9/29/2008 - Culture shock in Costa Rica
by: LAURA CROCKETT
Satellite Correspondent
“Bienvenida a nuestra familia!”
Welcome to our family. OK, I can understand that. I can understand Spanish. This will be easy.
Wrong.
After studying Spanish for four years, I decided that the next step toward fluency was full immersion. My Spanish teacher referred me to AFS, a nonprofit, worldwide foreign exchange program, and after a tedious application (I sincerely hope applying to college will be easier), I was accepted into the 2008 Language Study Costa Rica Summer Exchange Program. Whoo! Six weeks, living with a native family, going to school from 7 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
I used to think that 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. was too long for a school day.
The first day I arrived in Costa Rica, I met my incredibly enthusiastic family. I was nervous, and my first reaction was to just answer “yes” to everything. Fear of sounding stupid usurped fear of answering a few questions wrong.
They figured out my cluelessness quickly, and slowed down. Thank goodness. I also received a prompt lecture: If I wanted to learn, I must say when I didn’t understand.
The irony was not lost on me when I chose that moment to say that I didn’t understand.
My “little brother” thought I was very strange. I had never lived with a brother before, and got shocked on a regular basis. Once, I was changing and he barged in without knocking. Another time, he woke me up serenading me with “Low” (although, unfortunately, instead of the phrase “she hit the floor,” he mixed it up with a similar-sounding four-letter word. He was not fluent in English). He asked me numerous times whether I had friends, and whenever I asked him to slow down while he spoke to me, he replied as though I had a mental disorder.
“Cooooooommmmooooooo essssstttttttááááás?”
I’m fine, thanks, and I’m also somewhat intelligent.
Although sometimes, I didn’t act like it. I chalk it up to culture shock — when people do things differently, you are never sure what’s going on. You just go with your instincts, right or wrong. And usually, they are the wrong instincts.
One day, we were having a family breakfast. I eyed a yellow pastry in the shape of a flower. I love pastries. Especially pastries in pretty shapes.
I popped one in my mouth. My brother shouted, “BUTTER!” and gave me a now very familiar look — I must be crazy.
Turns out the yellow pastry was, in fact, shaped butter. Of course. My nickname for a few weeks was “Butter.”
I also learned to look carefully before popping flower-shaped objects into my mouth.
Oh, Costa Rica. How much I learned from you.
This article was originally published here.
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