Costa Rica

It was such an odd feeling taking off from the airport in San Salvador. “I’m leaving, but I’m not going home,” I thought, staring at the familiar landscape. Also, “I haven’t left this country in five months.”

It’s odd moving from one foreign country where you are a temporary transplant, to another foreign country where you are truly a tourist. It makes you realize how much the foreign has become familiar. Costa Rica smells like jungle. The air is thick. The homes that line the main highway look like any other small, slightly rundown ranch house in the US.

This is probably what surprised me the most, I have become so accustomed to Salvadorian poverty. Coming from the US to Costa Rica, I probably would have noticed the poverty. Coming from El Salvador to Costa Rica, all I could see was wealth. El Salvador has so much more wealth, and is so much more Americanized than I expected, that sometimes I forget that I live in a developing country.

I also established again that Salvadorians really love tourists. I wouldn’t say people in Costa Rica were unfriendly, it’s just that I’ve gotten used to Salvadorians, who are unabashedly pro-American. Seriously, if you want an ego boost about our nation, talk politics with a Salvadorian.

Still, it probably goes without saying that Costa Rica is gorgeous. We stayed in bungalows on the beach and ate BBQ every night. I felt like a five year old on a camping trip–I stayed in my bathing suit almost the whole time. Marijke and I went on long beach runs, a pleasant change from the three hills in our compound neighborhood. I made it through three books. We went to a national park and saw a sloth! And monkeys!

I also broke my policy against loving stray animals and became semi-attached to the dog that hung out on the porch of our bungalow. We named him Herman. And I may have fed him a hard-boiled egg one time. Tell me, could you deny this face?

Ya. That’s what I thought.

There was also this:

And some of this:

Not a bad vacation.

Hiking Volcanoes

Oh goodness, this poor neglected blog. In the next series of posts, I’m going to attempt to recap the weeks that we’ve been off campus for Christmas break. I’ll also mix in stories of our first week on campus.

I’ll start by explaining this photo:

I’m wearing a Salvadorian police jacket, shivering in the cold. That’s my teammate Marijke wrapped around me for warmth. We are at the top of Santa Ana, the tallest volcano in El Salvador.

This particular adventure started when the guys on our team hiked a volcano. On the way up, they happened to meet a man who worked for the Ministry of Tourism. Manuel, who heads up the communications dept. of the Ministry of Tourism, invited my teammate Brandon on a special overnight trip to the Santa Ana and Izalco volcanoes. The plan was to hike Santa Ana the first day, camp overnight, and then hike Izalco the next morning to watch the sunrise. This was a special trip, because you need a guide to hike these volcanoes, and they normally don’t provide guides for the sunrise trip. Brandon got the impression that this trip would include Manuel and a few of his friends from the Ministry, and that we were welcome to come along.

As usual, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. This “trip with a small group of friends” was actually an excursion with the entire force of Salvadorian Tourist Police, including the Police Chief. Not only that, the trip was also part of a publicity campaign call “This is El Salvador.” Not only were we going to hike the volcanoes and sleep in rustic cabins, the whole thing was going to be captured on film and used for promotional materials, including two television spots. Just the way I wanted to make my national TV debut–hiking up a volcano at  3 am after a night of camping. Marijke and I had a video camera, and a still camera, trained on us for most of the trip. At one point, we wandered about 100 ft. away from the rest of the group. We glanced over to see three cameras pointing at us from behind a rock. Like our very own paparazzi!

That’s not even the full police force that was with us. We had 21 armed police officers escorting us, including one carrying a fold-able stock semi-automatic machine gun. Well, nothing says “we love tourists” like large firearms.

See, volcanoes in El Salvador have an image problem. Tourists think they’re dangerous because thieves would often take advantage of the seclusion that the top of a volcano often offers. So the Ministry of Tourism was promoting the services of the Tourism Police, who will escort you to the top of a volcano, ensuring your safety with the aforementioned large firearms. One of the questions asked in my film interview at the top of the volcano was, “Do you feel safe at this volcano?” I looked around at the officers flanking me. “With a police to tourist ratio of five to one, it would be hard not to,” I wanted to say. But went instead with, “Sí.”

The truth is, I did feel very safe, and very honored. These policemen (and women) treated us like honored guests. When I was shivering, the police chief offered me his jacket. Multiple policemen attempted to carry Marijke’s bag for her. The hike up Izalco, in the dark, starting at 3am, was treacherous. Probably the most difficult hike I’ve ever been on. But our entourage (including film crew) was there every step of the way offering snacks (marshmallows at dawn…it’s the thought that counts), encouragement, and extra jackets. Marijke and I joked that they probably would’ve carried us up the mountain had we asked. I have no doubt they would’ve.

As corny as I sounded in my interview, I really meant what I said. Which was that El Salvador is beautiful, and Americans are missing out if they don’t come visit. This is a country that consistently treats tourists like honored guests.

