Food, Fantasies, and Friends Tercera Parte

I remember waking up that next day tired yet refreshed.  I slept like a rock thanks to the utter exhaustion I had from the previous trip there.  This was my first time that I could explore the land with plenty of sunshine to spare; I quickly discovered how remote we really were. Turi had made us a phenomenal but simple breakfast; his meals were always small and simple but somehow got us through all of our shifts.

That morning I was taught the ropes of what we did on our end of the island and quickly discovered the joys of tropical isolation.  I can't lie, I didn't feel completely confident in my new surroundings until the next day, but nature and life showed me exactly what I was headed for, and it would turn out to be beautiful.  After I got to wet my beak in our gardening bubble I was sent over to the other site named Widecast. The trek is only around a mile and a half of distance, but I remember the first day  it took me about thirty minutes to complete.  Aside from the heat and humidity, I had been carrying with me a few extra pounds thanks to my friends and loved ones thinking I was going to starve while there. 

When I approached the Widecast camp, I lovingly called it the Compound, I was amazed. For one, there were a lot more people there than our site, which brought a whole other sense of energy to it. In the end though, I was surprised to see how developed it was. I took note of a highly developed solar panel system that not only powered the outside light bulb but also the rooms, while supplying them with power outlets as well. To top it off, they had a fridge! A fridge!!! I felt like I had died and awoken somewhere else. For all intensive purposes, this place looked like a resort; yet even with all these luxuries, I still would prefer to stay in our simplistic site any day of the week.   Loyalty has to run a little more than skin deep right?

At the compound is where I received all my training for the turtle effort. I learned how to dig nests, spot turtle tracks, how to mark grown turtles, among a whole slew of things all turtle related.  My second night there I was treated to the wonderful midnight to 4am beach patrol shift in the dreaded Sector A.  Before I go into the patrols, I feel the need to clarify something: patrolling a beach is not a walk in the park.  I know that for so many a stroll down a sandy beach brings to mind memories of romance, love and great chick flicks, but let's not forget to add in the ever shifting sands, tree stumps and roots to stub your toes with, random thunder and lightning storms and IF you're lucky, the hauling of about 20 or so pounds of turtle eggs for a few miles.  Patrolling was exhausting!  Sector A was the worst because with having to walk that one segment of the beach, not only were you walking the longest stretch of distance, but you also had to go through Sector B to get there. If you didn't finish your patrol soaking wet, you definitely finished it exhausted; yet that was part of the fun!  The work in both sites was tough and grueling, yet you always left with a sense that you truly did something good in the world. 

Between juggling both sites, the days consisted of work, hammocks and coconuts.  The first two days for me were just that first midnight patrol and training, so I did have some down time to at least rest my feet. I remember being on the hammock my second day thinking to myself, "I need something to do!!"  Here I am, believing myself to be pretty laid back, itching just to do something.  That nagging itch taught me something though... understanding. 

Over here in the States, we have this want or need to just stay busy; we don't allow ourselves the luxury of just being and absorbing it all in. On the island it was just that; everyone worked hard and was tired, so why not relax when you could? I didn't think it would bother me so much to just sit there and be still, but that same tranquility that I try to always seek was the same serenity that brought my chaos. It took me about four days to finally come to terms with the island mentality, but when I did, my view on everything changed.  I began to see the island for what it was... Paradise.

When you sit down and finally accept the differences in situations, you learn to see the beauty in it all. I was on a piece of land that for all intensive purposes, didn't exist, with no wifi, power, hot water etc... and I loved it!  

As the first week was slowly coming to an end, I would find myself waking up and just laying by the hammocks with a freshly broken coconut, sipping away at its juice while writing in my journal or staring off into the ocean sea. I truly was alone. I would just sometimes close my eyes and listen to water crashing against the sand, no cars or noises to distract me from these small moments of nirvana that I was experiencing.  The island was a challenge to crack at first, yet the effort was worth it; because of her I learned more about myself than I ever could back home.  

It was being alone that forced me to tap into myself, to open myself to new people, experiences and knowledge. Within that first week, I had already helped rescue some turtle eggs on my first patrol, guarded the hatchery, weeded fields with shovels and met some great people that I would consider to be like a second family.  You see, being in the middle of nowhere forces you to change your mentality on life in general.  I believe that everyone goes through the same cycle of thoughts when waking up on a remote piece of land: isolation, doubt, self realization, and growth.  The doubt stage was for me the toughest one to get through; that mystery of whether or not you'd be able to make it through your stay could eat at you for days until that make or break point hit you.  But if you were able to break through that phase, it was only happiness that awaited; we had one volunteer in our group that couldn't get past stage 1, but that's the way it goes sometimes. 

