As many of you know, it has been over 2 years since I vividly documented the summer I spent digging in the dirt, dodging venomous snakes, hosting an ameba, and having the time of my life getting paid to live at a remote research station amidst the sweltering jungles of Costa Rica. Returning home to my "normal life" after spending a summer getting paid to live a life less ordinary left me feeling a little hollow, a bit depressed, and totally and utterly bored. I tried to be content here, and at times I was, but always in the back of my mind I could hear my personal mantra on repeat. Quietly but constantly whispering "we only have one go at this thing called life, so why are you not making it totally f*&king awesome?!!!" But despite my best efforts to be content and convince myself that maybe this is as good as it gets, I have come to realize that I am wasting precious days merely existing in one of the biggest, stickiest armpits on the West Coast.
So here I am, Brenda Jean Campbell, staring down the barrel of 30, feeling that all to familiar restlessness churning in my soul again, declaring to you that the time has come to do something totally f*%ing awesome! (I have omitted the middle two letters of my favorite adjective as to not deeply offend anyone.) It is time to recharge my batteries, hit the proverbial road, see what life has to offer, and walk through some of those open doors. I am headed back into the wild, but am trading the southern route for a northern one, deadly snakes for grizzly bears, toucans for bald eagles, and gut wrenching ameba induced illnesses for sea sickness! WOOOHOOOO! And yes, you guessed it! I will be resurrecting my blog where you can be sure that every little detail of my Alaska adventure will be confessed!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Chumming for Ballenas
The other day at lunch amidst light conversation, Mel casually threw in that she was going away for the weekend with a couple of the other researches from La Selva. Feeling slightly inquisitive, but more for purposes of conversational flow, I replied “Oh yeah, where are you going Mel?”
“To the Osa Peninsula to see some whales…no big deal.”
Um what? Did she just say whales? The thought of Mel spending the weekend riding the waves at sea, gazing across the horizon searching for breaching humpbacks while I stayed behind doing lab work was more than I could stand! Before I knew it, that oh too familiar ugly beast known as jealousy was beginning to rear its head….and there was nothing I could do about it except continue to feed it with a tasty spread of questions.
“Who are you going with Mel?! How long are you going for Mel?! How much does it cost Mel?! What’s the itinerary Mel?! Is there room for me Mel?! Jeezes H. K-riest Mel, throw me a freakin’ bone here!!!!”
Recognizing the overwhelming sense of unease in my voice, she quickly rattled off the facts as she knew them to be. She was going to the Osa Peninsula for an all inclusive whirlwind weekend of bussing, boating, beaching, sunning, and whaling (watching, not slaughtering) with fellow researchers Taryn (South African former Kruger National Park employee invasive species researcher all around most awesome chica ever), Justin (boyishly cute bilingual High School Biology teacher from an East L.A. inner city school with piercing blue eyes, not to mention a very impressive dancing repertoire), and La Selva tour guides Kennith (the quintessential Latin Lover who leaves a slew of broken hearted hopeless women in his wake whom do not possess the important quality he looks for in partner) Octavio (young wanna be Latin Lover who is to clumsy and awkward to ever actually become one but potentially has a promising future as a paparazzi photographer)and Christian (kind, patient, intellectual whom exemplifies the true meaning of the word gentleman and possess a natural borne ability for longwinded storytelling). And yes, there was room for one more….perfect.
A day and a half later I found myself standing at the ticket counter in the stagnant Autobus Estacíon a Puerto Viejo de Sarapaqui purchasing a ticket to San Jose successfully using every one of the 4 words in my Spanish vocabulary. Somehow the clerk understood what I needed and exchanged my $1.50 for a slightly ripped pleather cushioned seat on the Tico bus. With backpacked tightly strapped down and empanada in hand, I eagerly climbed the stairs and took a seat next to my dear friend Mel and soon to be dear friends Taryn, Justin, Kennith, Christian and Tovio….oh yeah, and Shea must have overheard us making weekend plans because he was conveniently sitting on the bus going to Osa as well. As the bus grinded its way out of the station and started sputtering down the avenue, I opened the window to let the humidity hit my face and the pungent combination of street smells envelope my senses.
