Author: Sophia Buonavolonta

During my last week in Costa Rica, I thought to myself how strange it will be to return to a world surrounded by English—where I will no longer be encased in Spanish chatter and road signs on the street, where I will speak English to waiters and shopkeepers. Now, three weeks later, my time abroad feels a bit surreal. So much happened in just five weeks that remembering and unpacking it all feels overwhelming.

The most important change I see post-study abroad is in myself and my attitude toward speaking Spanish. In the beginning of my trip, I was shocked to discover an intense feeling of jealousy in my language learning process. I felt envious of anyone who spoke better than me: other people in my class, other people in my SLA program. Learning Spanish felt like a competition rather than an individual journey—of who has a better accent, of who knows more vocabulary words, of who speaks with more fluidity. Throughout my time in Costa Rica, these feelings lost strength; however, it was still difficult not to compare myself to others. I have noticed that now, upon return, they have abated. 

This realization washed over me during a dinner my family hosted for my dad’s business partner and his girlfriend, the latter only able to speak Spanish. To my own surprise, I spoke easily and with no hesitation. I felt confident, armed with my weeks of practice abroad. I shed the anxiety I had carried for so long about speaking Spanish to native speakers. There was no one to compare myself to, no sensation that I was better or worse than someone else. It was only me connecting with other people, sharing stories and laughs. 

Sometimes it is easy to forget why we learn languages. Sometimes I lose the passion that led me to take Spanish beyond the four semester requirement of the College of Arts and Letters. Sometimes speaking Spanish feels like work, or like a competition. But then I have moments like this, where I feel truly connected to others, and I remember why I love language. It is a window, and I can see other people smiling through the glass.

As I reflect upon my time in Costa Rica, I am grateful for everything I’ve learned and all the incredible people I’ve met. I feel especially fortunate to have taught English in a local technical high school. Even though I was the one teaching, I know that my students have taught me as much as I taught them. 

To expose the students to US American culture, the teacher I worked with had each student ask me questions about my educational and cultural experiences. Evidently, I learned a lot about Costa Rican culture in return [some interesting questions received include: “Do cheerleaders act like they do on TV?” (…yes) “What’s your favorite Spanish word?” (mariposa) “You DON’T brush your teeth in public?” (definitely not…Costa Ricans treat brush their teeth as a social activity and leave class to do it, which is honestly probably a good habit)].

One student asked me, “Is prom really like it is in the movies?”

This question revealed more than just school dance activities. As I described my prom, looks of surprise appeared on the students’ faces. They told me how at their school dances, their family members all come and dress to the nines. They grumbled that prom is so expensive because they have to pay the entrance fee for about ten family members. With this simple little question, I learned how collectivism plays a huge role in Costa Rican culture. Family is much more important than the individual, an idea that often conflicts US American liberty and personal freedom. I would have been mortified to have my parents at prom (if you’re reading this Mom I love you), but that is simply the norm for Costa Rican teens. 

Another girl asked, “What holidays do you celebrate?”

The students were once again surprised when I described our military holidays like Veterans Day and Memorial Day. This is a completely foreign concept to Ticos—Costa Rica abolished its army in 1948. This fact is only one of the reasons Costa Rica has a low power distance. Workers rights are strong, and Costa Rica had almost no slavery in its history. 

Despite the many cultural values that differ from the United States, I have felt at home in Costa Rica, and I will greatly miss my time here. I am incredibly thankful for this experience—for being able to practice my Spanish, for the kindness of my host family, for the beautiful views, and of course for all my new friends. 

Goodbye, Costa Rica! <3

For me the most difficult part of speaking Spanish has always been obtaining the courage to actually communicate with native speakers, a fear born of insecurity that I have been fighting in Costa Rica. So you could imagine my frustration when I try to communicate with someone and they switch to English. This past weekend, my cohort and I visited a beach on the Caribbean coast, a roughly four-hour drive from San José. We checked into our hotel, and our director told the concierge that we all speak Spanish. After we all went to our rooms, I returned to the front desk to buy a water bottle. Although I asked in Spanish, he responded in English for the rest of the conversation—I guess I sounded unsure or I messed up the question. At that moment, I just felt embarrassed. My initial evaluation was: he thinks I don’t speak Spanish. I’m here to practice my Spanish communication and I can’t even ask for a stupid water bottle? 

