Me in class, explaining Hulk's stretchy pants

I’m in Chicago this week, visiting my friend Marissa who is a Spanish teacher at a high school in one of the less nice areas of Chicago. It’s not a ghetto but also not the kind of neighborhood one would necessarily want to live in. Marissa suggested that I could visit her school for a day. That sounded like a great idea, considering my current Spanish skills and the fact that I have never been in a US school. Having had barely three hours of sleep, I had to get up at 6 am. Got a shower and prepared my lunch sandwiches. That alone brought back long lost memories of my school days. We got there early. I did not have to pass through the metal detector but I got a fancy yellow visitors badge and had to sign in. The security personnel (mostly women) seemed much nicer and relaxed than I had expected. The hallways look just like those from any movie involving a US high school, with the usual lockers for students, motivational slogans and countless sport trophies in showcases. The classroom is exclusively used for Spanish classes and was plastered with posters and signs with basic Spanish vocabulary and grammar. And yes, just to make sure the students don’t get confused and think they are in Mexico or Spain, there was also a prominently placed US flag…

Discipline!

Marissa had told me much about the school, the students and the problems in advance. Therefore, I already had some idea of what to expect. The first student arrived 15 min ahead of time. He must have been bored at home. Certainly not representative for the other students I got to meet this day. When the first lesson started only about a third of the students of that class were present. The rest would show up later, one by one, or not at all. It’s been a while since I have been to school but I still have a pretty good idea of what it was like. One of the first things I noticed to be different here at Marshall High was the informal style of the lessons. There was constant talking throughout every lesson, students would walk in and out, with or without permission, or just get up and walk around and start an argument with one of the other students or the teacher. The rule that electronic devices are not allowed during class was ignored altogether. Students would constantly get out their cell phones to text or listen to music. Music seems to play a big role in their lives. One boy in the last row was doing nothing else but listening to music during the entire class. Another student arrived to class wearing a wifebeater. He seemed to enjoy showing off his muscles. Dress rules at Marshall High, however, are enforced strictly and he had to  put on his school uniform shirt. I had never seen any point in school uniforms. Now I do.

The first lesson

The lesson started with Marissa playing a song by Buena Vista Social Club. The task of the students was to make out Spanish words or phrases and to note them down. Few students paid any attention. Afterwards, they were asked which country they believe this song might be from. The first answer was ‘Italy’. Wow. After the little song game, it was time to find out who that new White boy guy is. By the way, all students in Marshall High are Black. And so started my little Q&A session. As Marissa predicted, their first guess would be that I might be her boyfriend. But when I mentioned that I am not from the US, they figured that can’t be right. Some girl attested me to have a Spanish accent. That’s a first, though two people in San Francisco claimed my accent sounds Russian. Either way, I tried to answer all simple questions they asked me in Spanish. Not out of consideration of their basic understanding of the language but rather due to my own poor Spanish skills. “Soy de Alemana” I started. Marissa asked them which country that might be but no one knew the answer (although someone again suggested I might be from Spain). To give them a clue I told them the name of the capital (yes, Berlin). Still, no one had any idea where I might be from. Munich? Hamburg? Cologne? Hopeless. Here is a pro-tip from me to my German readers: If someone doesn’t understand where you are from, just mention Hitler. After my origin was revealed, the kids asked about my work. “Soy biologo” I said. The closest guess to the correct answer was “You are crazy (‘loco’)?”. Oh well, it seemed rather pointless to continue any conversation in Spanish. The follow-up question of how much I earn as a biologist, I was too embarrassed to answer.

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During the rest of the lesson, the class was split in three groups that would rotate to work on different topics. Group One was supervised by Marissa. Group Two was doing an interactive online Spanish class from the BBC: Mi Vida Loca. This is a surprisingly high-quality Spanish course and completely free. Check it out if you are interested in learning Spanish. Group Three had to conjugate stem-changing verbs. Marissa had the bright idea to let me supervise that group. Me? Really? If any of you who ever heard me speaking Spanish is bursting out in laughter right now – I wouldn’t be offended… Verbs aren’t my strongest suit but after going through the very easy exercise once, I was actually be able to instruct the students. The complete lack of interest and the incredibly slow speed of some of the kids was astounding.