A few hours later we arrived at the Caríbe Estacíon in a seedy district of San Jose where we negotiated with a flock of vulture-like taxi drivers for a decent fare to our hostel. We checked into Hostel California, stashed our bags on the bunks and found our way to the bar to gorge on cervesas and nachos before a night of continuously interrupted sleep under a questionably sanitary blanket. Morning came far too soon as we were up and out of the Hostel by 5:30 a.m. and walking down Calle Central, carefully dodging the piles of garbage which lined the streets along the way to the strikingly beautiful Teatro Nacional to meet the tour bus at 6 a.m. Once onboard, the tour operators decided to utilize the 5 hour ride from San Jose to Osa to conduct an informative course on bus etiquette and marine mammals in SPANISH by yelling into the microphone consecutively for 2 HOURS! In classic Brenda form, all I gathered from the entire spiel was “prohibito numero dos esta banó”….and now I have 9 words in my Spanish vocabulary! Oh yeah, and the Spanish word for whale is ballena….that makes 10!
At 11:00 a.m. sharp our luxury tour bus dumped us off alongside the road where we lathered up our pasty little gringo bodies with SPF 4000 and enjoyed a short walk down a palm tree lined dirt road to the coconut littered beach where the boat waited. An invigorating beach scramble aboard, amidst the crashing surf, diminished what bits of drowsiness remained from the early morning autobus Spanish lesson and left me feeling refreshed and ready to see some freakin’ whales!
Unfortunately, the first day left us with little more than the tail end of something diving under the surface of the water and a turtle (thanks to my hawk eyed roomy Mel…good one Mel!). After our 3 hour tour, we all felt a little disappointed as Gilligan and the Skipper called it a day and navigated the boat towards the shore. But as the shoreline drew closer and our eyes fell upon the beach that we would be calling home for the night, our moods dramatically lifted as it was one of the most beautiful landscapes any of us had ever seen. The coastal mountains, heavily laden with tufts of emerald green vegetation, sloped down to the grainy sands of la playa where the turquoise waters of the Pacific met the jungle….monkeys swinging from trees and all (please refer to Mel’s blog for an exciting monkey encounter). We spent the remainder of the day soaking in the beauty of our surroundings body surfing in the warm bath- like waters. Shea even attempted a bare chested ascent of a palm tree to retrieve Justin and I a coconut to make the moment that much more magical…wait, I meant comical! Poor Shea is still nursing a few abrasions…turns out coconut palms and bare chests don’t mesh well (sorry Shea…next time you shouldn’t listen to my suggestions….I tend to be full of bad ideas!.
Although totally exhausted from traveling all day and playing in the surf, Taryn, Christian, Kennith and Justin convinced me that I should attend the presentation being given by the onboard whale biologist immediately following dinner. I didn’t really want to go because I figured it would be in Spanish, but everyone assured me that they would translate the important info and I would probably enjoy the pretty pictures of ballenas. Like a fool, I listened to them and went to the presentation instead of going on a moon lit night walk with Mel to look at ocean phosphorescence. BIG MISTAKE! As predicted, the death by power point presentation was totally in espaniol and lasted (and I’m not kidding) 2 1/2 fucking hours!!!!! That makes for a total of 4 1/2 hours of my precious life wasted on Spanish whales that I will never, EVER, get back! AND to make it worse, the only pretty picture he had was a flow chart depicting the evolutionary chain from which present day whales descended from DOGS in PAKISTAN!!!! What?!!! What?!!!!!! I thought that maybe I had lost something in translation, but the picture was right there plain as day…. so I suppose it’s true….whales came from dogs in Pakistan….absolutely amazing.
The next morning, Mel and I woke up at dawn for an early morning yoga session on the beach which was simply glorious…very cliché I know, but still totally awesome. Actually, I must admit that I wasn’t totally able to get into my rhythm because I kept getting distracted by the dogs roaming on the beach and wondering if they were going to spout water from their blow holes anytime soon.
