Introduction

Fourteen University of Florida students flew to Santa Cruz, Costa Rica, on Oct. 5, 2000, to gain international journalism field experience. Photographers and writers at the graduate and undergraduate levels teamed up during the 10-day trip to document Santa Cruz's culture and community.

The overseas trip was part of a newly developed program nicknamed the Florida FlyIns. In preparation for writing and photographing abroad, students spent the first part of the semester doing research about Costa Rica in the university's Latin American Studies library collection and hearing from expert guest lecturers.

After the trip, the last part of the semester was dedicated to publishing an online magazine, producing an exhibition and submitting the stories for publication in U.S. and foreign media outlets. Pulitzer Prize winner John Kaplan and Dr. Kurt Kent, faculty members in the college's Department of Journalism, conceived and developed the course. Each fall, the class will travel to a new country in Latin America.

A pen and a heart

With a large smile embossed on his chubby face, our bus driver, Mauricio, passes out mementos to mark the last hours of the 10-day trip: wooden pens and heart-shaped seeds engraved with the words "Costa Rica." We all smile too. Mauricio is driving back to the Juan Santamaria International Airport, his minibus loaded with writers and photographers from the University of Florida's College of Journalism and Communications. Ten days before, the same driver with the same smile in the same rainy weather waited for the 14 students at as they arrived in San José.

Day zero: We're not in Kansas anymore

Crammed in the minibus, some students struggle to find a position compatible with their sleepy mood. Others watch through the windows, trying to spot through the hazy landscape some details they have read about in their research during the previous weeks in Gainesville. But the dry descriptions found in the books at the UF Library's Latin American Collection could hardly embody the sensation of Central America's muggy weather.

Day One: Beating the clock

Friday, October 6, 2000. The dazzling light of the sun, along with the deafening screams of some wild monkeys, wakes me up. The night has dried out our soaked clothes -- our bags were transported from San José on the minibuses' rooftop.

Our translators are here, standing in the wood-panelled, open-air lobby. Teams of writers and photographers already have story ideas in mind. Now, joined by their translators, they are wandering in Santa Cruz, hunting for the actors they have pictured in their stories throughout their long research efforts in the States. Ten days is too little time for what seems to be a mountain of work. The bright green plain on which the town stretches out is besieged by an intimidating chain of mountains with jagged peaks cloaked in mossy dark green. Wild grasses and luxurious exotic trees grow in the town, wherever the people forgot to put their mark.

Julian, a former bull rider proud of his glory days, now sitting on a porch and trembling on the red and green plastic strings of his rocking chair, is kindheartedly pausing for Amy Fischer, Rebecca King and Loretta Keith, holding a framed picture of his late wife while young school girls in tartan uniform pass by on the sidewalk.

As the reporters move forward on the street, trying to find a path through the lottery ticket vendors who seem to spend more time chatting than actually selling their illegal merchandise, stores and soda bars blast a mix of cheesy love songs and groovy salsa rhythms. Erroll, the translator, stops and talks with some acquaintances he sees. Spontaneous discussion groups gather pedestrians and bicycle riders in the middle of the street, a walk-and-chat habit that is just another display of the culture's conviviality.

At the evening meeting, this same overwhelming sensation of geniality is shared by the reporters. Although every team has discovered a different facet of the community, it has experienced the same optimism and willingness of the locals to open their hearts and houses to us gringos. The Costa Rican people repeat "Pura Vida" as a life motto throughout their days and encounters.

While Monika Lugo gives back and shoulder massages to the worn-out reporters, the group discusses the events of the day. The number of things students have done in just one day is amazing. Melissa Maxwell and Hope Kinchen plan to do their story on a pottery village near Santa Cruz. Christina Stuart met a 15-year-old single mother, Juana, who delivered her baby today. Monika Lugo and photographer Matt May, in a desperate search for a World Bank related story, met with teachers at the local university. Krissy Robertson and Sarah Hyde, in their investigation of changing rural education, attended a school parade, while Jessica Hager spent the day with a ranch owner and his caretakers. Allison Malt and Debi Springer, trying to figure out what Pura Vida really is, interviewed Dina, a first communion teacher.