Dr. Thomas’ consultation hour

After the  regular lessons that ended around noon and my well deserved sandwich, Marissa had to stick around for a few more hours in case students had questions or needed help with homework. Some of the students were still around. What a great time to ask the new German guy some questions. Marissa officially opened my consultation hour with the words: “Thomas is smart and a scientist. Ask him anything.” Oh well, and so they did. The first question I received concerned the Hulk. Why do the pants of the Hulk don’t rip when he transforms from Dr. Bruce Banner to the giant green monster but the rest of his clothes do? While an interesting thought, I did point out that it’s not a scientific question per se. That, of course, was not a satisfying answer from ‘someone you can ask anything’. So, I made a clumsy attempt of answering and suggested that his pants might be made from a super-elastic material. I do not remember question two and three but it wasn’t long until we arrived at: Do Nazi zombies really exist? My answer was: Most certainly not! and was promptly interpreted as: So you are saying they might, right? The Nazi topic was not over yet. I was not surprised. Do we still worship Hitler in Germany? Generally no, but there are still a few idiots that do. I quickly realized that answer was too complex and when the same question came up again some time later, I answered with a prompt NO! After the obligatory ‘Is there extraterrestrial life on other planets?’ there were also some actually interesting questions. Why is soap slippery? Why do some people have brighter skin/blonde hair when both their parents are all dark. Inheritance! Mendel! I was excited. In a very simple example that I drew on the blackboard I tried to explain dominant and recessive alleles and the difference between genotype and phenotype (while trying to avoid most of that vocabulary and instead explain in simple terms). But there were also other biology questions: How fast do you have to cut into a body to see the blue blood from the veins. I tried to explain that, although the veins do appear blue through the skin and the blood low on oxygen is generally depicted as being blue in biology books, humans don’t actually have any blue blood at all. I think they found my answer a little disappointing. Last but not least came a bunch of sex-related questions. Would I have sex with a girl during her menstruation? I truthfully answered: No.

That was my exciting first day at school. I learned a lot and had a great day. What is sad, though, is that very few of these kids will have any chance of a good career in their future…

I’m a little concerned that by the time this week is over, I’ll have Jaws‘ charming smile:

By the way, I am currently living without a health insurance and have to pay for this from my pocket. The X-ray was cheap, just 30$. Let’s see to how much the whole thing will end up.

Update: Umm, this didn’t go so well. After 4 sessions at the dentist and a trip to another place to get the panoramic X-ray done, I am $400 poorer and the teeth still hurt. It’s been over a week and I have a hard time to chew. Will have to live from soup, milk shakes and green tea frappuccino and visit another dentist when I get back to Germany.

23-30 April – San Francisco
1-7 May – Chicago
7-15 May – Madrid
16-23 May – Barcelona
23 May – 3 July – Germany (Berlin, Strasburg, Münster, Frankfurt, Heidelberg, Tübingen, München)
3-10 July – New York
10 July – San José, Costa Rica

I don’t know yet, in which order I will visit the different cities in Germany or for how long. If possible, I’ll also stop by Wien.

That is, unless you step on them or apply insecticides. Below is a video I recorded a few days ago. The last moments in the life of a bug-sprayed cockroach, somehwere on a kitchen floor in Costa Rica.

Rest in peace little nameless cockroach.
You’ll always be remembered by the Youtube community and the faithful readers of my blog.