The rhetoric of the police force kind of cracked me up, because these guys take protecting tourists REALLY seriously. Like, it’s a high calling that requires the greatest respect. The chief kept giving these little inspirational speeches every time we moved from one activity to the next. But that’s the thing, they really do want outsiders to understand that El Salvador is welcoming, beautiful, and open for business. I mean, I get the irony of trying to prove the safety of a tourist destination by sending an entire police force to escort tourists to that destination. But I also understand the message they want to send, which is, “We will do ANYTHING to make you feel safe.”

Sunrise over Izalco:

The top of Santa Ana:

Cookie Party

Tonight we decorated cookies with a few Salvadoran students who had never spread frosting over a cookie before. We rolled out dough, listened to Christmas music, and talked about snow. I’m from Southern California. I’ve had one snowy Christmas in my whole life. But here I was telling tales about building snowmen and snowboarding. The girls were fascinated though, having never been in real snow in their whole lives.

After we decorated our cookies, we sat around and listened as Selegna, a staff member from Panama, told the Nativity story. Selegna’s version included all the scandal of a teenage pregnancy, a near break-up, and a low-budget birth. I walked in on her telling a bit late, and it took me a couple of minutes to even recognize the story, despite its accuracy.

Jenna decorating cookies.

Vicky, Claudia, Jenna, and Lauren.

Marijke as Rudolph. Bean with frosting cheeks. :)

Our House

We (the girls) live in a small gated neighborhood that we affectionately call our compound. We have three streets, and our own little private park. There is one entrance, guarded 24/7 by some very nice men with large rifles. The reality of living in El Salvador is that I’ve surrendered some of my freedoms. I’ve gotten used to a lot of the limitations, but today on my run, I couldn’t help but remember running trails in San Luis. Still, I’m so lucky to live somewhere where it’s safe to run at all.

Here is our street:

And our house:

Ali!

Ali, with passport in hand.

One of my dearest friends came to El Salvador today. She surprised her boyfriend, my team leader Trevor. Ali and I met in a freshman year English class, after we quickly picked each other out as Christians. It was a pretty rough class, spiritually, and I knew she was serious about her faith just through the kind and insightful comments she always offered. She’s been a huge encouragement in my life. She also introduced me to my boyfriend, Matt, two years ago. Thanks Ali!

She’s also spending a year doing ministry with Campus Crusade, but her time in South Africa starts in January. I know she’s mostly here to see Trev, but I couldn’t be more happy to get to see her before she leaves. Her flight was delayed for two hours, and I was standing on my tiptoes in the airport for 45 minutes waiting to see her emerge.

The first hug--Lauren and Ali.

Dulce y Salado

Trevor’s face grew ever more skeptical as I read the Lonely Planet entry for the restaurant Bean and I wanted to visit:

Don’t let the girlie ambiance–hanging plants, doilies galore, opera classics–stop you from sampling the excellent menu at this cozy restaurant. Light meals, including lots of vegetarian options, make up its core–salads, quiche, empanadas, and even spinach lasagna are all offered.

As we sat down at our mosaic-topped courtyard table with the lovely fern hanging overhead, I looked from Brandon to Trevor and said, “I can’t believe we tricked you into this.” It was even more than the doilies and opera music promised in Lonely Planet. There were Christmas curtains, hand painted signs, dolls. When Trevor opened the menu, he looked skeptical again. But our spinach lasagna was indeed good, even if the German Christmas carols playing in the background were a bit much.

Brandon and Bean at a cute table.

After dinner, we somehow convinced the guys that watching Garden State and drinking cider at our house would be a fun Saturday night activity. They were having fun hanging out with us, but they were also humoring us–letting us pick a ridiculously cute restaurant when they could’ve gone to see that Keanu Reeves movie about the aliens.

Me and Bean by a shelf of cute things.

“This is the girliest night I’ve ever spent with guys who are not my boyfriend,” I told Brandon and Trevor in the car on the way home. “You’re welcome,” said Trevor.

Trevor. Ignoring the cuteness.

Roads

Typical country road.

Before we got here, I was really nervous about driving in San Salvador. Actually, not so much worried about driving, I love driving. I was worried about being driven, and about the other cars on the road that might drive into us. It turns out, once you have spent time in Asia, Salvadorian roads are nothing. There just aren’t as many cars here. And the roads aren’t clogged with motorcycles.

Still, I pretty much surrendered all driving duties after trying my hand for a week or two. The roads are stressful enough that it was not hard to turn over the keys to the boys. There are the crazy buses that simply honk before moving whatever direction they please, the missing manhole covers that have been stolen and sold for scrap, and the pedestrians that seem to leap haphazardly into the road. And then there are the “pay attention” cones. The police set up traffic cones across busy roads, leaving only enough space for one car to pass through. There is no warning. Lanes simply end in a barricade of cones, forcing screeching brakes or quick merges. This “safety” measure supposedly roots out drunk drivers who simply run down the cones. Drivers are then fined by the number of cones they hit. Of course, you don’t have to be drunk to be surprised by a row of cones blocking off half the freeway with no warning.