But despite their excitement and an action-filled day, many students discover either that their planned stories don't pan out, or that a friendship-based team won't work. Fourteen brains are now boiling in the tense atmosphere of working against the clock.

Day Two: La Lucha

The off-key singing and sappy lyrics of the karaoke bar next to our hotel resonate in our head as we wake up for a new, promising day. Sarah and Krissy leave for the city hall, where they have planned an interview with Martín Vallejo Zúñiga, the mayor of Santa Cruz. But the same mayor who kindly welcomed us at the San José airport does not show up. After an hour and a half, the mayor finally arrives and conveys that tomorrow might be a better day for an interview. Crestfallen by this frustrating event, more symptomatic of "Latin time" than malicious inclination, Krissy and Sarah head to the Latin University, where a contact they met at the parade the day before invites them to attend an English class. While the stilted pronunciation of the students is not a major impediment for Sarah's interviews, the place lacks visual appeal for Krissy's camera. It's been two days now since the two began working together, and Krissy's finger is itching to manipulate the aperture button. They have the same story in mind, but they realize photographers and writers have different needs.

Further out on the road that bonds Santa Cruz to the Pacific coast beaches --"Tamarindo: 35 Km" -- Jessica's and Amy's meeting with the family in charge of La Jirona, a cattle farm, reveals just the opposite situation. Joaquin, the caretaker whose vivid eyes contrast with his rough-hewn face in the shadow of his ripped straw hat, and his four little kids offer a picturesque vision on a scenic tumbledown ranch: the perfect environment for photographers like Jessica. Nevertheless, Amy, her partner, struggles to bond with the family and get pertinent information on their lives and feelings. The family seems to be intimidated by the gringos. David, the translator, does not help either: Amy's straightforward questions are transformed into ten-minute chats between David and Joaquin, and the outcome is often limited to a word or two in English that Amy scratches frantically on her notebook.

"It is hard to work with a translator and know that stuff is being left out," Debi would say later, sharing her frustration of relying on a third-party translator who does not know that what journalists need are direct quotes.

At the evening meeting, frustrations are shared. The new deal is exposed, as the cards have been shuffled: Amy has joined Jessica on the cattle industry story, Rebecca has teamed up with Christina on the young single mothers' story, and Loretta has started a photo story portraying an old woman who started a famous tortilla restaurant across town. A stray dog has followed Amy to the meeting and now curls up on her lap.

Matt and Monika have given up on the "look-at-what-you've-done" World Bank investigation and found their new story, La Lucha, the situation of many people who struggle and yet, keep their good energy and wide smiles. Hum! That sounds familiar.

Day three: No Fear

Sunday, October 8, 5 a.m. Krissy, harnessed to her camera and bags of lenses, has one idea in mind: Shoot, shoot, shoot. She is sipping Costa Rican coffee across from David, yesterday's translator for Amy and Jessica, at the warehouse-like tortilla restaurant. She wants to go to Tamarindo Beach today and find some fresh ideas and subjects. She tells David about her frustration, confident that it will be gone at the end of the day. Does he know anybody there? Sure, David knows everybody ... . A biology teacher, David also knows every plant that grows in the area, and every bird that flies over: He whispers the name of the hidden animal before it leaps out the bushes. Three years earlier, he had in his class a student, Lilbert, who dropped out of high school to work at the beach, where making money, it seemed, was easier and more fun than worrying about a bunch of cows in the prairie.

That sounds perfect for Krissy, who will spend the all day at Tamarindo with David, meeting Lilbert, and Lilbert's friends and bosses. The beach was a fresh and unusual atmosphere after the three days she has spent in the quiet and traditional community of Santa Cruz. With baggy blue jeans, a "No Fear" cap, and trendy sunglasses hanging around his neck, Lilbert has been tainted by American culture.

Krissy goes home happy, impatient to share her findings with Sarah. Coincidentally, Sarah has spent her day with a teenager from Santa Cruz who dropped out of high school to work ... at Tamarindo. There might be a story here. "I tried to visualize the story," explains Sarah at the daily evening meeting, acknowledging that this first experience of working with a photographer has been both challenging and inspirational.

