As it was explained to me, salsa is a dance of submission; the woman has to give up and follow the man. This idea could raise some hackles – and knowing the machismo culture here, that’d be understandable. Just for a few minutes, though, forget it and enjoy the beauty.

And, really, “beauty” is too tame. It’s straight-up hot when done to perfection. It makes the ridiculous undulations that go on in the U.S. seem as sexy as a streak of whale snot. After watching two top-notch dancers go at it for a few minutes, I wanted to make out with one of them, gender optional.

What struck me at one dance club in Xela was how free and fluid the men were (ladies, we know you’ve got elegance). Their moves were truly suave, and they’d fearlessly break away and spin like figure skaters or preen for the crowd.

If a guy in the States pulled this, some would snicker and mutter the British slang word for “cigarette” but mean something else. To dance the way Latinos can, though, makes them 10 times the man I am (never mind helping them land 100 times the girls I do).

The dancing ability here is strong in part because it’s done from a young age. It’s woven into the fabric of the lifestyle, something appropriate at the club, at a wedding, or at Wednesday night in a restaurant.

So, hey, United States: Stop watching the Stars dance, and start doing it yourselves.

Kent most recently left his post as an English teacher in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica and is currently traveling. To see what he’s up to, check out his blog or follow him on Twitter.

A group of students studies in the common room at a Spanish school in Costa Rica

Well, I’ve done this all backward.

More than six months after coming to Central America, I’m finally taking a long-term shot at Spanish school. I decided on the school I’m at – Sol Latino in in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala – after hearing good feedback from some travelers I met.

Before this, I spent one week at a school in Costa Rica, then left after I didn’t like it. I’ve also investigated several other schools. It’s difficult to classify what makes a good Spanish school. The variety (Xela alone has a gaggle of ‘em) makes it almost impossible to know what to go for. That being said, here’s a few tips from my experience:

Does the school have certified teachers? Instructors who are solely native speakers are great for conversation. However, they may not be prepared to address different learning styles. They also may have trouble helping a person who learns by the rules of grammar (like me). Actual teachers are more qualified for both.

How does the school decide which teacher you will have? My roommate in Xela goes to a different school than I do. She filled out a questionnaire when applying, and the school used the information to put her with a teacher that seemed suited to her personality. It’s worked out great for her. My school doesn’t have this, and I think it’s an excellent model. My first teacher at Sol Latino was good, but low-energy demeanor was not for me. Obviously, such a test wouldn’t guarantee a good match (online-dating sites, anyone?), but I think it’s a good start.

How much does it cost and how do you pay? The first point is a no-brainer: Can you afford the school? What’s more important is how the school makes you pay. One school in Panama I liked, for example, had prices that went down the more time you spent there. However, it asked you to pay up front. If I didn’t like it, I’d have lost a lot of money. I prefer to pay week by week. That offers the freedom to change if needed.

Sometimes, it all comes down to luck: Hate to end on this point, but it’s true. So much of the experience will depend on factors you can’t control. The teacher you get. If you click with the other students who attend the school. The temperament of your homestay family. The first choice you make in a school will be a risk, no matter what. But, whether you stay for months or bounce after the first week, it will be a learning experience.

And that’s what school’s all about.

Kent most recently left his post as an English teacher in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica and is currently traveling. To see what he’s up to, check out his blog or follow him on Twitter.

1. Life goes at a different pace here – slower, calmer. Here, I very rarely feel rushed or stressed or pressed for time. It’s the pura vida mindset that Ticos use to infiltrate their lives and their way of being; it’s that everything-is-okay, no-worries sort of mindset that has really become part of me.

2. Here, we are not responsible for our actions – God is. Everything here is “Si Dios quiere” (If  God Wills.) It’s funny how the answer to everything is, Si Dios quiere to phrases such as: “See you tomorrow”; “Let’s have a meeting next Monday at 4 p.m.”; “I’m flying to Panama tomorrow.”  Si Dios quiere is always the right answer.

3. Hot water is a commodity, so you really grow to appreciate it.

4. I have over a hundred avocados ripening on three trees 50 feet from my back door.

5. The typical greeting when passing in the street is not, hola, but adios, which literally means “to God.”

6. How I can walk down the street and say hi to someone sitting out front of their house, and before I know it I will be inside drinking cafecito and eating bizcocho – mere strangers five minutes earlier.

7. I am getting more physical and mental rest here than ever before, not to mention, probably adding 10 years on to my life.

