Beware the Lack of Culture Shock-Shock

Culture Shock is defined as the anxiety, feelings of frustration, alienation and anger that may occur when a person is placed in a new culture. Wise Wikipedia goes on to describe four states of culture shock: honeymoon, negotiation, adjustment, and master. But my darling Wiki, whom I rely on for all things truth (sorry I'm not sorry), you have failed me, because what I experienced when moving to Costa Rica was a jarring, frustrating, nauseating LACK of culture shock-shock. 

Nearly two months since I arrived in Costa Rica and THIS is my first blog? Telling indeed, for it has been a very very... very strange adjustment period. The first two weeks were marked by Mal Pais, a bus full of hippies, and getting to know old friends a bit better. I thought the strange feeling of uneasiness was brought on by being in Mal Pais without Aer or the original characters that had made that place so memorable the first time around and decided my mistake had been going to the same place twice. A slowly unraveling pit in my stomach reminded me that I had chosen to come to Costa Rica for a third round and dreaded that I would spend the year feeling the same uneasiness I had in Mal Pais. Decidedly, I needed a change of scenery STAT. 

So I found myself a mini adventure with the Dutch Hippies of Bennie Bus. A life-loving couple with big dreams and small purses, they decided to make their travel fantasies possible by gutting out a Craig’s list bought bus and mobile hosteled their way down the coasts of Latin America. One hammock at a time, I took comfort in new people, new places, the slow passing of time and the journal musings which gradually proved that 6 months in the states hadn’t left me completely brain dead. But then I arrived in Colon and it was weeks of confusion that rolled over me in waves as I impatiently waited to feel exhilarated, to feel shock, to feel the awe of a new country. Weeks of unending emotions which never let me put my finger on them. I would pin down how I felt only to do a complete 180 two hours later. I would revel to Steve when I managed to have the same emotion for more four hours at a time, only to launch into a tirade minutes later about how dissatisfied I was.

For this shock, I brought in the big guns, not one, not two, but three, wise knowledge meese who advised me accordingly. 

Steve: "You have to be patient, and you also have to stop comparing this to your last travel experience."(Ten moose points). 

Em: "You're not stringing hammocks in the jungle because you're down there to be a grad student, you have to be in civilization for that honey" (Double Accurate).

Bech: “You don’t feel culture shock because whether you want to admit it or not... this is our home. We’re just more comfortable in this part of the world.” (Sigh. Triple Truth). 

I am not hopping borders every two weeks, I am not frolicking through ancient indigenous ruins, or taking in the glaciers of patagonia. I’m not bathing out of buckets or battling 104 fevers while riding 17 hour night buses. I live here. I learn here. I play here. I have a routine, and friends, and a family. I have a soccer team, a cafe, and a spanish tutor. In reality, I have a life. And this idea of permanency in a place with so few challenges has been my greatest shock... it is the lack of culture shock-shock, and it has taken me two months to acclimate. 

But in changing my expectations... tweaking I should say, I am slowly but surely starting to appreciate the intricate details that comprise this life: a school of international students dripping with life experience that make mine look like the ultimate silver spoon; endless amounts of opportunity to balance work and play via salsa lessons, volleyball tournaments, and middle eastern weddings; my family, Momma J, Uncle Mario, and the parade of cousins and niñetas that find their way to my door wanting nothing more than un ratito para hablar y mirar. And despite my contempt for technology this life is defined by connection. I am connected at all times to those I miss the most, and it seems that in some ways I am redefining my own advice to myself. “The only way to balance life with travel is by tattooing a compass on your wrist.” Truth. But for now I am learning that sometimes balancing life with travel means redefining your idea of life and your definition of travel in the first place. 

So here’s to a year of defining, redefining, and “settling down,” a year of embracing the intricacies of non-nomadism and being epically grateful that my longest stint in one place is in a country who’s name just happens to mean "The Rich Coast."  

Special Thanks: Stephen Vincent Valenta for putting up with my crazy on a daily basis with the most love and support a girl could hope for, Aeriel Kaylee Emig, for patiently working through three very stressful days with me and putting things in perspective 24-7 with journals and crayons, and Emily Intermonte Dally my oldest and longest love, sometimes I skype walk/talk through your apt makes everything better.  Love you all epically...8/2/33 days! <3