If you compared our group with the volunteers at the compound, we would jokingly say that those at the hut roughed it out more.   Yet we weren't all nails and steel; some of the best times at our site were around the dinner table or hammocks. We would reminisce about our favorite foods, and what we missed back home and such... it was some sadomasochism at its finest.  

When it came to food though, we couldn't complain. Turi treated us very well when it came to grub. All of our food was grown from the garden or freshly killed at the tip of a machete or fish net. We had three meals a day at specific hours, yet as the days passed and with our workload getting much heavier at times, we had to figure out ways to sneak in our gathering times at the kitchen table; remember, we had no microwaves or anything like that to reheat food or preserve it.

What we lacked technologically in the hut we far made up with in camaraderie.  As our stay progressed, we had to rely on each other more and more for everyday basic needs, yet we also had the pleasure of getting to meet most of the locals around the island.  It was the locals, with the help of our coordinator Mauricio, that helped us enjoy the social aspect of the island community; it was with our first party that we got a small glimpse into that world....

Food, Fantasies, and Friends Part Deux

THUNK!  The sound the boat made when we hit land's edge; I looked around just taking it all in.  I was greeted by a very cheery old man who was lovingly called Turi by the volunteers.  He was the owner's older brother who tended to the garden, vegetation and cooking; did I forget to mention this kind man is 63 years old?  He gave me a tour of the land, myself not really knowing what to expect, just followed quietly taking note of everything. 

I came with the impression that this project was part of a turtle preservation effort, which it was... somewhat.  In reality, it was a small self sustaining garden, whose alter ego helped with the turtle preservation movement.  So as the week went on, I slowly learned that we were to be split working literally on two separate ends of the island. 

With the tour, Turi showed me the ropes on the pump, kitchen routine, where I would be 
sleeping and just the general vicinity of the community on that end of the land; he was extremely kind to me that first meeting and just so gentlemanly about everything.  Suffice it to say I was very grateful for his kindheartedness. 

The property consisted of a small parch of land that was loosely enclosed with barbed wires attached to bamboo or any other pieces of wood one can jam into the ground.  Passing that rustic boundary one would walk past Turi's house, a small lagoon and then the dorm room which I affectionately called, "the Hut."  Passed the hut there was just about a half acre of different rows of crops being prepped to be placed in the soil for the upcoming season; behind these crops was our small and ant occupied kitchen and table.  I remember that during the meals, there would be so many ants present, they'd either bite you or became extra protein in our food or water. 

When I've described this garden to friends, everyone has a had an interesting time imagining the luxuries or lack thereof on site.  This place by any stretch of the imagination was simple.  No power, hand pumped well water, thinly made bunk beds, a PVC shower tube and the list can go on...  Yet...

I've never been happier. 

I remember the first night there was a joyful time, because it was my birthday, but it was also extremely isolating.  When I arrived that day I was introduced to my three female roommates: Jessica and Jennifer from Germany and Carol from Canada.  All three of them were great people and as the days turned to weeks, we became a very close knit family; I felt though that I connected much better with Carol, as to the reason why it could be any one's guess.  That first dinner though was just fabulous!  It was a very simple, organic and home grown meal that contained what would eventually become part of our staple of food: rice, beans and plantains.  I've been raised on this typical harvest so I was in heaven, but I'm sure the girls grew tired of it after a while.  Besides being my first meal as part of the island crew, what was memorable about that night was that the whole group offered me their extra servings of plantains as a birthday present. 

I'm sure you're thinking, "what good is an extra serving of plantains?"  The answer is... everything.  Remember how I said we had no power?  That includes no fridge, no microwave, no modern form at all of reheating or even maintaining food, so our meals were always fresh and always limited.  Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, we didn't have the luxury of having extra foods lying around or anything of that nature; it lead to us all cherishing our meals and being grateful for whatever was served in front of us.  It definitely goes without saying, that there were some days one or more of us looked upon our dishes with odd looks of disgust or fascination, but everything was always eaten and enjoyed.  If for some reason or another, one didn't finish their meals, the rest of us would swoop in like vultures to help out in the digestive team effort; when we started having to do beach patrols and gardening, we ate whatever we could just to have the energy to get through the day.  But those are stories for another day.