With a loaded gun under the pillow…

It’s no secret that Central America has a problem with street crime. Some countries are worse than others. Costa Rica is one of the safer countries which is part of the reason I decided to live here. I feel safe enough to walk alone at night in some places such as my neighborhood or San José downtown. Other places, though, such as the bus stations are scary at night. Many of my Tico friends living here have been robbed at least once. KJ got robbed by a gang of youngsters while walking from the bus stop to his home. Frank thought he did the right thing and took a taxi home after a night of drinking and partying at a club – until the taxi driver spotted his Blackberry, stole it from him and kicked him out of the car. And one night, my roommate almost got his car stolen when two young wannabe-thieves thought he would make an easy target. One jumped in front of the car to make him stop and the other guy opened the passenger door and threatened him with a knife. My roommate resisted successfully, got to keep his car, a tale to tell and, as a bonus, a scar on his hand from the knife.

Okay, I am digressing. I want to share with you the story of Alex, my sneaker-loving friend from Costa Rica. Alex is 23 and lives by himself with a dog and 2 geese (one black, one white) and a suicide shower in a tiny village an hour from San José. About a year ago he was visiting San José one night and walking down some dark street by himself. A guy came up to him and said:

“Give me your sneakers!”

Seriously? Who robs somebody for a pair of smelly sneakers? (As a side note, here they don’t call them sneakers but tennis like in ‘tennis shoes’). Anyway, my friend replied the same way I would have in that situation. He said:

“No…?!”

Maybe, my friend would have decided differently if he knew what would happen next. The guy drew a gun, held it to Alex’ chest, pulled the trigger and ran away. The bullet traveled through the chest and exited in the back. He remained conscious the entire time and was brought to a hospital where they cut up his chest. The doctors found that the bulled had missed any vital organs such as heart (by 1 mm, they claimed), lungs or backbone. He had to spend another month in the hospital but was released without any long-term effects, besides the scars (two long ones from the operation – one horizontal and one vertical) and bullet entry and exit scars. (I wanted to take a photo but Alex is a little shy about that.)

A few months after he was released from hospital, Alex decided that from now on he needs to protect himself.  So he bought – guess what – a gun. And just to be really really safe he bought three of them. A shotgun, a 9 mm and the one you see in the pic above (easy to get on the black market in San José for a few hundred Dollars). He keeps that one under his pillow, loaded, of course. Believe me, I checked myself when I visited his house. The other two he gave to his uncle and his brother who live in the houses next to his. I’ve never felt safer *cough* …

One evening during my visit, Alex went shopping to the pulperia (grocery store) of the village to buy some food and Rompope. When he came back, he dropped his shopping bags and asked ‘Where is the gun??’. He then ran into his bedroom to get it and stormed out without any further explanation of what is going on. During the next 30 min or so, a number of thoughts went through my head. Is he alright? Is he coming back? How am I going to explain to the police in Spanish who I am and what I am doing here? Did he shoot anyone? But eventually, he did return. Unharmed. He said that on the way back from the grocery store he saw a guy who broke into the house of his friend and stole the computer a few months back. So, Alex decided to go after him and convince him to either return the computer or pay for it. He said he was successful.

So, what’s the moral of this experience?

#1 My friend Alex is a lucky bastard. He got to keep his sneakers! (I consider myself lucky, too: the thief of my sneakers stole them while I was asleep instead of shooting me).

#2 Gun violence is a vicious circle when people come to the conclusion that getting themselves a gun is protecting them from the guns of the other people…

#3 Surprise: Central America is different from Germany.

PS. The sound you hear in the background at the beginning of the video is a telenovela. What else?!

Waiting….