After yet another tasty breakfast of gallo pinto con huevos, the group scrambled aboard amidst choppy conditions and began heading 20 km due west for Isla de Cano in Corocavado National Park. Despite very rough seas, we were a boat full of eager beavers donning jail bird orange life vests with eyes glued to the horizon. Well, most of us had eyes glued to the horizon….some had eyes rolling back into their heads as they chummed off of the side of the boat. I actually didn’t know that you could chum for humpbacks but apparently it works because not long after the purging halted, we had our first spotting…. a baby, the guides said a 4 day old humpback, livin’ la vida loca splashing about learning how to play. I grabbed a Frisbee out of my backpack and chucked it at the whale, having not yet been wholly convinced on the whole dog to whale evolutionary transition, and I’ll be damned if the thing didn’t jump up and grab it with its teeth!!! Amazing! And to think that I almost spent the weekend working with soil samples in the lab (Bill, if you are reading this please know that I really do think that microbial communities are just as fascinating as watching newborn humpback whales breaching and playing frisbee).
Gilligan and The Skipper finished the tour off by guiding the boat into the mouth of the Rio Sierpe and through the crocodile infested mangrove forests, navigating the shallow channels for 30 km to our final destination, the riverside town of Sierpe where we loaded back onto the bus for the 5 hour journey back to San Jose (actually 6 hour journey due the traffic backup caused by a landslide in the mountains that wiped out the road for more than a day.
The following morning, we left San Jose on one of the earliest buses headed back to Puerto Viejo de Sarapiqui and our lab at La Selva. As the bus driver took us screaming down the lush mountainside through Brallio National Park back into the lowlands, I couldn’t help but look out my window at the countryside flying by and smile from ear to ear knowing that I was exactly where I wanted to be and doing exactly what I want to be doing in life….and that my friend is an incredible feeling. Pura Vida!
“To the Osa Peninsula to see some whales…no big deal.”
Um what? Did she just say whales? The thought of Mel spending the weekend riding the waves at sea, gazing across the horizon searching for breaching humpbacks while I stayed behind doing lab work was more than I could stand! Before I knew it, that oh too familiar ugly beast known as jealousy was beginning to rear its head….and there was nothing I could do about it except continue to feed it with a tasty spread of questions.
“Who are you going with Mel?! How long are you going for Mel?! How much does it cost Mel?! What’s the itinerary Mel?! Is there room for me Mel?! Jeezes H. K-riest Mel, throw me a freakin’ bone here!!!!”
Recognizing the overwhelming sense of unease in my voice, she quickly rattled off the facts as she knew them to be. She was going to the Osa Peninsula for an all inclusive whirlwind weekend of bussing, boating, beaching, sunning, and whaling (watching, not slaughtering) with fellow researchers Taryn (South African former Kruger National Park employee invasive species researcher all around most awesome chica ever), Justin (boyishly cute bilingual High School Biology teacher from an East L.A. inner city school with piercing blue eyes, not to mention a very impressive dancing repertoire), and La Selva tour guides Kennith (the quintessential Latin Lover who leaves a slew of broken hearted hopeless women in his wake whom do not possess the important quality he looks for in partner) Octavio (young wanna be Latin Lover who is to clumsy and awkward to ever actually become one but potentially has a promising future as a paparazzi photographer)and Christian (kind, patient, intellectual whom exemplifies the true meaning of the word gentleman and possess a natural borne ability for longwinded storytelling). And yes, there was room for one more….perfect.