Day four: Intimacy

Today, Monday, is a major day for Rebecca and Christina. Their subject, Juana, is waiting for her boyfriend, Luis Carlos, to meet their 3-day-old infant for the first time. Luis Carlos is returning from El Salvador, where he played in a soccer tournament with his high school team. Because her mother could not pay for another mouth to feed, Juana moved in with her boyfriend's family in a modest home at the foot of the mountains, surrounded by exotic trees, flowers and laundry hung out to dry. The smell of baking potatoes fills the house while the television blasts Telenovelas, Latin soap operas brimming with bright colors and dramatic moments.

Christina's camera frenetically clicks away at the newborn and his young mother. "Why is Christina taking so many pictures ... since three days?" a family member asks me. But our hosts keep their smiles on their faces and make sure we are as comfortable as we can be, ensuring we always have a fan turned on near by us. The sultry heat is almost unbearable. Suddenly, a crowd runs into the living room, screaming "Luis viene, Luis viene." The room is packed with neighbors, family and friends. Fifteen pairs of eyes and a camera lens are staring at the young couple and the baby. Luis Carlos' eyes sparkle in the strobe light of Christina's flash while the spectators whisper to each other. As the crowd leaves and the intensity fades, Juana withdraws to her room and lies on her bed with her baby, paying little attention to Christina's ongoing shooting session.

At that night's meeting, Rebecca recounts her embarrassment when, in an attempt to interview Luis Carlos at his high school, she congratulates him on his two achievements, his baby and his victory at the soccer tournament, only to discover, seconds later, that she was talking to the wrong Luis Carlos. In just four days, the students have integrated well into the community and can even share gossip on the town and its people. Too bad the FlyIns are not tabloid reporters.

Day five: Open arms

Tuesday, October 10. The group climbs a spiral staircase, leaving the new, spacious administrative lobby of the city hall and entering a panelled chamber where the city council is about to start its session. The commissioners and the mayor present us with official welcoming messages and a commemorative plate. The mayor puts his UF Gators cap on his head and holds up the T-shirt he is been handed, appearing proud of this new outfit from the other America. Then the ceremony is over. Everybody goes back to work.

As Jessica arrives at the ranch, the kids, Maria, Selena, and Yeiner, rush out of the house to welcome her. Guisel, Joaquin's wife, now lets Jessica enter the house to take pictures for the first time. Her previous reluctance may have been because of her embarrassment over letting us see their modest living conditions. In three days, the situation has changed. Pride, trust, and friendship are making Amy's and Jessica's work much easier.

At the evening meeting, Amy introduces a new group member, or more precisely the group's new mascot, Pépé. The stray dog is now hers, vaccinated and almost ready to fly back with us. But the day has not been joyful for everybody: Sarah recounts with wet eyes the appalling living condition of her teen-age subject, who lives in a dusty, piteous dormitory next to the Barcelo, the four-star hotel where she is employed waiting on tables.

Day six: Bureaucracy or cover-up?

We are now in the second half of the journey. Krissy goes to Tamarindo, where she hopes she will be able to take pictures of the waitress working. As trivial as this sounds, it may actually be an arduous mission. After getting shaken about for an hour and a half on the rugged dirt track in a bus that, it seems, may break down at any time, Krissy walks to the Barcelo hotel. The screams of monkeys in the jungle that surrounds the dusty track make the atmosphere daunting.

"Where are you going?" asks bluntly a front desk employee in Spanish as we saunter through the opulent lobby overlooking the sea. This sets the rather inquisitive tone with which Krissy would be confronted all day, as her schemes to take pictures of her subject working would be transformed into unsuccessful attempts and frustrations. The managing director is the only legitimate person to give such authorization. After he finishes his nap, he tells Krissy she should come back tomorrow.

Investigative journalism, some students realize, is indeed a difficult task. Rebecca has spent her day struggling with the administration, trying to collect statistics on teenagers' pregnancy. Like Krissy, she finds herself empty-handed at the end of what seemed to be a busy day.

