So now that the Samford kids are gone (and we do miss them dearly, they were fun), there are only nine of us left at Conversa this week. Two college students (Bryan and myself), three vacationers (a nursery manager from Minnesota named John, another John from Idaho, and Bob from Kentucky), one retiree (Deb from Michigan), and three twenty-something-year-old people who have moved down here on a semi-permanent basis and are looking to improve their Spanish before getting apartments and jobs in Costa Rica (Katie from South Carolina, Tricia from Chicago, and Greg from Minnesota). With such small numbers, it's easy for us all to get together and hang out after classes every day. We've made it a habit to go to one bar or another and have a couple of beers at the end of each school day, and it's turned into a nice little routine for us.

Tomorrow, sadly, this must come to an end.

After this week, only four of us will remain, and Thursday is actually Deb's last night in town. So we're all going to stop at a restaurant that's about 1/3 of the way up the mountain after school and have a few drinks and reminisce on the two weeks we've known each other and all that jazz. It's weird how much I've laughed and had fun with these people after only knowing them for such a short time. I guess it's the kind of personality that's drawn to do something like Conversa; it's generally congenial people who are fun to be around.

Anyway, enough with the sappiness.

Bryan and I have nearly completed our first semester of Spanish. He's feeling a bit of trepidation, but I'm downright excited. Things are clicking, connections are being made... I'm still super-slow at speaking it but I'm picking up on things I never would have thought possible. Now when my madre (Costa Rican "mom") asks me if I'm going to "cenar" (to have supper) in the restaurant or elsewhere with my friends, I don't have to spend five minutes thinking about what she said. Instead, I can spend that five minutes formulating my response. I now only feel half-retarted, and I feel proud of my wee little accomplishment, even if it has taken about 44 hours of class (so far) to get me there. That's 5 1/2 hours a day spread out over eight weekdays, for anybody who's curious.

I'm working on a way to get my pictures up here. It won't happen anytime soon because I left the cable connecting my camera to my computer on my desk in Waco, but if I can find a card reader down here somewhere then I'll have them up for you to see as soon as possible.

This weekend Bryan and I are going to see a volcano. Arénal is the most active volcano in the country at the moment, and is in fact the world's third largest active volcano. Odds are very good that all we'll see are a bunch of clouds, but we could get lucky and see an eruption. Of course, if not, then we'll just have to drown our sorrows in the warm natural hot springs surrounding the area. Poor us. We are such mistreated creatures.

The coca-cola here tastes so much sweeter than it does in America. It's bottled domestically, so I suspect that they use the pure cane sugar rather than the "high fructose corn syrup" they use in America. Plus it all comes out of glass bottles, and everybody knows that they are far superior to plastic bottles when it comes to taste. I think I may be able to make it without Dr. Pepper as long as I never run out of bottles of coke.

Buenos noches, chicos y chicas. Hasta mas tarde.
-Juansito, Un Oso de Baylor