What came next was more exciting than a movie. About halfway between Panama City and the border to Costa Rica we ran into a roadblock that was set up by the indigenous people that populate this province. They carried logs and tree branches onto the road the block the way. It’s their way to protest against the government. The background of this issue has been dominating the news in Panama for weeks. The government has sold mining rights to a Canadian company without even consulting the indigenous people living in this province and disregarding their (semi)autonomy of this territory. Understandably, the people were not happy about the planned copper mine and hydroelectric plant and have been protesting against it for weeks. Some commentators call it the biggest crisis in over a decade. For some more background, check out this article in the Guardian. I was aware of the issue before I left but had no choice but to hope to get through somehow. The roadblocks of the indigenous tribes are an effective way of putting pressure on the president because the Pan-American highway is the only East-West street in Panama. There simply is no other road to take. In the past, the people sometimes had blocked the road just for a few hours, other times for days. When we arrived there was much conflicting information. I connected with the other foreign travelers to understand what’s going on. (My Spanish is still not good enough.) First, there was some hope that the road might get unblocked in an hour or two.

The village

Then, the bus drivers talked to the police and they said, after sunset the villagers leave and the road gets cleared. But eventually it was decided to drive back to the closest town and spend the night there. I expected having to sleep in the bus because I could not imagine any hotel, hostel or other place to accommodate 20 people to exist in a village like this. But to my surprise there was: a Catholic convent! I’ve never happier those exist than in that night. During the week, the nuns teach the children of the surrounding villages. The ones who live further away sleep in the convent throughout the week and go home on the weekend. So, there were several empty dormitories that we could use.

Couchsurfing with the nuns

The initial idea of all woman sleeping in one dorm and all men in the other was soon given up. After we all got settled in we explored the village and found a supermarket to buy snacks, beer and cigarettes. The latter two were not tolerated in the convent. Therefore, we hide behind the bus, out of sight from the nuns, to drink the beer. I felt like a school boy hiding from the teachers. Ha, haven’t felt that young in a while. It was fun.

Supermarket

I started a conversation with some of the guys from the bus. For some of them, El Salvador was the final destination, so they had four more countries to cross. The whole convent situation was also a great opportunity to discuss religion. There was some interesting exchange of views. Latinos often seem shocked when they encounter foreigners who are atheists (‘What, you don’t believe in any God at all?’).

Cool boys hanging out

But when I discuss this topic in more detail, often I find that their belief is rather halfhearted and more of a ‘just in case/to be on the safe side/hey, maybe it helps’-kind-of-strategy. Not sure if God is tricked that easily but good luck with that…
Meanwhile, the nice Canadian couple realized they will miss their flight back home and called the airline. Rescheduling cost them over $600 per person, wow. The irony is that it is a Canadian company that plans to build the mine and power plant. Justice!!! Well, I offered to let them stay at my place if we ever make it to San José.

Bunk Beds

Back at the convent I tried to charge my empty phone but the dodgy powersocket was so loose that my fiddling around caused some sparks and turned off the only light in the room, so I gave up. Eventually, I went to sleep around midnight. Not even an hour later we were woken up. The Blackberry of someone had a radio functionality and there was news that the road was free. Great news. We got our stuff together, collected some money for the nuns and took off.

The dormitory

Two hours later we reached the border to Costa Rica, which is closed over night and opens at 6 am. Two more hours of sleep in the bus. Finally, we get to cross the border, which took yet another two hours for no good reason. Our luggage was first checked for drugs on the Panamanian side, the drug-sniffing dog was easily distracted and interested in anything but our luggage. Then, we got the stamp on the Panamanian side, walked over the the Costa Rican side, where we got the entry stamp. The border guy didn’t even want to see my fake flight ticket as proof that I am not living in Costa Rica but a tourist that is going home soon. Eventually our luggage was checked again. By that time I was pretty exhausted and slept for most of the remaining 6 hours to San José.
When we arrived in San José after this 26h lasting Odyssey I felt a little like an explorer that has just returned from a mission to the Southpole. It’s nice to be back home in Costa Rica.

Back in San José

Manuel Antonio beach

Finally, I get to travel around Costa Rica for a bit. After having visited the Caribbean coast two weeks ago and La Fortuna last week, I went for a day trip to Manuel Antonio on the Pacific coast. And this time, I even got a sunburn. In case I did not look like a proper tourist before, now I do!
Manuel Antonio is one of the popular tourist destinations on this side. It’s very nice here but the Caribbean beaches are more beautiful.