After breaking plantains and singing a round of "Happy Birthday", we all retreated to the hut; at that point it was about 6:45pm and the night had fallen hard.  I remember that first starless night there, the moon was absent, as were the stars, yet the howler monkeys were screaming in choruses.  That night, the isolation hit me....

I love my adventures and I love exploration, but everywhere I've gone, I've had the opportunity to get in touch with family and friends, be it by phone, wifi or passenger pigeon; here on this island, that wasn't the case.  Jessica and Jennifer left shortly after dinner to go to the other project (mentioned in future posts) to patrol the beach while Carol and I enjoyed a night in to just setup our beds, minds and expectations to our present situation. 

Without any power, I set out to unpack my things, trusty headlamp being my only illuminating savior.  While setting up my bed, Carol and I spoke about our lives, what we left behind, what we were expecting here and just everything in between.  Within an hour, I had locked up my valuables, set up my mosquito net and dug up my ear plugs; I remember being so exhausted that night jumping from bus to bus to boat to island all in a matter of a few hours. 

Before I ended up passing out, I decided to write some, and just journal my thoughts down onto paper... honestly it was the only thing I could do to keep my head straight.  I don't know why, but that first night was horribly difficult for me; I was utterly disconnected from the world and anything could've happened to me and no one would have ever known.  Hell, the closest coordinates to that site are to a town 2.5 hours away! 

Carol had arrived the previous night, so she seemed to have already adapted to the environment; as for me, I just wrote and wrote, and wrote some more, all the while trying to keep my thoughts positive.  Did I make the right decision to come here?  Where was I?  Would anyone hear me scream if something happened? 

These all seem like dumb questions now, but with the isolation and pure darkness that fell upon us that night, all my mind did was wander into a not so happy place.  Yet with all those thoughts in tow, by 8:30p I was out like a light!  I didn't wake up until the 6am the following morning.  I had slept almost ten hours, monkeys and all without once stirring...

 I woke up to a beautiful early morning on an island that I first feared, but would slowly fall in love with.

Food, Fantasies and Friends Pt. 1

I remember looking up places to go to for my annual excursion and thinking about Costa Rica.  Most everyone I had spoken with had only praises to say about this piece of land.  The more I thought about it, the more I felt a voice in my head whispering to me to go there; that for whatever reason this voyage was going to take me somewhere only time would reveal.  So I did just that.  I filled my backpack with everything I could think of, grabbed my phone (for pictures), journal and plane ticket, then onward!

The anxiety didn't kick in until I was at the airport.  Sure I was beyond excited to go to this new country and volunteer for causes I hold near to me, yet that small little voice of doubt kept peaking its head at the worst of times.  "I wasn't going to make it back with my sanity intact."  "I forgot something."  "Some kind of calamity will happen when I land."  All little thoughts, last second attempts by my self doubt that were trying to lay some kind of claim in my head and within my spirit.  In response, I sat down, buckled my seat belt, and while looking out the window of the plane, told myself that everything was going to be fine.

See I always tend to get that split second of doubt before taking that final leap.  It's probably due to the fact that I always travel alone and in the most unusual of journeys.  Ideally I would like to travel with someone, be it a friend, partner or even a stranger I come across, just to be able to share the stories that always seem to come from my voyages; until then however, I just travel alone and try my best to soak everything I can from each trip, all the while doing my best to see if there are some signs that come across my way.

So for my 7th year in a row, I head off on this plane to a country which has had only praises thrown its way from others, yet remained a mystery to me....

I landed in San Jose and it was definitely not what I expected.  For the equivalent of $1, I grabbed the bus from the airport and was zoomed down to the central bus terminal.  While there, I was hustled by vendors every which way I turned.  Besides my backpack being the clear sign that I was an "outlander", I also towered over the majority of the folks around me.  I had been told such wonderful things about Costa Rica by so many, and yet those same people told me to not set my expectations too high for San Jose.  Yes, San Jose is the capital and urban core of the country, so it didn't surprise me that it was different from the rest of its national brethren; the noise and graffiti however did surprise me!  I found some beautiful artwork sketched on many of the old walls of this core, while others were just plain tags; however from this graffiti I felt a strong sense of political expression and this undertone of change and frustration.  When that hit me, I began to find a new found respect for the value of it all.  The noise though was another thing.  The city is just plain noisy, no way to put it any differently.  In the end though, what else can you expect when living in a country's capital?

