People have widely expressed their feelings towards me spending a week on the beach (my Grandmother— they have beaches here too you know!). As I understand them:
1. Mom: Wear sunscreen. I’m serious, Rachel Shea. SPF9000 if at all possible.
2. K: No flirting with Costa Rica bell boys.
3. Grandma: Don’t do a single thing that could be construed as dangerous.
4. Dad: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do (that leaves room for a lot).
5. My bros: You’re going to Costa Rica?!
6. My boss: But who is going to refill the sugar packets in the kitchen when you’re gone?
7. K: Seriously, no Costa Rican bell boys.
8. Mom: Monkeys have rabies. You can’t hug them.
9. My traveling partner: Don’t forget your passport. You can forget everything else, but not your passport.
10. My traveling partner’s sister: Don’t get in the bed of a pick-up truck to go to a party on the other side of town with strangers. [It sounds like that has happened before.]
I’ve got 4 more days if there is anything you’d like to add. In addition to reminding myself that I’m leaving the country every 30 minutes, I’ve started to make the first of my many lists of what to pack, attempting to commit to memory the name of the city we’ll be traveling too and figuring some other important stuff out — like exactly where my passport is hidden (my money is on my sock drawer).