A day and a half later I found myself standing at the ticket counter in the stagnant Autobus Estacíon a Puerto Viejo de Sarapaqui purchasing a ticket to San Jose successfully using every one of the 4 words in my Spanish vocabulary. Somehow the clerk understood what I needed and exchanged my $1.50 for a slightly ripped pleather cushioned seat on the Tico bus. With backpacked tightly strapped down and empanada in hand, I eagerly climbed the stairs and took a seat next to my dear friend Mel and soon to be dear friends Taryn, Justin, Kennith, Christian and Tovio….oh yeah, and Shea must have overheard us making weekend plans because he was conveniently sitting on the bus going to Osa as well. As the bus grinded its way out of the station and started sputtering down the avenue, I opened the window to let the humidity hit my face and the pungent combination of street smells envelope my senses.
A few hours later we arrived at the Caríbe Estacíon in a seedy district of San Jose where we negotiated with a flock of vulture-like taxi drivers for a decent fare to our hostel. We checked into Hostel California, stashed our bags on the bunks and found our way to the bar to gorge on cervesas and nachos before a night of continuously interrupted sleep under a questionably sanitary blanket. Morning came far too soon as we were up and out of the Hostel by 5:30 a.m. and walking down Calle Central, carefully dodging the piles of garbage which lined the streets along the way to the strikingly beautiful Teatro Nacional to meet the tour bus at 6 a.m. Once onboard, the tour operators decided to utilize the 5 hour ride from San Jose to Osa to conduct an informative course on bus etiquette and marine mammals in SPANISH by yelling into the microphone consecutively for 2 HOURS! In classic Brenda form, all I gathered from the entire spiel was “prohibito numero dos esta banó”….and now I have 9 words in my Spanish vocabulary! Oh yeah, and the Spanish word for whale is ballena….that makes 10!
At 11:00 a.m. sharp our luxury tour bus dumped us off alongside the road where we lathered up our pasty little gringo bodies with SPF 4000 and enjoyed a short walk down a palm tree lined dirt road to the coconut littered beach where the boat waited. An invigorating beach scramble aboard, amidst the crashing surf, diminished what bits of drowsiness remained from the early morning autobus Spanish lesson and left me feeling refreshed and ready to see some freakin’ whales!
Unfortunately, the first day left us with little more than the tail end of something diving under the surface of the water and a turtle (thanks to my hawk eyed roomy Mel…good one Mel!). After our 3 hour tour, we all felt a little disappointed as Gilligan and the Skipper called it a day and navigated the boat towards the shore. But as the shoreline drew closer and our eyes fell upon the beach that we would be calling home for the night, our moods dramatically lifted as it was one of the most beautiful landscapes any of us had ever seen. The coastal mountains, heavily laden with tufts of emerald green vegetation, sloped down to the grainy sands of la playa where the turquoise waters of the Pacific met the jungle….monkeys swinging from trees and all (please refer to Mel’s blog for an exciting monkey encounter). We spent the remainder of the day soaking in the beauty of our surroundings body surfing in the warm bath- like waters. Shea even attempted a bare chested ascent of a palm tree to retrieve Justin and I a coconut to make the moment that much more magical…wait, I meant comical! Poor Shea is still nursing a few abrasions…turns out coconut palms and bare chests don’t mesh well (sorry Shea…next time you shouldn’t listen to my suggestions….I tend to be full of bad ideas!.
Although totally exhausted from traveling all day and playing in the surf, Taryn, Christian, Kennith and Justin convinced me that I should attend the presentation being given by the onboard whale biologist immediately following dinner. I didn’t really want to go because I figured it would be in Spanish, but everyone assured me that they would translate the important info and I would probably enjoy the pretty pictures of ballenas. Like a fool, I listened to them and went to the presentation instead of going on a moon lit night walk with Mel to look at ocean phosphorescence. BIG MISTAKE! As predicted, the death by power point presentation was totally in espaniol and lasted (and I’m not kidding) 2 1/2 fucking hours!!!!! That makes for a total of 4 1/2 hours of my precious life wasted on Spanish whales that I will never, EVER, get back! AND to make it worse, the only pretty picture he had was a flow chart depicting the evolutionary chain from which present day whales descended from DOGS in PAKISTAN!!!! What?!!! What?!!!!!! I thought that maybe I had lost something in translation, but the picture was right there plain as day…. so I suppose it’s true….whales came from dogs in Pakistan….absolutely amazing.
