The past several days witnessed the introduction to our two projects, and the student's release of raw energy and enthusiasm for work thereon. The first project we visited was a women's "empowerment" center located in the poor section of San Ramon, Baho Tehares. We met with the uber passionate Barbara to learn that they help train poor women basic skills such as sewing so they can rise out of abject poverty. The meeting and subsequent tour of the Baho was, I believe, a very sobering experience for the team.
Next a visit to an orphanage in Palmares, a clean, crisp and quiet place of about 14 children, who, during our meeting in the outdoor classroom to learn of their desired remodel, sat in a row, quiet if a bit fidgety, attentive perhaps not so much to Jessenia, the sharp, lawyer/Board member introducing the project to us, but to this pack of gringo/as suddenly descended in their space. During Jessenia's oration, the staff psychologist came into the space, and the smallest of children suddenly ran across the space to hug him, followed by another, then another until suddenly all the children, like a water spigot fully opened, piled on to the greeting. This joyous disruption was brief, whereupon they were ushered back to their row of seats. Following the presentation, the team of students dispatched to measure and assess the space. Some engaged in making paper airplanes with the children where soon the air was filled with white projectiles and abundant giggles.
The projects now introduced, the students were eager to get to work, and work they have. From our "office", a classroom at the University of Costa Rica campus, to the many establishments selling building materials in town, the team established their own organization, hosted a design charette (brain storming), and began work on the myriad of details necessary to provide two complete proposals, taking their work with them well into the evening hours.
But not all evenings. I introduce David ("Daaveeed"), the dance/zumba instructor who challenged our team last year. For our hardworking students, he came to the Hostel and led a high energy salsa dance session in the dimly lit garage, running through the various moves, spins and twirls with patience for these gangle-footed gringo/as. He finally said "enough", and just "have fun" for the remaining time by following his moves, whereupon the music came up, and he, like the childhood Simon Says, ran through some high energy zumba moves. Indeed, fun it was and a great team building exercise. Hard work has its rewards.
The students are fairly self regulating at this point as they prosecute their tasks, leaving me time to take on my own affairs (like getting ready for "real" school in a few weeks). I was having a problem with my cash card being denied, but luckily had little need for colones. However, the smoothie stand is awaiting my business, and so therefore I found it necessary, once my bank knew there was no possibility of fraud, to wander down the street to the local bank and get some cash. Permit me to illuminate how entirely different the bank visit experience is here, for we take our highly accessible financial institutions for granted.
First, I visited the ATM and ran through the normal keystrokes, requesting "English" and when asked the currency, selected " dollars" thinking the machine would dispense colones to the dollar value equivalent I entered. I know, I'm a bit dense sometimes, but in trying to determine how many colones I wanted, the machine would indicate "millions", and doing the math quickly, under self-inflicted pressure, I had no interest in withdrawing $50,000 (the approximate exchange rate), without realizing that "million" here refers to one thousand. Did I mention my cranial density?
So then, not wishing to possess my bundle of US dollars that was ultimately dispensed by the machine, I proceeded into the bank, greeted by a stern guard who unlocked the door to let me in, re-locked it behind me, inquired of my business (I held my dollars up), used his metal detecting wand on me, then approached a nearby machine and told me to hit this button, then that. I was excited to think that perhaps, seeing the many others now inside the lobby, this machine would accept my dollars and spit out colones. Not a chance, it instead printed a ticket with the number 94. To my dejection, there were 24 people in the waiting line ahead of me for the one teller working the counter. Arrgh! My ATM stupidity, now penance, revealed itself - I had to wait. Surveying the crowded lobby, I proceeded to an available seat crossing in front of an outstretched hand, a big smile and a "heeeey!" "Daaveeed" had ticket 92. Over the next 45+ minutes, we were engaged in a great conversation (his English is pretty good - learned primarily from watching TV and goading from his friends) where I learned that he is 24, married, started to dance when he was 6, and seriously started to dance for money as a teacher about six years ago. From Columbia, he is a somewhat diminutive bundle of raw fitness, fully capable of wearing his skin-tight shirt, possessing a broad, effusive smile with a close cropped haircut and one bum eye. He recently acquired his own studio, teaches as many as five classes a day, every day, and has parents who run a small Columbian restaurant near the hospital, the site we are considering for our final celebration dinner (and no small amount of hard sell on his part - "so guuud!").
This encounter didn't feel like penance for my ATM stupidity. When finally before the teller to make the exchange, I realized why the line was so long. I was required to show my passport (of which I was warned) and wait a good 3-4 minutes for this seemingly simple transaction to complete. As I stood there waiting patiently, I could not help but notice, astride his computer, below his rack of transaction slips, below his swirling mouse, was a well worn mouse pad imprinted with Ben Franklin, an image of a $100 American bill! I was quietly amused at this irony - shouldn't that be "colones"?
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