Nights and Days

Sleep
Day One

My first sleep at La Tortuga Feliz takes place in a hammock, which is appropriate. The outdoors is cool and comfortable relative to the stuffy cabins. When I do go to bed, my first 4-hour beach patrol has sufficiently prepared me to sleep anywhere, so I sleep from early morning to slightly later morning.

Day Two

I go to bed at 8:30pm in order to try and sleep five hours before my shift. I am not successful. The fitful toss and turn of the hot cabin shared with 5 other volunteers, all with different schedules, makes it a challenge to fall into and stay asleep. When I return at 6:00am, I once again sleep in a hammock for two hours, which gives me an aching back and hips.

Day Three

"Relampago." This is the word for lightning that I have just learned. Last night there was a tremendous storm, the loudest thunder I have ever heard. It rumbles and then grows to a shaking crack, and the flimsy cabin I am sleeping in shudders with the sound. I brace myself after the bright flash, but despite this warning, a frightful gasp escapes my lips after another epic burst of sound. My scared noise is drowned out by the next round of thunder which comes immediately afterwards. It is a brilliant storm and I sleep between thunders and downpours, dreaming we float away, sitting bolt upright when the sound is too much for stillness. In that sound is ancient power, grinding electricity, a chorus of monsters snarling. It is audible fear and the promise of destruction.

Day Four

This sleep is the best I've had since entering the country. I am finished with all work by 10:00pm, asleep by 11:00pm and stay soundly asleep for a full night. I've grown more accustomed to the heat and the bugs do not bother me. It was wonderful, beautiful sleep with adventurous, fanciful dreams.

Day Five

I am apparently much more used to the heat and can now sleep fairly comfortably. Sleep is still broken by duty, but is otherwise lovely and no longer of note.

The Beach
From the common area, you can see the ocean and from all parts of the project, you can hear the constant sound of the waves. The sand is dark, volcanic (I assume). The water is so much warmer than the water of home that I am used to; instead of icy, prickling cold, my toes are met with bath water that has been left to cool for a little too long.

There is a startling amount of trash on the beach. Instead of taking a shell, I decide to take a small, blue child's spoon that's been discarded, helping with the litter and getting a beach souvineer in the deal.

I've been warned not to go into the ocean deeper than my waist due to the bull sharks lurking beyond the breaking waves. They wait there to eat the baby turtles we are trying so hard to save. Due to my intense, passionate fear of sharks, I'm pretty much only willing to go in shin-deep.

Patrol

Primero Patrol

After a bombardment of information and warnings from the project leaders, I fall asleep in a hammock outside, trying to get a nap before my first patrol at the project. I awaken after two hours in the hammock, and prepare for my 4 hour walking patrol on the beach. I change into dark clothing because the turtles are very sensitive to light and could be frightened off by reflective clothing. The turtles use the more reflective surface of the ocean to navigate their way back to it, which explains the cases of sea turtles found in swimming pools or in yards due to lighted signs too near the ocean. Because of this fact we are also not allowed to use flashlights on the beach, only red light can be used. We are meant to follow directly behind the local guides for this reason, following their more experienced steps to avoid logs that have been washed up onto the beach or falling into emptied nests.

This initial patrol is scheduled from 10pm to 2am, but patrol length can change depending on whether or not a group finds a turtle. We have to wait for the entire process that the turtle goes through: walking up the beach, looking for the ideal nest spot, digging the nest, laying eggs, and walking back into the ocean. It's our job to make sure that she and her eggs are safe, and some patrols can apparently last up to 6 hours with the entire process, including bringing the eggs to the hatchery and digging a new nest.

Our local guide is named Ramon, and he was in the Coast Guard for 15 years, trying to prevent poaching in a very different way. We have four volunteers total walking this shift, two of us from La Tortuga Feliz and two from another project down the beach. The other two volunteers have been here for several weeks, and so walk apart and sometimes ahead of Ramon. He seems caught between the rules of the project and the behavior of the volunteers. On our way out he walks more slowly and allows more time to see the turtles and not scare them. But when the volunteers walk faster, he picks up his pace. "They don't understand," he tells me. "It's better for you and for the turtles if we go more slowly."

