Closing Time

The 46 survivors of Tico 19

Team CED

The CED mafia survivors...a few hours later

Late-night shake at Soda Tapia

Well the final Peace Corps acronym is upon me: COS. Although I feel like I have been looking forward to this moment for many months, it somehow snuck up on me and I am feeling more conflicted and nostalgic than I imagined I would at this point.

We had our official Close of Service conference last week, which was the last time all of Tico 19 would be together as a group. We came with 52 people two years ago, and 46 made it to the conference. Not a single person in our group left willingly (mostly medical reasons), which is pretty rare. We got to spend three nights at the fancy Crowne Plaza Hotel in San José and spent our days talking about the logistical and emotional components of finishing up our time as PCV’s in Costa Rica.

It was definitely the most fun and rewarding Peace Corps conference I’ve been to. Instead of worrying about what we were going to do with the rest of our service, we were reflecting on all that we had (and hadn’t) done and enjoying our time together.

Some of the highlights for me included: a session on strategies for readjustment in which we had to do skits about things we might feel inclined to do when we get back to the US and other people will think is weird – for example, greeting every person you walk by, hanging out at people’s houses uninvited for an entire afternoon, and slipping into Spanglish when the Spanish word articulates what you want to say better.

There was also a panel of four returned Peace Corps Volunteers who were all living and working in Costa Rica, and it was interesting to hear about the paths they’d taken. All of them had either married host country nationals or another Peace Corps Volunteer, so that sparked a lot of curiosity from the many PCVs in my group who are involved in serious relationships with Ticos and trying to figure out the next step.

On the last day of the conference, each project group was responsible for making a presentation to the entire Peace Corps staff about the projects we had achieved and the impact we had made. Of course, the Children, Youth and Families team did a tear-jerking slideshow with Bar Mitzvah video classics such as Time of Your Life and Imagine, while my Community Economic Development group took a more individualistic and ironic approach. We called ourselves the CED mafia and did a lineup (the boys dressed in Crowne Plaza bathrobes, which was a nice touch) and showed pictures and facts about each volunteer and then the staff “witnesses” had to guess the culprit – all to the soundtrack of Bad Boys. I’m just saying, I think we got the most laughs.
Afterwards, each staff member presented us with a signed thank you card and we had our final session, which I thought was going to be painfully cheesy but ended up being kind of beautiful. Throughout the week, we were each responsible for coming up with a six word memoir of our experience and writing it on the front of a card, and then on the inside our fellow PCV’s had to write six words about us. In our final session, we got in a big circle and were each handed a card that we had to present to the person it belonged to. Maybe two years as a PCV has softened me, but I got a little emotional, and I was not the only one. It’s weird because we didn’t all see each other as much as you see your high school and college friends since we were scattered all over the country, but the shared experience we went through and the times we did spend together created a bond and respect among everyone in that circle. I guess it was the first time it hit me that I would miss all these people, and mostly being a part of this group.

Thursday evening festivities started off with the Skill Slam, a challenge that fellow PCV Chase Adam had put upon us during Pre-Service Training to devote some of our anticipated free time in the upcoming two years to developing a totally new skill. We each put in 2,000 colones, which meant a pot of about $200. Twelve people ended up participating, showing off everything from lock-picking to assembling a Rubik’s cube at record speed to walking from the Nicaraguan to Panamanian border in 15 days to Latin dancing, which was ultimately the winner. We then got a big group out to Steinvorth, the one hipster bar in Costa Rica, followed by a serious dance party at Bar Morazán and ending where all the best nights end, having late-night French fries and milkshakes (Chase opted for gallo pinto) at a 24-hour diner.

Now I’m back in Quebradas helping sell snow cones at our community parties and preparing for our annual women’s soccer game tomorrow. The karaoke outside my window last night was incessant until midnight, but instead of shoving in earplugs and trying to shut it out, I went down and ate chicarones and bizcocho with my friends. And I thought, I’m actually going to miss this…