8. Horseback riding is a common form of transportation.  No one looks twice at the man and his horse trotting down the highway.

9. I love how coffee here brings you to stop and slow down, not grab and go. I love how afternoon cafecito is a time come together and converse. I love how most places don’t have “to-go” cups. I love how coffees are small here. I love how the coffee culture here, where it is grown and cultivated and valued, is the exact opposite of what it is in the United States.

10. I love how here you can spend an entire day on the sofa reading, while the rain tap, tap, taps on the tin roof, for six months, and not feel guilty. I love that.

Thank you, Costa Rica, for being you.

Rebecca Stumpf is currently a Peace Corps volunteer in Copey de Dota, Costa Rica. To read more about her experiences and see more of her photography, check out her website and photography blog. For some delicious recipes, check out her food blog.

A passerby stares as one of Panama City's colorful diablo rojo buses zips by

A rarely heard utterance: “My favorite thing about the city was the buses.”

A Dutch traveler said it to me about Panama City before I left. I inwardly scoffed; she must just think that because they use bikes so much in the Netherlands.

But then I got there, and she’d nailed it. Sorry, Karlijn.

Calling the buses diablos rojos is only partly accurate. Some of these second-hand U.S. school buses are red, sure, but they are also green and purple and pink. They have murals of castles or churches on the front and back. You’ll see paintings of world luminaries ranging from Jesus to Hugo Chavez, with accent designs featuring unicorns playing guitars.

Go inside, and it can be like a dance club or lounge. Samba or reggaeton will pound out of a custom stereo, while red or purple lights set the mood. Streamers are optional but encouraged.

I don’t know if each driver has his own bus customized, a la goalie masks in the NHL, or if they drive whatever bus they get that day. (Drivers aren’t the chatty sort, and it’s tough to find out if a bus is going close to your hostel, let alone delve into its aesthetics and iconography.)

Panama City can stagger the brain of a Latin American traveler. Restaurants touting Lebanese, French, and Thai food can be seen on one city block. Rush-hour traffic jams are choked with luxury cars, and rush hour itself was a concept I’d forgotten. Skyscrapers soar overheard, and where there’s not a skyscraper, there’s probably a crane building one.

In a city that is so developed and modern, it was a relief to see some of the flair and slapdash magic that has given this corner of the world so much of its charm for me.

Kent most recently left his post as an English teacher in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica and is currently traveling. To see what he’s up to, check out his blog or follow him on Twitter. For more on transportation in Latin America, check out “Day in the Life: Morning Commute“; “An Adventurous Routine“; “Where to Get Off the Bus?“; “Good Travel Karma“; “Traffic Circle from Hell!” and “All-Female Transport in Mexico.”

I have officially been self-diagnosed with hypochondriacism.  Is that a word?  Surely it must be a disease?  And surely, I have it.

I think I first became a hypochondriac when I moved to a village of 700 in the mountains of Costa Rica just over a year ago.  A village far away from any sort of emergency medical facility.  A village full of flora and fauna that most people haven’t even heard of that could cause a-never-experienced-before-sort-of-emergency reaction.  A village where the water could cause parasites,  and the food botulism.  A village where the sun could cause heat stroke.  A village where the dusty roads could cause lung problems.  A village where every malady is something big.  Yes, that’s where I live….faaaaaar away from the comforts we know as medicine and science.

I think it all started with bed bugs.  I was convinced I had bed bugs.  But then that was confirmed.  So my hypochondriacism doesn’t apply there.  Then these weird spots appeared on my hands and feet, and vomiting and fever, and that was confirmed – Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease – not to be confused with Hoof and Mouth disease which livestock get.  Then, I got stung on the chin by some mystery insect, my whole body swelled up and I was rushed down the mountain to the public health clinic where they gave me multiple shots in the butt, oxygen and an IV.  Of course, I couldn’t help but think I was going to die of anaphylactic shock on the way.

Then, I got parasites.  But that was medically confirmed too.  Lately it’s been that I am developing Multiple Sclerosis or have Botulism because of some weird weakness in my arms.  I’ve also toyed with the idea of Leishmaniasis.  Surely I got bit by a sand fly on my most recent trip to the Caribbean Coast.  Or maybe it was the fleas I brought back home with me from the hotel.  Could I have Lyme’s disease?  Any dizzy moment, headache or short of breath moment most definitely means I have a brain tumor or a collapsed lung.   Surely, I have something.