I am lucky on this first night because the sky is clear. It's much easier to avoid the beach hazards, and the sky is absolutely stunning. I am, for the first time in many years, able to see the dusty bands of the milky way and layers of stars. Halfway through the walk I have already counted about 5 shooting stars.

We don't see any mother turtles this night, but we do see three poachers. Also, we see a lot of the Costa Rican version of lightning bugs. Many rest on the sand and seem to be inspired to light up when shaken by the movement of our feet. It is is bit like kicking up white embers as we walk, creating the illusion of walking on a reflection of the sky - an expanse of darkness with fleeting points of light.


Segundo Patrol

My second patrol is the 11pm to 3am shift. After the 2am to 6am hatchery guard shift the night before, it is understandable that I am a zombie by the second half of the walk. I am completely fixated on the legs of Hernan, the guide who walks directly in front of me. I have decided to become a machine, my mind the motor and my legs the mechanism.

I no longer wonder if we will encounter a turtle, do not consider how much more time until I reach my unwelcoming, necessary bed. I ignore the twinge of my right ankle with every step on unsteady sand. I do not allow myself to think of the hours of semi-sleep I've struggled through so far, nor the laundry I hung two hours before it began to rain, nor the layers of sweat on my body, unused by the the humid breeze. The only thoughts I allow space for concern the legs (they are no longer Hernan's legs, only "the legs") and for writing - how to translate this experience into words.

The legs and the words. Left Right Left Right One Two One Two. The legs and the words. Follow the legs to find the words.

[Repeat the words.]

La Tortuga Feliz

Surprisingly the thing that has struck me most now that I have returned from the remote project site of La Tortuga Feliz is the presence of mirrors. The space above the sinks in the outdoor bathroom of the project site was devoid of walls, let alone mirrors. As I brushed my teeth, flashlight propped against the edge of the sink, I would gaze out into blackness. The bathroom in my hostel in San Jose is full of mirrors and I'm shocked to see myself once again.

There are so many things that I take for granted where I live. I both enjoyed the break from them and relished my imminent return to convenience while at the project. Things like dryers and a lack of sand and hot water were both sorely missed and marvelled at in their lack of necessity. There was nothing dire about where I was, it was luxurious camping, but I found myself wishing that my clothes would ever be completely clean and dry, that I wouldn't have to sweep the sand off of my feet before falling asleep, or stand the extra heat added by my mosquito net, or concentrate very hard on not scratching the bug bites. I actually quite enjoyed the cold showers as it was a pleasant break from the constant humid heat.

I have so much to tell about the project that it is going to take numerous posts to cover it all. In my own journal, I mainly focused on different aspects of the volunteer and living experience and plan to organize my posts this way as well. When I start talking about a new part of the trip, I'll tell you. Otherwise, the following posts will be reflecting on my experiences at La Tortuga Feliz. Ahora I am too tired to write mas por que I woke up at 4:45 this morning to catch the boat back to Bataan then sat on a bus for three hours to get back to San Jose. Enjoy the Spanglish, folks, I'm starting to think a bit en espanol.

Pura vida!

San Jose: Part II

One of the main impressions I've gotten from the city is that it is a lot like other cities. There are a lot of things here that are incredibly American, including stores advertising American clothing, a lot of music from the US, and advertisements. There are many things that make San Jose different, one of which is a general feeling of being more at ease and relaxed.

Today I visited the Museo de Jade, which has the largest collection of jade in the Americas. It was nice to get some information and connect a bit with the history of the country. Here are some of the things that I saw:There were a lot of these shoe-horn looking things. I think they may have been axe-heads.

This dude struck me as looking a lot like a viking.

Phalluses! Wooooo!