I’ve been to Manuel Antonio 4 years ago when first visiting Costa Rica. Not much seems to have changed since then. The beautiful small National Park was closed unfortunately. I spent most of the day on the beach. At some point a bunch of white-headed capuchin(monkeys) came along. They are pretty common here and like much of the wildlife in Costa Rica used to the presence of people. One of them had a baby on the back.

View from El Avion

In the late afternoon I went to El Avion, a restaurant I like for the good food and view (check out the review by D’Angelo & Mike). I had a tasty (and pricey) Chimichurri steak. Chimichurri is originally from Argentina (claims Wikipedia) but can be found all over Latin America.

Chimichurri steak

It’s a bit like pesto and one of my major culinary discoveries here. It consists of garlic, oregano, oil
vinegar, a bit of chili pepper and other ingredients (for more info click here). My steak came with a good mojito. Sometimes it’s easy to enjoy life here…

Kids playing on a boat

So, last weekend I decided to visit Ricardo, a Tico friend from Limón and together we went to Puerto Viejo, further down the coast. Puerto Viejo is more of a party town but just some 20, 30 min walk away from the town you find some beautiful beaches. We spent all day there, swimming, watching the surfers and drinking a bottle of rum (we even brought ice). I felt like a pirate, ha. The Caribbean coast is great.

Just what I needed. I should do trips like this more often.

My room in San José

Some of you might have wondered why I stopped reporting about new countries I am visiting or why my location status on the website never changes. The reason is that after visiting Colombia in October I decided to settle in Costa Rica for the time being. There were different reasons for my change in plans, one of them being my financial situation that still leaves a lot to be desired. I simply have no money to finish my trip at the moment and hope that taking a break and focusing on my work will fix that. Costa Rica is the safest countries in the region and has the highest standard of living. The central valley in which the capital San José is located has a great moderate climate with 20-something degrees Celsius all year round.

My bed

I found a room to rent in a shared flat in a nice and safe area of town, called La Sabana (‘The Bush’). The former president of Costa Rica lives just around the corner. In the streets of this neighborhood there are tiny huts about every 100 meters, occupied by a ‘security guy’ 24h. Those security guys don’t look particularly scary but some have dogs that do. Yes, I am scared of dogs and do not like them at all (except little Igby). Down the road is the National Stadium of Costa Rica. They do seem to use it more for concerts than sport though. The nearby convenient stores (Freshmarket, AmPm) are way expensive.

Kitchen & living room

Nobody at the hairdresser that I found close-by speaks English but I have always been very happy with the haircuts. Figuring out the (very cheap) bus system is rather difficult.
Also rather interesting is the address system in Costa Rica. There are no ZIP codes, the ticos mostly don’t use street names and the houses are not numbered. Instead, they use reference points (some sort of landmark that everyone knows, like a well-known building or even a tree) and then explain how to get to the destination. As an example, this is my address:

“100 meters” is just a rough estimate and usually translates to the American “one block”. Buildings sometimes have names, such as mine. Other times it’s just ‘the big yellow building with the white gate’.

The National Stadium

My room here is not exactly cheap (neither is Costa Rica in general). In fact I pay slightly more than for my room in Heidelberg. But I got my own bathroom with actual hot water (for your information: the general definition of ‘hot water’ in Central America is ‘~3°C warmer than cold water’). My roommate is tico, about my age and also a travel addict. He also has interesting hobbies and business ideas.

The nameless street I live in

The big question is: How long am I going to live here. I do not know. I am just starting to make some friends here and make myself feel fully at home. I don’t have the money to finish my journey right now. But there are other places in Latin America that might be nice to live, too (Bogota? Buenos Aires?). My first priority is to improve my financial situation. After that, we’ll see…