The next morning, Mel and I woke up at dawn for an early morning yoga session on the beach which was simply glorious…very cliché I know, but still totally awesome. Actually, I must admit that I wasn’t totally able to get into my rhythm because I kept getting distracted by the dogs roaming on the beach and wondering if they were going to spout water from their blow holes anytime soon.
After yet another tasty breakfast of gallo pinto con huevos, the group scrambled aboard amidst choppy conditions and began heading 20 km due west for Isla de Cano in Corocavado National Park. Despite very rough seas, we were a boat full of eager beavers donning jail bird orange life vests with eyes glued to the horizon. Well, most of us had eyes glued to the horizon….some had eyes rolling back into their heads as they chummed off of the side of the boat. I actually didn’t know that you could chum for humpbacks but apparently it works because not long after the purging halted, we had our first spotting…. a baby, the guides said a 4 day old humpback, livin’ la vida loca splashing about learning how to play. I grabbed a Frisbee out of my backpack and chucked it at the whale, having not yet been wholly convinced on the whole dog to whale evolutionary transition, and I’ll be damned if the thing didn’t jump up and grab it with its teeth!!! Amazing! And to think that I almost spent the weekend working with soil samples in the lab (Bill, if you are reading this please know that I really do think that microbial communities are just as fascinating as watching newborn humpback whales breaching and playing frisbee).
Gilligan and The Skipper finished the tour off by guiding the boat into the mouth of the Rio Sierpe and through the crocodile infested mangrove forests, navigating the shallow channels for 30 km to our final destination, the riverside town of Sierpe where we loaded back onto the bus for the 5 hour journey back to San Jose (actually 6 hour journey due the traffic backup caused by a landslide in the mountains that wiped out the road for more than a day.
The following morning, we left San Jose on one of the earliest buses headed back to Puerto Viejo de Sarapiqui and our lab at La Selva. As the bus driver took us screaming down the lush mountainside through Brallio National Park back into the lowlands, I couldn’t help but look out my window at the countryside flying by and smile from ear to ear knowing that I was exactly where I wanted to be and doing exactly what I want to be doing in life….and that my friend is an incredible feeling. Pura Vida!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
I've Lost My Muse!!!!
As some of you may have noticed, recently, I have been finding it nearly impossible to write. For some reason, every time I sit down to relay my thoughts via the keyboard my mind freezes and I end up blankly staring at the computer screen. I have been having some amazing experiences down here so it’s not for lack of material. My time in the lab has become less intense so it is not for lack of time. Am I finally cracking under the pressure of composing something funny for the masses?
I have heard it said that most great writers turn to their muse for inspiration when the words just absolutely refuse to flow. Now I am not insinuating that I am a great writer but am nonetheless confused by my sudden inability to compose. So what is it I ask myself…what is it that is missing? What has changed in my simple little life down here that has transformed me in a matter of weeks from a blabbering idiot with verbal diarrhea into a wallflower with nothing at all to say?
Oh my god…I’ve got it…I know what’s wrong……diarrhea is my muse....!
The reason I can no longer write is due to the return of normal bowel function! So what the hell should I do? I don’t want perpetual diarrhea anymore, but then again, I don’t want to be a wallflower with nothing to say either! Okay, let’s think this through with rational thought…I need to write. I have a responsibility to relay my jungle experiences. The answer is clear to me….I will simply ingest a few Ex-Lax when it comes time to compose. Nothing wrong with that right? Wrestlers do it all the time when it’s time to perform and not to mention I could use a little chocolate coating for the sweet tooth. So it’s settled, I have decided what I must do. I’m off to the Swiss Family Robinson Room to raid Mel’s first aid kit. Should only take a few hours before I know if the creative juices are starting to flow!