Yesterday I also had a chance to get to know a local tico a bit. He showed me around the city and also took a picture of my in front of the Teatro Nacional. Also got some amazing coffee and saw some awesome parts of the city. I feel like I got much more of a sense of the entire city. There are a lot of really great murals all over the city and a lot of the grafitti is very beautiful as well.






The second mural depicts a destroyed polluted world of death then turning into a happy, green recycled world with smiling squirrels and such. Very nice.

Tomorrow I have a tour scheduled to the Arenal volcano and some hot springs, so should have more jungle-y pictures. I will also have to dedicate an entire post just to flowers at this point.

San Jose: First Impressions

So, after my long night of sitting on airplanes failing at restful sleep, I arrived at San Jose Airport. The green hills are visible from the runway and on the entire walk through the airport and drive into the city proper. I had a great chat with my driver en espanol and had a great, pressure-free refresher. It didn't go as well at lunch when I tried to ask the waiter to repeat himself and mistakenly asked for more options.

The hostel is awesome. It's got a very homey, comfortable feeling, and that awesome mish-mash of buildings/rooms that bed and breakfasts usually have. There's a wonderful central outside area with a pool, hammocks, and awesome jungle-like vegetation. There are so many gorgeous flowers and I had fun just walking around getting to know my hostel. Then, I went out onto the streets in search of a store for bottled water, a bank, and some lunch.

I just started wandering a bit in the area around my hotel, making sure to be able to backtrack if I needed to. The only place I found for water was a Texaco gas station store. Then I had lunch at a little soda and ate the traditional combination for lunch meals: rice, beans, a meat dish (amazing fish this time), mashed potatoes, and fried plantains. The plantains were surprisingly delicious and one of my favorite parts of the meal. I wish I had a photo of the deliciousness, but I'll just have to discretely snap a picture of another meal. The strangest part was dessert, which was strawberry ice cream on top of jello.

the view of the hostel from my door

It began raining in perfect timing after I returned to the hostel and I enjoyed sitting outside my room smelling the rain. I love rain, and it's even better here with the warmth and the jungle plants surrounding me. This is a great start to the trip and I'm so so excited to see more of the city tomorrow.

Life, You Have Begun Again!

So, in approximately 5 hours, I will be on a plane on my way to San Jose, Costa Rica. More accurately, I will be on the way to Los Angeles, then connecting from there to another Central American city, then connect again to San Jose. I'll arrive at 9:30am local time (Central Standard) and begin my first solo international trip.

That is only one piece of news and one way in which my life has started up again. My life never really stopped, but became much more stagnant for about six months. My stagnation is over and everything is happening again. I found out late Friday night that I've been accepted at the University of San Francisco School of Education for this fall!I can't help the exclamation mark. I've been on a wonderful, natural high since I read the acceptance email and have been coasting on it since. I feel like I'll come back from my trip and be able to begin the next steps rather than scrambling to figure out what those steps are.

So, life is about to get back into the craziness of action and motion and I couldn't be more excited for it to get started.

Anxious Wedding Dreams

Man, I just seem to LOVE glomming onto someone else's stress and eating it up so that I can have effed-up dreams. During the planning phase for my brother's wedding, I had a few anxious dreams, the ones where you can't fully fall asleep because you know more has to get done. I would keep dreaming the same thing over and over and in my dream, not all of the bridesmaids had their dress altered by the day before the ceremony and I had to make sure to do that and get it done.

Maybe that's normal for an involved bridesmaid. I was pretty stressed about the wedding leading up to it because I was helping a lot and responsible for getting important things done so that it could be the wedding they wanted (and deserved). But is it at all normal to have wedding anxiety dreams about a wedding that isn't yours and that's already happened???? I had another anxious wedding dream the other night, and this one was more strange and stressful than any I had before the wedding. I swear, I was just overwhelmed by all of the family and the big to-do and the stress of being asked about MY OWN WEDDING (gag) and my brain exploded as I slept, bringing up odd concerns such as: What if my dad decides to wear purple lipstick???