Of course, upon reflection, I know I am complicit in creating my feelings of frustration. I could have asked him to continue in Spanish or simply kept speaking the language instead of switching to English when he did. I’m not ashamed of my Spanish abilities; rather, I’m ashamed that I didn’t persevere through the situation and chose the easy route instead. I know there was no malintent: as a hotel concierge in a tourist location, he is likely used to speaking English and thought it would be helpful rather than upsetting for me. 

Although this incident seems to be more of a clash of expectations rather than cultural beliefs, I still found it useful to reflect in this manner, to think through my emotions once I no longer felt suffocated by my irritation and embarrassment. 

In Costa Rica, I am learning more than just Spanish: I am learning to give myself permission to make errors and, when I do, to forgive myself. While I have made so much progress in speaking Spanish with strangers (un saludo to my Uber drivers)(Spanish conversations sooooo good I have a 5.00 star passenger rating), sometimes moments like these feel like a regression. I know I don’t need to speak like a native (and frankly, I don’t have the ability)—I just need to speak. And really, that’s enough.

Much to my surprise, I struggled with my self-perception as an American through my host brother’s heterostereotypes. As he told me Americans are big consumers, nationalistic, and less healthy than Ticos, I agreed, thinking Wow. Americans really match these stereotypes. However, I can’t just view Americans as a separate entity as I had done throughout my conversation with him. This is my culture, and I even participate in some of the behaviors that contribute to these heterostereotypes. For example, it’s difficult to think of myself as a consumer, but I have noticed that I do fit into this perception that Costa Ricans hold. I have become almost self-conscious of my possessions, hiding my iPhone when I walk on the streets because hardly anyone owns one, let alone one of the newest models. 

I think these more negative perceptions of Americans push me away from my cultural identity. I often justify the fact that I’m “different” than most Americans because my family is multicultural (a little pretentious upon self-reflection…), but that doesn’t change the cultural elements embedded into my life and my identity. I guess because these images of Americans that exist in foreign perspectives—Americans who eat a lot of fast food or wear a lot of designer clothes or are pro-American in everything they do—are caricatures to me. I don’t reconcile these images with my own upbringing, even though my actions sometimes reflect the basis of these heterostereotypes. Even though I don’t consider myself to be a crazy nationalist, I still grew up chanting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in school and I still sing the national anthem at sports matches—behaviors that are foreign to Ticos and thus contribute to their heterostereotypes. 

The most difficult of my host brother’s heterostereotypes for me to face was his perception of Americans as seeing the United States as “America.” This is a common issue of contempt in Costa Rica, and I am fully guilty of acting in this manner. While Spanish has a convenient word for a person from the United States (estadounidense), in English we call ourselves American, a behavior I perpetuate throughout this blog post. The truth is that the United States of America is not just America, because there are two whole continents that are America. When we call ourselves American we erase Costa Ricans and everyone else from this identity. No wonder they hold this heterostereotype. I am trying to hold myself accountable for this behavior, to show that I know my country is not more important than others, by calling myself a US American instead. 

I don’t want to come across as anti-(US) American in this post. I love my country, and I am grateful for my life and upbringing, but I am in the process of reconciling my culture with my identity. I should not be ashamed of being from the States (as if hiding my phone will make me less US American. Yeah right), but I can be conscious of my behavior and how it contributes to the way that foreigners see me and my country. 

I have learned that addressing heterostereotypes is more than just a way to see how Ticos see me and other US Americans. It’s a way for me to look in the mirror and see my own behavior. A way for me to hopefully demonstrate that there’s more to being from the United States than their stereotypes by proudly being US American rather than simply American.