I have heard it said that most great writers turn to their muse for inspiration when the words just absolutely refuse to flow. Now I am not insinuating that I am a great writer but am nonetheless confused by my sudden inability to compose. So what is it I ask myself…what is it that is missing? What has changed in my simple little life down here that has transformed me in a matter of weeks from a blabbering idiot with verbal diarrhea into a wallflower with nothing at all to say?
Oh my god…I’ve got it…I know what’s wrong……diarrhea is my muse....!
The reason I can no longer write is due to the return of normal bowel function! So what the hell should I do? I don’t want perpetual diarrhea anymore, but then again, I don’t want to be a wallflower with nothing to say either! Okay, let’s think this through with rational thought…I need to write. I have a responsibility to relay my jungle experiences. The answer is clear to me….I will simply ingest a few Ex-Lax when it comes time to compose. Nothing wrong with that right? Wrestlers do it all the time when it’s time to perform and not to mention I could use a little chocolate coating for the sweet tooth. So it’s settled, I have decided what I must do. I’m off to the Swiss Family Robinson Room to raid Mel’s first aid kit. Should only take a few hours before I know if the creative juices are starting to flow!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
New Adventures on the Horizon!
Thank you to all of those who showed me a little love and commented...I feel fulfilled now and am getting ready to take on a new adventure that hopefully will reap some blog worthy stories....I have just signed on for a last minute adventure that will take me to the Pacific Coast for a weekend of boating, snorkeling, and whale watching off of the Osa Peninsula!!! Yes, that means more vitamin D for me! AND, my stomach feels AMAZING and regular so keep those fingers crossed for an Immodium free adventure! Although, I may need some dramamine for the sea sickness...!Ciao for now and Pura Vida!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Announcement
Okay listen here people, and listen closely....I will not be posting another blog until I receive some feedback in the form of 'comments.' Life in the jungle can be lonely and I NEED some love from you! Remember, no comments...no blog. The choice is yours.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Griswalds go to Wally World
Now I don’t mean to go on and on and on about the status of my bowels, but this is serious business and consumes much of my life down here. Being sick is miserable and can dictate every aspect of one’s day. This is precisely why I feel it is necessary to clue you in on the very personal status of my colon. My therapist says that admitting the problem is the first step to recovery so here goes…I have now been sick for 8 days…. I have developed an unhealthy dependence on Imodium and begun experimenting with a witch’s brew of antibiotics and ameba slayers….I want help...I want to get better…I want to break these chains and free myself from the confines of the BATHROOM! And now that my personal demons are out in the open for all to see, let’s move on….I’ve got a lot of shit to take care of…HA! Okay, I promise, not another comment about my bodily functions for at least another paragraph.
After spending the weekend at sea level, it was time to move up in elevation and trade sandy toes for muddy boots. The Tormentor had arranged for us (The Butcher, Mel, Shea (more to come there for sure!), myself and the rest of The Eaton Clan* to spend 4 days in the cloud forests of Monteverde sampling for the very prestigious Tropical Science Center with the Center’s Director, Olivier. Our transportation was the Costa Rican equivalent to the Griswald’s wood paneled station wagon of National Lampoon fame….a giant white bus that screamed TOURISTS!...no really, it had a sign on the side which read TOURISTS!!!!
*It just occurred to me that I have skipped over some important information that is necessary for a full account of the excursion at hand. I promise to go into greater depth regarding each individual, but for now a brief introduction will have to do. Shea, by profession is a river rafting guide on the Elwha River in Washington. He was recruited at the same time as Melanie to join The Costa Rican Microbiology Team at La Selva. He refers to me as ‘Dragon Lady’ and I not so secretly LOVE it! The Eaton Clan is the Tormentor’s family who is staying the summer down here and includes head matriarch Michelle, Grandpa Ken, and the two boys Bobby and Liam ages 10 and 9.