Yes, my father, in preparation for the wedding, donned purple lipstick and a cowboy hat. He apparently also got cowboy hats for the rest of our family and I was so worried because WHERE WAS MINE?? Their wedding had already happened, but this was their second wedding, not unheard of in my family. Not my brother's second wedding to another person, but the second wedding of the same two people shortly after their first wedding to one another (my mom did it, long story). The bridesmaid dresses had changed into a draping, Roman-looking pretty dress, but my mother embarrassed me by making everyone look at me while describing how sexy and wonderful the dress was.

I couldn't seem to get anywhere I was supposed to be in this dream. But the most disturbing part of that was that no one else seemed to care. I remember at the end, I was helping to clean up with my mom and stepdad and explained to them that I seemed to just miss everything. I started to unroll toilet paper onto a table while speaking and then thought, what am I doing? this is ridiculous! I threw the paper down and began to cry.

Blerg. Man, I know exactly what my sister would say to me. RELAX. Breathe deeply and remember that I don't have to plan/help plan/be at all in charge of a wedding for a long time now. My siblings are married, my mom has had her two perfect weddings, and I will not be ready for marriage-or my own wedding-for a long time. (Ellen, please wait at least two years for my sanity's sake.)

Buried

Man, what is this feeling? What does it mean when you can't even identify your reaction?

I just saw and interacted with someone I haven't spoken to in years, someone I've spent so much time being angry with that I'm having a hard time forgiving myself for smiling. But this is exactly what I wanted. Ugh. Okay, I'm forgetting that there's even a possibility that any other person will end up reading this and should explain.

The two girls that I regularly babysit, who are a part of my family, have divorced parents. I was friends with their parents before the girls were born. When the oldest was two and the other about two months, their dad separated from their mom. When he told me, I felt a bit more broken. I've been pretty furious with him. Their family was supposed to make it; he was supposed to always be there and be the dad that those girls deserve.

Now, five years later and I've just come face to face with him, smiled warmly, and we chatted about his five-year-old. I invited him inside, encouraged his daughter to show him her drawings from the day, and genuinely tried to be a little bit his friend again. But about fifteen minutes before he was due to arrive until now, half an hour since I saw him, I've had this burning, acidic, boiling feeling in my stomach. Maybe it's undissolved anger bubbling to the surface, or an ulcer I subconsciously reserved for his return into my life.

I've been preparing for this. I wholeheartedly believe that the girls should have their father in their lives, that there should be some very genuine good feelings towards his impact and presence in their childhood. I also want to be someone they feel they can talk to about him, good or bad. I want to be a resource when they're pissed at him later, someone who can relate and listen and really be there. Oh, but this is hard. This physically hurts.

Part of it just has to to with him and me, though. Part of it is just missing a friend and the empty hole that sometime shows up when someone you care about disappoints you. He's still the same person. He loves his daughters so much, and I respect him for that.

I feel a little bit like a time traveler, looking over myself and my siblings and assessing my father's presence in our lives. This feeling is all too familiar, but somehow more potent when I'm feeling it for these innocent, developing little girls. These girls that deserve to always, always know that they are worth all the love in the world. Ugh. I guess things can't stay buried. I guess life has more connections than we're prepared for. I'm so tired of feeling angry but it's way too hard to let go, let the unresolved melt and warm me. I can't trust.

I am already in love with this movie

Away We Go. Not out until June, but I'll definitely be there.