Day seven: Thou shalt rest

It is Thursday, our day off. At least it is for the ones who do not have any commitments. It is a day to rest, horse ride at the mayor's ranch, lie on the beach, shop, and let the pressure go for a while.

Amy is sad: Our airline has an embargo on pets. Don Pépé, who was already dreaming about pet toys and ground beef, may not be able to reach the Promised Land.

Day eight: The Real Life

Friday the 13th. Debi, Allison and Michaeline, a Peace Corps volunteer, walk on the dusty road that goes from downtown Santa Cruz to the neighboring shantytown, wincing and coughing as cars pass by and leave thick clouds of dust and sand behind them. Because the notorious Willy lives close to the house of Veronica, the young girl they are going to interview, the two reporters have lightened their backpacks. Willy, 17, was released from jail yesterday. Rape, crack-cocaine trafficking, stabbing and robbery are his favorite pastimes, according to many Santa Cruz insiders. "Willy would really like this," people would comment the day after as they see my expensive digital video camera.

The whole neighborhood gathers as we arrive at Veronica's house. Kids with soccer balls, young adults on bicycle, all were surprised to see these gringos venturing into this apparently hostile area and ramshackle houses, which greatly contrast with downtown's wooden, freshly painted houses. As Veronica paints Michaéline's nails, Debi questions her, seeking the motives that make this young, shy teenager so happy. Pura Vida has a face... and scenery.

As the full moon illuminates the final hours of this Friday the 13th, the writers, probed by their instructor Kurt Kent, discuss ethics. Far from UF's classrooms and First Amendment theories, many students have ethical concerns with their stories. These are not case studies. This is real life.

Day nine: Farewell

Matt and Monika start their day at the morning market, a colorful display of exotic fruits and vegetables. "Piña, piña!" The screams of the vendors cover the muffled voice of the farmer Monika is interviewing, while Matt's lens looms up from under a stall. As they walk down the street Matt and Monika run into acquaintances they have met throughout their journey. The two gringos stop and chat with them for a while, like any fellow Santa Cruz citizens would do.

Past the metal suspension bridge that sinks into the jungle and connects downtown Santa Cruz to a neighboring shantytown, Bario de los Camarinos, Matt and Monika arrive at their subjects' house, where the whole neighborhood welcomes them warmly. But this, in fact, is their farewell. The ramshackle houses bordering the river, threatened to be flooded by the next big rainfall, blast Merengue, Latin music. As three little girls receive bracelets, hair-ties, and candies from Matt and Monika, they jump for joy with sparkling eyes. "Gracias Monika." Matt takes a last portrait of Julia Luz, one of their subjects, while kids jump and run in the river, a beautiful surrounding for a makeshift swimming pool.

As they return to the hotel, Matt and Monika join Hope and Melissa, who are going to Guaitil, the pottery-maker village, for the last time. After a couple of wrap-up interviews, they say good-bye to the craftsmen they have rubbed shoulders with for nine days. Finally, they can buy the stuff they have been staring at all week long. "Now, I can tell who from the village made this pottery just by looking at the design," says Melissa as we contemplate a vase in one of the baker's dozen workshops that line up around the busy soccer field.

As writers and photographers contemplate their last pre-dusk show, a display of warm yellow light breaking through a wall of threatening clouds, Amy and Jessica leave for La Jirona to share Imperial, the local beer, with Joaquin and his family. Another farewell. Guisel gives me some rice and chicken, a tasty leftover from the dinner she offered to the two reporters at lunchtime. I translate breathtaking letters that Maria, their daughter, wrote for Amy and Jessica. "I love you a lot and I will never forget you," say the letters to the students, who struggle to hold back tears.

Day 10: Words and pictures

The FlyIns, along with Don Pépé -- now Sir Pépé -- painfully get into the minibuses. Many of us have a hangover from the last salsa-and-Imperial party we had the evening before. As Mauricio leads the minibus and its load, including the 13,000-something pictures taken by the photographers, on the road back to San José, images of Santa Cruz fade away. This is another beginning. An exhibition, a website, and possible publications are the next steps for the FlyIns team, who wonder how they will translate these emotions and loads of information into words and pictures.