It took me about two hours walking from the central terminal to find the hostel I was going to stay the night in.  Why two hours?  Well I was eventually told that San Jose had recently gotten street signs; before then, there were no real street names, so monuments, parks, churches and any other semi permanent landmark were used as directional beacons for the lost and wandering.  Bus terminal to Manuel Antonio?  "Oh go to the main street and take a right at that gold looking building over there."  That was the typical response I would get from people when I looked for the hostel.  No one really knew where it was, no matter how much good willed effort they put into helping me.  My one address was 150 meters north of Parque Morazan.  That was it.  Thank God I had that one landmark to go with because if not, I would've been royally screwed.

After I finally reached the hostel (having no door signs but just a simple profile of Van Gogh for a banner), I drudged upstairs exhausted and ready for some kind of bed or just rest.  The nice desk attendant was kind to me and explained to me the rules of the land, which I promptly filed in the back of my head under the "Just Tell Me Where to Put My Bag" tab.  The hostel like most hostels I've been to had a lot of character and a very relaxed vibe to it.  That night my only hostel mate was a Texan named Josh, who had originally traveled to Nicaragua to help a friend with a boat business, and just decided to drop anchor temporarily in Costa Rica.  We spoke about many things, one being our mutual passion of traveling, and he showed me around the capital.  On our walk throughout town, I became well acquainted with what was the typical, if not timely mannered rain storms that would flood the city on an almost daily basis.  I also had the pleasure of visiting a small flea market that I had no luck finding on the last day of my trip, and enjoyed a meal in this small little bar off of la Avenida Central.

I got back to the hostel, enjoyed the last hot shower I would have in almost three weeks, chatted some more with my roomie and crashed for the night; the next day was going to be rough. 

Dreading the possible goose chase I'd have to do to find the outgoing bus terminal to Siquirres, I woke up with two hours to spare the following morning.  Just as I had thought, I had to stop and ask for directions a few times, fearing that possible visual cues had been changed on my route to this terminal.  I finally made it with about twenty minutes to spare and proceeded to fold myself into my bus seat.  By the time I had somehow managed to squeeze into position, I looked like a human origami piece; the poor lady next to me having to deal with my legs rubbing up against hers. 


Around two hours later I had arrived at Siquirres, only to have to look for the next bus terminal in some horribly humid weather.  I learned a very important lesson just in transitioning from one terminal to another...  Over here in the US, we are accustomed to looking for specific structures or signs that translate into some kind of universal indication of a bus stop, terminal or subway station.  In Costa Rica however, I realized that a bus terminal could look like an everyday bus station to a small driveway of sorts; it all depends on the town and its layout.  So here I was looking for this bus terminal, when the whole time I had been walking circles around it without even noticing it was even there. 

I bought my ticket and waited patiently for the bus to show up; while I sat there people watching I observed a pretty curious sight.  There was this man who seemed to be a bit out of his wits, walking around and singing the chorus of some religious song, over and over again.  While doing this, he was pushed away from a corner shop and threatened by a pretty big mural of a guy with a wooden stick that apparently worked at said shop.  I looked around at all the people at the terminal to try and gauge their reactions, and I mostly saw this unspoken nervousness.  The annoying singer was about to get his head swatted off by a giant!  Laughter soon followed though because as much as the giant with the makeshift bat wanted to hurt him, the punishment never came.  The man just continued singing and stumbling around, and eventually left.  The whole situation stunned me though, because of how it was treated.  No one pulled out cell phones and started recording it or provoked some kind of violent response from either side.  Nothing.  People watched in silence at first, then chuckled when they realized no harm was going to be done by anyone; it just made me think, would that situation have occurred like that in the states?  I'd like to hope so, that humanity and its flaws would be respected somehow, but unfortunately I doubt it would have unraveled the same way.


After that awkward incident, the bus appeared and we were off to Las Vegas, my last stop before heading to the island.  After about a 45 minute bus ride, I was at the drop off site for the boat.  Two gentlemen directed me to the vessel that would take me to the island, handed me a life jacket and off we went.  Along the way we picked up what I gathered was a friend of theirs who had been stranded with his bike somewhere along the river bed.  I sat for about 30 minutes taking in the sight of the land speeding past me while the wind blasted my face and the water pelted my body.  I didn't know what to expect when I arrived, but when that boat pulled up to land I took one big breath and said to myself, "this is it."