to trust or not to trust.......?

I spent 6 months in Costa Rica last year, when I first got there I was pretty excited but also incredibly nervous. I didn't speak the language that well and I was alone with nothing but $500 and a pocket full of dreams. Why I decided to travel to CR is a different story than the one I feel like telling now. So, I get there and its raining like crazy! Coming from Florida, rain isn't a big deal but it can "damper" the touristy situation. I couldn't get out and see the Capital San Jose.

I later found that after haggling with cab drivers and getting into a brief confrontation with one of the Hostel workers, San Jose wasn't really a great place to check out anyways and the rain was a blessing. I check into my 7 foot by 7 foot shared bedroom around 4 in the afternoon. The smell of mildew and crotch is overwhelming, but all part of the experience. I grab the bottom half of the bunk closest to the door, there are two other sets of bunk beds up against the other walls. When I think of the word "share", I think of someone asking me for a piece of gum or giving me a bite of their sandwich. What didn't come to mind was sharing this small room jammed with 6 single-sized bunk beds. I didn't think of "sharing" breathing space with foreign flatulence of every flavor or sharing first row in the nasal symphony produced by 5 complete strangers. After a while you get loopy from the methane...I remember now joining the symphony.

I make it through the night, all is well. My organs haven't been harvested and every things in its place. I jump up and decide to blow this diseased Popsicle stand. I negotiate a reasonable cab ride to the bus station. A ten minute ride that reveals this part of San Jose for what it really is. And I realize what a blessing the rain yesterday really was. I cant find the words to describe how poverty stricken this part of town was but all I know is it was the first time I was concerned for my life so early in the morning. I got out of the cab which had pulled into this giant city square.

One section was entirely dedicated to garbage half as tall as the 2 story dilapidated buildings that surrounded the square. To my right are the buses. Ten of them all lined up side by side. Each one painted an assortment of colors with no real scheme or apparent plan. To my left is a few small eateries, called sodas. They serve local food, at local prices. Next to that is a store of sorts, kind of like a flea market, packed with the local people. Buying, selling, bartering, and wicked shady. What I mean is, I never thought I was a judgmental person nor would I ever consider myself fearful of people or situations...and thus the title of this segment comes to fruition.

I was starving but wanted to lock up the bus details. The trouble wasn't finding where to eat. Just follow your nose towards the dozen of options, as long as you could distinguish the sultry scents of food from the nauseating stench of garbage. No, my problem was finding the ticket station for the buses. There was no signs displayed anywhere a human eye could see. Keep in mind, I lack the native tongue and even with my incredible social and people skills, who would I ask? The bum with the eye patch begging for change, the tough looking teenagers leaning against the wall as if they were practicing for their audition of the Central American version of "West Side Story"? I was alone, and frightened. I was told to be weary of anyone eager to help, cause nothing in this country, not even direction was free. I didn't want to be an easy target, the confused foreigner. I didn't want to look like I was unsure about where I was going or what I was doing, but it was obvious.

Trying to keep composure and confidence at this time would require the same experience of acting as the thug-ish hombres, "Bernardo and the Sharks" were displaying on their turf. I was a child lost in the concrete jungle of Downtown San Jose. But right when I thought hope was lost, a woman appeared. We caught eyes, and she headed my way. I hate to say it, but she looked like a prostitute. It was 7 in the morning and she was wearing some risque outfit. Red tight midriff, black tight pleather pants and non matching pumps. Her hair was thrown together and pinned up as if she had just finished "consulting" her first "client" and was eager to get back on the beat.
She "B" lines it right for me. I'm nervous, palms sweaty, cant run...where would I go if I could anyways? She approaches me, smiles and clearly understands I'm lost or maybe interested in the comfort that she can provide.

We're face to face and in my worst, but my best, version of Spanish I ask her where are tickets for the buses to be purchased. She pointed to the buses, evidence she had no idea what I said outside of the word "bus". I try harder, using hand gestures to physically describe what I'm saying like a dysfunctional, international game of charades. And he says "Si"(yes) which happens to be the only Spanish word any ignorant American knows. She grabs my hand and I reluctantly allow her to guide me a few yards down the sidewalk. We come to a break in the buildings and there is a dark alley. I got darker as the alley got deeper, but in the distance, the part of the alley where the light and darkness came to a compromise, stood two large male men aggressively having a conversation.

She pointed with a smile on her face, in hopes to lure me down this narrow passage. I immediately pulled my hand from hers, and shook my head and said "No way". She insisted, saying "Si, Si". I rebuttaled "No No" and in the comfort of the language barrier added, "You're out of your F***ING Mind if you think I'm going down there"! So awkward at this point and absolutely rude on my behalf but I wasn't going to be THAT guy. You know, the guy who travelled by himself blindly and within the first 48 hours got mugged, beaten up, arrested, or experienced anything in the negative. Not on my watch!!! Anyways, things are weird at this point and there is this silence for a few seconds. Her final words to me, "Senor, por favor"(sir, please), grabs my hand and points it upward into the alley way and there it was. I look up and saw a large sign with an arrow pointing downward to a service window that read, in both English and Spanish might I add, "PURCHASE BUS TICKETS HERE".

Well, I am super embarrassed at this point. I gratefully say "thank you" several times but receive no pleasantries in return... and I don't blame her. She had good intentions, and although I was right to be weary and cautious in my travels, she helped me out and I could have handled the situation better. All those thoughts rushed through my head, like a speeding train powered by shame. I tried to apologize and say thank you for the 18th time, but our time together had ended. She rolled her eyes at me and walked away going on about the rest of her morning. I think she mumbled a negative something too, but who knows. I walked with humiliated confidence to the service window to get my direct ticket to the next destination.

Long story longer and finally how this blog earned its title. Its ok to be scared or nervous or reluctant in life. We are going to feel alone and lost sometimes especially out of our comfort zones. But not everyone is out to get us. There is still honesty and goodness in this world and in the people that live in it. What I'm saying is, we should trust in our instincts and only follow peace. I didn't do that, I followed fear. This isn't just about trusting that woman or the many people in our lives, both familiar and strange. But to trust in ourselves, trust in a situation, and trust in peace.