Today on our way to a lake outside the city, we were cruising down a mostly empty freeway, when we reached a very abrupt police barricade blocking the road. They took the driver ahead of us by surprise, too, meaning we both had to make sharp left turns to follow the prescribed detour–the detour that moved us to the other side of the freeway. I screamed as a car barreled towards us from the opposite direction. Thankfully this car was in the next lane over, but it was hardly a reassuring set up. There were no cones, no divider, nothing separating us from the lane of oncoming traffic but the usual dotted white line. We realized, as we merged back onto the other side of the freeway a few miles later, that the only thing warning cars that the left hand lane was now running the opposite direction, was a three cone barricade at the start of the switch. Quite helpful if someone didn’t realize the meaning of those three cones and switched lanes around a curve.

We followed a large truck, so no one was going to run us down unless they hit the truck first. And after that first moment when we thought we might die, we all just laughed, because it was ridiculous. In El Salvador, there are good drivers, and there are bad drivers. And then there are police forces who could use a few lessons in the art of cone placement.

Prayer Time at Matias

Worshiping together at Matias.

We spent the afternoon today prayer walking at Matias. This is finals week, so the campus was pretty empty. As we enter into the student’s vacation time, we’re praying about plans for next year. We found out today that we may have a few minutes to speak to all the new freshman in each major when the new school year starts. This would be a huge blessing to our ministry. The earlier we can reach students in their college career, the longer time they have with our ministry. It’s so fun to think about all these new freshman starting school!

Marijke and Bean (Christine) praying together.

Girls at Matias

There are probably about 15 girls who we have some kind of ongoing relationship with on the Matias campus (Evangelica is out for Christmas Break). Aside from sharing the Gospel on campus, we’ve been able to spend more time just building friendships with students. We sit in the cafeteria and our friends find us, excited to talk about their days. Or we visit classes, where professors are surprisingly fine with the disruption of random girls wandering through their classroom.

Two weeks ago, we sat down and shared the Gospel with a couple of girls through the Soularium survey. We started out in our semi-broken Spanish until one of the girls said, “I’m American. I grew up in San Bernadino. I’ve actually really been wanting to meet you guys. I’ve seen you on campus, and my friend Gabby knows you. Every time she sees you she says, ‘Oh! There are my friends! I know those girls.’” Wow. Okay then. I was thrilled at the fact that this girl was clearly all about getting to know us. More than that, we’d been wanting to develop a deeper relationship with Gabby and her friends for a long time, and here was one more connection. It felt like a puzzle piece falling into place.

My teammate Christine (Bean) and I have also been spending a lot of time with Jenny, the girl I mentioned in this post. Jenny was one of the first people I shared with on campus. She met me when my Spanish vocabulary was at about the level of a three-year-old, but with far worse grammar. Thankfully, she is eminently patient with Bean and me. She’s our biggest fan as far as language goes, often reminding me of that day a few months ago when I barely said a word. But she also talks about that day, and a meeting a week later with a national staff woman, as a kind of spiritual wake up call. Bean and I have been meeting with Jenny for two months now, and it’s one of my first experiences at seeing such powerful life change in such a short period of time.

We met for coffee last week. Jenny walked up as Bean and I were finishing our quiet times in the coffee shop. “What are you doing?” She asked, not wanting to interrupt. “Oh, just spending some time with God. I’m done now,” I answered, closing my journal. “Maybe sometime I could do that with you,” she said. “Absolutely you can!” I told her, probably a little too eagerly.

We spend a lot of time talking about life, and God, and how things are looking different for her. She wants to come share the Gospel with us on campus. She is already being bold with her friends. It’s just really, really fun.

Pupusas and a Kitten

A few weeks ago, a few of our friends wanted to come over and cook us a Salvadorian dinner. We all went to the grocery store together, gathered ingredients, and headed to our house to start cooking. This was all great fun, except that the two girls teaching us to cook haven’t had much experience in the kitchen. Almost all Salvadorians with a modest amount of wealth, including most of the students we’re friends with, have some kind of live in help. I think we are the only house in our neighborhood that does not have a maid, a nanny, or both. I’m pretty sure the house across the street has a live-in gardener/handyman along with two other servants. My point is, one of these girls literally did not know how to scramble eggs.

Between five of us, we managed to cook fried plantains, scrambled eggs, and beans from a can. We also had cheese, french bread, and store bought tamales. Salvadorian food is kind of an odd mix. Somehow, all of this was deemed not quite enough food for the nine of us that were sharing this dinner, so my teammate Brandon and I ran out to pick up pupusas.

Pupusas are practically El Salvador’s national food. I have not yet met a Salvadorian who does not answer “pupusas” when asked to name a favorite food. Pupusas are sort of a modified quesidilla. Basically, you take a ball of tortilla dough, stuff some cheese (or cheese and beans, or cheese and pork, or cheese and squash…) inside of it, and then fry it. These are topped with a pickled cabbage mixture, and some red sauce. They are quite tasty, although at 400 calories apiece, what wouldn’t be.

Anyways, we knew we’d picked the right pupuseria when a kitten greeted us at the door. I entertained myself with the tiny ball of fluff until it ran away from me, jumped onto Brandon’s shoes, and went to sleep.