Paradise. That is how it was pitched. Hacker Paradise, to be exact: “a programming retreat in the beautiful country of Costa Rica” where “participants come from all over to get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and spend 12 weeks writing code and building things with other passionate individuals”.

I was technically not a participant of Hacker Paradise. I was joining as a plus-one of a Hacker Paradise facilitator/mentor: ZYX. I had technical creds of my own, not to be dismissed as a mere tag-along simply there to soak in the sun and wade in the ocean. That said, coming in, I had a tinge of intimidation, of impostor syndrome, of a party crasher. Not being a one of the “chosen ones” cherry-picked from a pool of already self-selecting applicants, I anticipated the feeling of “what is she doing here?” eyes on me. Plus, the caliber of participants was quite impressive in itself: digital producer turned Mozilla-Knight fellow turned Times data journalist, science PhD turned med student turned data scientist, English major turned poker player turned developer (and owner of a popular coffee shop to boot!). Meeting everyone in flesh and listening to their “this how amazing I am” stories was going to be a bit like a more intimidating version of teenage summer camp where you go around the circle sharing “What is your favorite …?”.

“My favorite food is Kraft mac & cheese!”

“Oh, my favorite food is my homemade mac & cheese “seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg, and combined with butter, grated Gruyère and Parmesan cheeses, and very red tomato purée, and combined with a julienne of very lean cooked ham, tongue, mushrooms and truffles, heated in Madeira”.

“My favorite color is red.”

“Oh, red? Mine is vermilion.”

That first night though, what surprised (and intimidated) me most was not the intensity of everyone’s “well, I am …” stories but the silence that permeated Paradise.

* * *

After a prolonged 24+ hour flight delay from Croatia to the Dominican Republic to Costa Rica and a 6+ hour drive from the San Jose airport to Playa Carrillo, home of Hacker Paradise, I unloaded my bags and immediately headed up to the restaurant/bar area (the “Summit”) where the early arrivals were hanging out. We had arrived around dinner time and the sun had already set the scene to black. With a rumbling stomach, I was ready to gobble up my first taste of Costa Rican food: casado con carne or some other rice-and-beans with plantains dish. I brought with me only the necessities – or so I thought: myself and my appetite.

I was also eager to put faces to LinkedIn profiles: who were these adventurers, these nomads, these dreamers coming to a remote village in Costa Rica for 3 months to hack on technology?

That excitement was soon dampened though and replaced by heavy weight, much like the humidity that was already drenching me in dripping sweat.

As I stepped into “Paradise”, all I heard was silence and all I felt was stillness.

***

A long table of 6-7 people were heads down on their laptops. No one budged. No acknowledging smile let alone a welcoming “hello”. This was in exaggerated contrast to the vibrancy of the “Summit”: every flat surface – from the walls to the tables – were hand-painted with tropical scenes; ceiling beams were dripping with rainbow hammocks.

Sure, I was only the plus-one and other than a brief intro on the Hacker Paradise Facebook group, I wasn’t involved in the pre-retreat chatter online. I could have been a random resort guest. But by my side was ZYX. He was a Hacker Paradise facilitator, second in command, and active in the pre-retreat Facebook-ing. And, unlike my less pattern-matchable attire, he did not look like a random resort guest with his Meteor t-shirt and pre-release Google watch).

But no one stood up from their seats to say hello — only a few glances up and back down to their laptops.

Strange but I shook it off. Maybe they were all really in the flow and couldn’t break from their coding. Maybe they were all shy folks — a feeling I understood being the shiest of the shy.

We sat down at the end of the table and ZYX – an extrovert to my introvert – started chatting with the guy next to him. Not having any distractions (laptop or cellphone) and not having the chutzpah or rank to interrupt with a “Hey, whatcha working on?“, I leaned in on ZYX’s conversations nearby.

“What are you working on?”

“… Ruby … poker … bets …”

“Ah, that’s cool! How are you implementing …?”

“…”

“You should look into … Excited to see what you build!”