Monumental

It's interesting that I had to come back home to realize what the monuments of Paris and London meant to me while I was in Europe for my week-long trip. I had my epiphany while crossing the Golden Gate Bridge for probably the fiftieth time in my life. I was thinking about why people come to see it and it suddenly hit me: tourists go to monuments in order to try and understand the city they are visiting, because the monuments of a place are some sort of expression of that place. They make sense to the people that live there, and as tourists, we want to be able to be close and connect with the place and the people. The Golden Gate to me as a Californian is practical, spectacular, historic, massive, impressive, and quirky; all aspects of the city in which it was born.As I walked around London and Paris, I was attempting to drink in the city through the possible meaning conveyed by the monuments, architecture, and layout. London spoke to me and told me it was a Very Important Place that should be Taken Seriously. It said that it was awesome, but in a dignified, practical way. It was not flowery, but traditional and proud. Paris on the other hand, shouted at me in lilting tones, "I am freaking amazing and you should gaze up and notice." It spoke in loud conspiratorial tones of its history and awesome feats of architecture, its emboldened statements of grandeur, its desire to be noticed and appreciated and "screw you if you think we're stuck up". Paris drops the "s" because it doesn't need it for you to know it's sexy and London keeps it proper and posh and clipped in two syllables because that's the way it's done. Paris language lives in the throat and breaths warm breath from high, ornate places, keeps spaces open for you to LOOK, LOOK AT ME, and London knows you're impressed, but won't let you know that it knows.
Anyway, that is what I read from my short time in both cities, and I absolutely loved listening to the cities, catching short clips of conversation and adding them to the milieu of a new place, of an attempt at a connection, trying to grasp at the meaning of cities that are centuries old and happy to have made friends with both.

Coraline 3D: two thumbs up

This was an amazing movie. It was visually awesome, the 3D was pretty much seamless, and the story was completely engaging through the entire film. It was definitely interesting enough for adults, and was done in such a flawless way that I completely forgot to think about how this world was accomplished and instead was wrapped up into it, only experiencing and drinking it in.

The story had a very good lesson, for kids and adults alike, about appreciating what one has even if it is not perfect. It was a little scary, probably too scary for kids under 6 or so. But every kid has a different sensitivity level and some younger kids could probably handle it. I watched some pretty violent, scary movies when I was younger and look at me now. Peachy-keen.

Anyway, Coraline was a stunning and entrancing film, and should definitely win awards for the quality of production and original screenplay. Voice acting was also notable, I couldn't recognize Dakota Fanning as herself and this film won me over as if I were a child seeing it, convincing me of the characters' existence and viability and bringing me into their world in so many ways. It was excellent, and everyone should see it. And definitely worth it to see in 3D.

On our incredible ability to underestimate

Apparently, elephants can play music. This is fairly unsurprising to me as there has been evidence that they understand and mentally process death and also paint. Elephants are incredibly complex, intelligent animals, but because humans have a limitless supply of self-importance, we are quick to decide that they are less important, developed, and capable than we are.

I think that we start out life with much more willingness to believe in the possibility in the world. As we grow older and are continually told that things are not possible, that certain things can't be true, we lose that supply of inspired belief in the world and what it could hold. Maybe this is a good thing, maybe if adults continued to believe that stuffed animals have feelings, closets house monsters, and empty cups actually hold tea, we may not survive. We wouldn't be able to get through school, maintain serious jobs, deal with such stringent guidelines when it comes to money and spending, etc. But what if all of these things were instead molded around the child-like belief in all things imaginable.

I'm not sure if that would work out, and I keep hearing that older voice in my head saying "we must fit into our reality" but what the hell is reality anyway? I'm just glad that every once in a while we learn that elephants play music, that some of them love it, that it is beautiful and possible and real. And I'm glad that I get to sit down with children who still believe anything is possible and remember that maybe it is. I get to watch them become amazed at something that seems so mundane to me. Sponges expand in water, dinosaurs can still exist in the form of small foam cutouts, and tea parties with stuffed animals are sometimes tea parties of the best quality.

Equal Pay for Fighting Crime

This video was posted on the Feministe blog and was brought to my attention by my wonderful sister, Jess. A good cause combined with awesome superheroes to convey a powerful message. I'm digging it.

Merry Christmas

One of the best Christmas stories ever. Definitely worth reading.

Happy Holidays. What I hope for everyone is that they will see and realize what is important to them.

Love,
Laura

Rush Hour

If I have to sit in traffic one more day home from work, I will set my car on fire.