The Pure Life: My attempt to see myself through the eyes of another:

In contemplating this theme of “seeing myself through another’s eyes” the first challenge has been to figure out which person I should choose. This has been my initial challenge because, in the last seven weeks, I have been travelling around the country, meeting many people. I have encountered countless people from Costa Rica, Venezuela, Mexico, Columbia, America, Canada, Germany, Spain, Italy and Nicaragua. After getting to know only a few, I have been given a small glimpse into the differences each of our cultures bring, and have gained a small understanding of what each person may deem valuable or important. Whether these differences are culturally constructed, I am not sure. In considering whether or not a person's culture influences their perspective in life and the people in it, I am confronted with an even harder challenge when trying to write about how a person may see me, a Caucasian female from Canada pushing 30. In attempting to see myself through another person’s eyes, would I not be assuming something about that person culture or values that, perhaps, I really shouldn’t be assuming?

Generally, I have decided that it is best not to generalize, or assume anything. For example, most people around the world have their own ideas of what is "a typical American". In Canada, many people pride themselves on the differences between Americans and Canadians. At one time in my life, I myself also claimed that there was in fact a huge difference between the two (during the Bush administration years to be fair). But since then, I have met many American people that don’t fit the bill of what I used to think of as typical American: they don’t all wear Holister t-shrits; listen to Dave Mathew’s Band; or drink bad beer like Coors Light or Budweiser! Well, maybe some "frat" boys do, but the truth is, everyone is different.

Rather than trying to pick one person, and go into great detail of what they must think of me, and accidentally make some crazy assumptions about their cultural background along the way, I have been thinking about some occasions where I have made a somewhat ass of myself, and I can promise you, people were thinking “what is wrong with this crazy Canadian girl”?

First, I would like to share with you a little more about my work conditions. My fellow coworker (Chris: who is quite unlike what I used to deem a typical American) and I have shared small quarters throughout our journey across the country. This can be a challenge for anyone, no matter how much you know them, or like them, or respect them. The fact is, little is kept private… from bowel movements, to eating patterns, to how many pairs of socks or underwear the other owns (and how many of those are clean). This new style of living is uncomfortable for me at times, because, I have realized that I am slightly obsessed with cleanliness. Now, I know some of you may laugh or would contest to that (probably my parents and maybe my sister), however, my years of working in a kitchen (and washing my hands 500 times a day) has trained me to be abnormally obsessed with bacteria, and dirt. This obsession has been really hard to let go of, especially when birds crap on you the moment you lay your eyes on them!

In my first few weeks working with birds in Tortuguero, Chris would raise an eyebrow at me every time I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands… which was about every five minutes. Since he is used to working with people that are “wilderness people” (meaning comfortable with being uncomfortable), I think it probably has been interesting for him to share space with a wannabe nature seeker. My first night, I shrieked at the sight of a cockroach in our room, and wrinkled my nose at the musty mattress they gave me to sleep on. I shooed all of the geckos out of our room, because I “didn’t want to get pooped on”, and complained constantly about the mosquitos, humidity, the rain, the heat or… the cold. Not to say I have been particularly negative during my stay here, rather, I have realized that I have the habit of making a conversation about everything. I would find things to complain about just to pass the time, with conversation. Did the humidity really bother me, or the rain? Nah, it’s just something to talk about.

Chris has also had to listen to my speech approximately 4 times daily, to anyone who would listen, about how rice is the primary cause of food poisoning, and how important it is to refrigerate (in broken Spanish). No word of a lie, I tell anyone who will listen… usually to people who have left rice and beans on the counter every single day of their existence. Usually, people guffaw at the very idea that this habit will make anyone sick, however, I contest that I haven’t had a day without a stomach cramp since visiting this beautiful country…. and I damn-well blame the counter rice (No, not the cookies, or the ice-cream, or the greasy fried plantains).

Strangers in the street have laughed me at in my attempts to cross the roads. Politely waiting for the green man to tell you to walk, as you do in Canada, just doesn’t cut it here. Traffic never slows, and rarely, do stoplights convince people they should in fact stop. Once, it took me almost ten minutes to cross the road to get to my bus stop. An elderly gentleman, wearing a toothless grin and a machete on his belt, chuckled at me as I nervously and politely made my way through the cars.

My Costa Rican coworkers and supervisor have also been exposed to my fixation with promptness and punctuality. These things, I have realized, are relative in the world. In Canada, I often arrived 2 minutes late for work (everyday); I often just missed my bus/train, and have had to sneak into my lectures 5 minutes after it has begun (everyday); also I am known to pressed the snooze bar 4 times each morning, if not more (everyday). In Costa Rica…I am golden. I know I promised not to generalize anything, but here I will make an exception. In Costa Rica, no one does what they say they will, people constantly forget things (sometime important things, like picking me up from a remote part of the Island after work) and no one; I mean no one is on time. There is a phenomenon here, and it is referred to as “Tico time”, and everyone is infected with it. This causes me to constantly fill my supervisor’s inbox with friendly “reminders”, and to hopefully get that meeting that was promised two weeks ago.

If my being here would represent what Canadian people are in the world, I am worried that they would see us being very cautious and nervous complainers expecting everything to be done for them yesterday. However people see me, I would prefer not to worry to much about it. I like to think that all my previous mistakes and idiosyncrasies are something of the past, paving the way for a braver, less-nervous, stronger new life. This is the reason we explore the world right? To find a missing piece of ourselves along the way?

Here are a few photos I would like to share. I have been taking much less in the last few weeks, because, I have realized, things are beginning to become more familiar.