”

Monteverde is a small, realized community. I see my kids on the weekend, get invited to their homes for dinner, see their parents at parties. Roles and boundaries here are different then they are in NYC and I’m still figuring it all out. Students call me by first name and I can wear jeans and a t-shirt to work. All of this is very nice, but I did NOT want to be tickled by a 17-year-old boy. And so, in the moment, I freaked a little and acted on only one thought – set a clear boundary.

“No, I’m not ticklish”, I replied. And then added: “And if you touch me, I’ll punch you in the face.”

Oops.

I could feel the Quaker walls trembling around me. Learning to set clear boundaries is one thing, learning not to be a scary woman is another. I’m still working on it.