He continued down the row.  Barely audible even one chair away, he was soon too far for me. No longer able to gracefully extend my torso or perk my ears to hear more than a mumble of jumble, I recoiled in my seat twiddling my thumbs. After a much-too-long 15 minutes of staring at the backs of laptops (the many stickers helped pass the awkward seconds with visual narratives), I had to escape.

I headed over to the bar and plopped myself next to a middle-aged brunette who was not engrossed in anything in particular: no cellphone, no laptop, no iPad, no book. Ah, perfect! But after the polite chat of “How are you? What’s your story?” winded down, I again found myself in eye-wandering, lip-pursing silence.

The Hacker Paradisers were still heads-down and ZYX still had half the length of the table left. I estimated that with 4 persons remaining I had at least 40 more minutes until his lap was complete and I sure wasn’t going to return to the table empty-handed to wait. Without a room key to retrieve my laptop or escape into privacy, my only reprieve was circling the grounds: down the stairs, past the cabins, up the stairs, through the pool area, down the stairs, past the cabins, down the stairs, past the cabins, up the stairs, through the pool area.

For almost one hour, I walked in the wet darkness, my only companions being the companions I did not want to keep: mosquitos.

* * *

That first night was actually an anomaly. It could have become the status quo but the next day, fresh blood arrived with self-proclaimed title of “Dream Catalyzer”. He too had noticed how only a couple people stood up from their tables to introduce themselves when he arrived. Unlike me, he would not let it slip. Soon enough, the “Dream Catalyzer” convinced the facilitators that – for the sake of much-needed team building – icebreakers were worth any initial embarrassment. And so with that, for two consecutive nights, ridiculousness, awkwardness, laughter (and a bit of consternation) ensued as we circled around shoulder-to-shoulder breaking the ice with “Where the West Wind Blows”, “Yes and …”, “I have Failed!” and many more.

• “Where the West Wind Blows”: sharing common interests and experiences
• “Yes and …”: communicating with positive reinforcement however ridiculous
• “I have Failed!”: not being ashamed of failure but owning it

The icebreakers brought the group together, literally, to get off their chairs and out from behind their laptops. It was not without the mortifying dread of “Are you seriously going to make me [run around playing musical chairs] [beatbox about myself] [yell “I have FAILED!” while in a yoga pose] […]?”, but by improv night’s end, we had gotten to know each other beyond the “Hi, my name is … I work on …”: our near-death experiences, our secret crushes on Taylor Swift, our guilty pleasures watching odd animal coupling videos, etc.

Soon more activities enlivened the initial reserve. The tables (for working and eating) initially set up as a long station were broken up to encourage more intimate conversations between the participants. Facilitators scheduled morning standups, office hours, and demo nights. Participants organized activities to break up their work day: morning runs, surfing lessons, and game nights.

Day after day, Paradise become less a group of individuals working remotely at the same retreat but a community of individuals working together to build, learn, and enjoy working (and living) in “Paradise”.

* * *

All this said, this is more a story of me than of Hacker Paradise. In the one week I was at Hacker Paradise, despite all the talk of walking into downturned heads and hoping instead for a “Hey, welcome! Join us in Paradise!” bear hug, if I wanted to make that connection, I needed to initiate it. I needed to have the courage to create that connection myself, not expect it as something someone else would do nor something that would happen spontaneously.

The “Dream Catalyzer” knew this.

I wasn’t able to get quite out of my shell by the end of my one-week stay at Hacker Paradise. I remained on the sidelines, sort-of a self-prophecy of the “what is she doing here?” insecurity I came in with. And while my nerves will still probably get the best of me when stepping into the social unknowns such as Hacker Paradise, I’ll probably not be alone in my jitters. So, from hereon, I will challenge myself to make each “hello” an icebreaker of sorts — because what’s the worse that can happen? I may look silly and sound ridiculous but at least I won’t be stuck in awkward silence.

So I say, my parting words:

“The west wind blows to anyone who is a Code for America fellow!”

“Yes and … let’s build a social app that let’s you have a conversation only one word at a time to only people in the same room as you!” 

“I have FAILED! I have FAILED! I have FAILED!“