When did this all happen?  I never used to be a worrier.  Why did Latin America give me hypochondriacism? Am I alone in having this?  Please say no.  Until I hear “No, I’m not alone” I will continue to think I am getting some disease that science hasn’t even discovered yet and is incurable.  Perhaps it’s just that I have too much time to sit and think here.  Or perhaps it’s just that this this is all a bit unknown.

Rebecca Stumpf is currently a Peace Corps volunteer in Copey de Dota, Costa Rica. To read more about her experiences and see more of her photography, check out her website and photography blog. For some delicious recipes, check out her food blog.

The cracks begin to show...

However, these moments of self-indulgence are really only that: split-seconds. The moments actually only ever hit me when I’ve spent less time than I’d hoped for with the students i.e. when classes have been canceled or other school events take priority. When such thoughts do cross my mind, something always seems to happen to make me totally ashamed of having them, like when two of my students presented me with the most delicious homemade bread that had my name baked into it for example. But I’ve quickly learned to recognize the warning signs (or cracks!) and usually, as old and decrepit as it makes me sound, what I need is to just lie down and rest my mind for a bit.

Besides, it’s these tougher times that are so much a part of what volunteers do and strengthen us as individuals. As much as we work to open doors and help makes things better for organizations and individuals, we also feed off the energy we receive in return and that gives us the impetus to keep going. Our experiences can have highs and they can have lows but forums like this also show how similar, but equally unique, the journey is for all of us.

Just last week I met another La Vida Idealist blogger. The opportunity to chat and share our thoughts and experiences was such an incredible boost, and a great reminder of all the reasons why we do this.

Amanda Patterson is currently teaching English and public speaking as a volunteer with Corporation for the Development of Learning (CDA) in Santiago, Chile

A statue of Christopher Columbus in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

Growing up in the U.S., I got used to talking about race or describing someone by their skin color in a careful manner, afraid to offend someone or say something wrong.

This inhibition has been eradicated after spending over two years in the Dominican Republic where a person’s skin color is used as a descriptive adjective as freely, if not more freely, than their shirt color. In both Spanish and Haitian Creole people are constantly referred to as black, brown, red, or white with, in Spanish, several words for varying shades of brown. This blog gives a quick look at the history of the island and as a result of the history, its current racial and cultural composition.

The Dominican Republic shares the island of Hispañola with Haiti in the Dominican Republic. It occupies the eastern two thirds of the country where Haiti occupies the western third. Christopher Columbus landed on the island during his first voyage in 1492 as all students here know. The land was inhabited by native Taino “Indians” who were quickly killed off as the Spanish settled. Later the French took over the western third which became Haiti. Both sides took part in the slave trade enslaving West Africans to work on sugar plantations, etc. Haiti’s slavery ended in a revolution and genocide of white people in the country, making it the first black republic and the first country overthrown and led by former slaves. On the Dominican side, slavery never was quite as dominant and brutal and apparently eventually phased out.

Therefore, Haitians often appear to be straight from West Africa whereas Dominicans seem to have an array of varying percentages of Spanish and African influence. Race and social class are definitely linked as the whiter citizens are normally members of the higher social class. However, times are changing and although racism still lingers, it seems to be less of an issue as it was earlier in history. Well before the recent earthquake that brought significant damage to Haiti’s capital Port-au-Prince, Haitians were crossing the border in “search of life” in the Dominican Republic. Both countries are considered developing nations but the economy in the Dominican Republic is quite a bit more active than the slow economy in Haiti.

Caitlin McHale is currently living in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic as the co-founder and executive director of Project Esperanza.For more about her experiences, check out her blog.

This is a very unique group of people and forum to put our ideas out for everyone to read. I know that I truly enjoyed putting my thoughts down and it helped me reflect and better understand my work with blueEnergy Group. While in the field, writing is the best way to search and find meaning within our work. We all know that the idealistic volunteer experience of a culture welcoming newcomers with open arms, ready at any cost to embrace change, is completely naïve.

However, as an idealist, I demand better opportunities for every human on this planet, and many routes of La Vida contributors embrace the realistic circumstances.

therealalaksa.com logo

La Vida is the perfect avenue to express ourselves and hopefully motivate others to volunteer. It is my hope that we inspire each other and more like-minded people to get out, give back and go volunteer!

As to what I’ve been up to since leaving Nicaragua, well, that is where Alaska enters. After voluntarily leaving my finance job for a well-respected Fortune 500 company last year, I went back to my roots and helped captain a fishing boat in Alaska. I was born in this magnificent state, and spent many summers fishing along the Alaskan Peninsula with my father.

