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.