Once the summer season was complete in 2009, I joined the blueEnergy team. I’m back in Alaska again this summer but I took a little La Vida inspiration with me. La Vida is such a fantastic website to showcase what we love to do and I’ve applied that concept back in the United States. I created my own website with a friend called The Real Alaska and we are geared to provide a forum to entertain and educate viewers about Alaska. Right now we are focused on showing the gritty, unedited side of commercial fishing and adventure tourism events. I would love it if you would browse the site and help spread the word.

The beauty of the Internet is that there are no goodbyes. Despite poor Internet coverage on the Bering Sea, I will return to America… errr… I mean civilization. I encourage you to reach out, ask any questions, or just make a connection.

Thank you very much to the fantastic leadership, contributors and readers who make La Vida Idealist possible.

Over and out.

Brett Veerhusen was most recently a Controller for the blueEnergy Group in Bluefields, Nicaragua.

Shoveling is hard work. You bury the shovel in a mountain of mud, lift, dump into a bucket and repeat for hours on end. An odor lingers – a blend of death, decay and destruction. There are those rare moments when life resembles one’s favorite novel. In the past week, Love in the Time of Cholera has had more of a literal effect on my life than I ever would have expected literature to effect.

Relief workers aid the clean-up in San MIguel Escobar, Guatemala after Tropical Storm Agatha.

On May 15, I climbed my first active volcano, marveling at the sight of lava flowing down slopes. Less than two weeks later, with very little warning, this very volcano erupted and rivers of fire destroyed nearby villages, while blanketing Guatemala City with ash. Then Tropical Storm Agatha arrived – and did not stop pummeling our rooftops until, as of June 3rd, it had taken the lives of 150 people in Central America. The dawn of June 3rd found 108,000 homeless, 136,413 evacuated and 32,000 destroyed homes. 

The sun shone with an incongruous brightness on the morning after the storm. Armed with galoshes and shovels, aid workers poured into the hardest hit villages. Rescue workers pull out a grandmother and her child – both, unfortunately, dead because of a sudden mudslide. Mud reaches the level of the kitchen counter and buries wiring, computers, furniture and children’s toys underneath it. Health teams administer tetanus shots. Two days later, we add surgical masks to our uniform – an ominous sign that disease has arrived. Typhoid fever outbreaks and rumors of cholera, the results of a limited and contaminated water supply, complicate the act of shoveling.

With a specialty in conflict management, capacity building and women’s development work, I was a stranger to relief work. Relief work requires both empathy and the ability to distance oneself from the overwhelming pain. It demands every ounce of physical energy and every last grain of positivity. It is a quintessential team sport – one whose results will not show until days or months, making every lift of a shovel at turns disheartening and frustrating.

And in the disarray, hope emerges. The determination of the aid workers, the resilience of the locals, the random acts of kindness, the relentless teasing of one another about who smells worse or whose mud stains look more like face paint lighten up the load. Knee-deep in mud, inspired by the optimism, energy emanating from the shoveling crowds, it is hard to ignore the grave reminders of the storm – and even harder to not feel one’s own faith in humanity surging to new heights.

For a photomontage of relief efforts in Guatemala and information on how to donate to the victims of Tropical Storm Agatha, please visit Roxanne’s blog.

But it’s important to cast your desire to add to the world in a reasonable frame, otherwise you’ll never be happy with what you’re doing.

The sun sets behind the high school in Puerto Jimenez

Example: Right when I left for Costa Rica, the earthquake hit Haiti, and I thought, “I should be there.” Then Chile gets rocked, and I thought, “I should be there.” Now, I see Guatemala getting doused by massive floods, and I think, “I should be there.”

Teaching English is important. However, after reading about those disasters, it seems meager. Then, I look at what the other La Vida Idealisters are doing, and I’m blown away. Conflict management after a civil war. Working at an orphange. Sustainable energy and microfinance. I discuss when to put “-ing” on the end of words.

This relativistic approach hasn’t been limited to my time in Puerto Jimenez. In Chicago, I volunteered for 826 CHI, a creative writing and tutoring center. No matter how much I did, I always felt like there was more I could have done.

I doubt this mindset exists only in me. Everyone with the desire to do service work, whether on the weekends or as a career path, must think about it from time to time. The key is not to focus on what you should have done, but on what you have done.

Which, naturally, is easier said than done.

Kent Green is currently teaching English in Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica through Costa Rican English for Sustainable Tourism, a project of ALIARSE. For more on his experiences,  check out his blog or follow him on Twitter.