Sampling in Monteverde was actually a pretty big deal as we would be the very first people to conduct a microbial diversity study in the very same forests that the now extinct golden toad once lived. Needless to say, Bill (renamed Clark Griswald for the duration of the trip) was elated as were the rest of the Griswalds who were just happy to get out of La Selva and see a different part of the country. After an incredibly painful and teary goodbye to my two new besties Ryan and Dennis, I found my seat at the very back of the bus, threw in my iPod ear buds and silently vowed to not have a good time. Emily and Melanie quickly followed suit and together we joined grumpy forces and became Audrey Griswald. Shea immediately filled the role of Rusty Griswald with his uncanny ability to irritate me with every single word that came out of his mouth…no wonder he calls me Dragon Lady but in my own defense, I was still totally ill with dysentery (before you get testy, there is definitely a paragraph between my promise to not say anything with a fecal reference and this comment…look for yourself) and my patience was incredibly short. Grandpa Ken called shot-gun for fear that we would treat him like Aunt Edna and tie him into the rocking chair strapped to the top of the bus and Michelle (Ellen Griswald) settled the boys in for the 6 hour trip to the mystic mountains of Monteverde.
Let this be a warning to anyone planning on traveling the back country dirt roads to Monteverde, especially if you are sitting over the rear axle and have a cup size larger than a C….wear at least 3 bras for this journey. It is necessary if you don’t want to spend the rest of your youthful years with a chest that resembles my great Aunt Magda’s.
Monteverde is by far one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The air is cool and damp with moisture and the misty clouds move swiftly through the trees, along the roads, and down the green valleys as they make their way up and over the continental divide. Due to the elevation and severe winds in the upper reaches, the forests are dwarfed and you fully expect to find elves frolicking in the thick moss covered understory.
On the second day (I missed the first sampling day because The Tormentor kicked me off of the research team due to my intestinal discomforts) after taking antibiotics and feeling rather sparky, I eagerly donned my beloved jungle gear and hiking boots and set out with the research team. We hiked up and up and up through the cloud forest, stopping only briefly to shake hands with Peter at the Gates, and then continuing on up to the famed Continental Divide where you could take a leak on the ridge and place bets as to which ocean it would run down to. The view was rather socked in with clouds but still stunningly beautiful none-the-less. So…where do we sample?...oh not here?...then where?...DOWN THERE?!....
And down is exactly where we went. Making sure to give the machete wielding Tico man a clear enough area for his backswing, we wound down the mountain ridge cutting through vines, ducking under logs, crossing over gurgling streams, and straight through some of the thickest underbrush I have ever seen. All I could think was thank god it was too cold for snakes up here. After almost an hour of sliding on our asses straight down the muddy slip-n-slide referred to by our machete wielding guide as ‘the trail’ we arrived at sampling plot # 1, Piedres Blanco, to retrieve our bounty….32 soil cores full of dirt. A slight sense of accomplishment began to creep in as we pulled the last core, but the realization that we now had to march back up the side of the mountain using the mud ‘trail’ and sample in 2 additional plots quickly snapped us back into our state of misery.
Finally at a quarter to four our research team plodded back into the station through the pouring rain with packs bursting at the seams full of 96 hard earned cores from 3 different study plots. The Tormentor and I agreed that it had without doubt, been the hardest day of sampling either of us had ever conducted. Although physically exhausted, I felt better than I had in over a week. The fresh mountain air combined with a slew of drugs had done me wonders and I actually felt like eating something! To celebrate, Olivier treated each of us to the biggest, moistest, full of gooey goodness looking chocolate cake in all the land and a fresh cup of espresso with which to wash it all down…..I’m actually still drooling.
The next day, we said our farewells to Olivier and the guides and loaded back up into the Griswald wagon (sans Rusty who flew back to the States for a weekend of debauchery no doubt), for the long journey down the bumpy mountain road back to Wally World. Grandpa up front, Clark and Ellen with the boys, and the powerfully moody super-force conglomerate of Audrey, wearing a total of 7 braziers, happily (for the time being) in the front row nowhere near the rear axle.
After spending the weekend at sea level, it was time to move up in elevation and trade sandy toes for muddy boots. The Tormentor had arranged for us (The Butcher, Mel, Shea (more to come there for sure!), myself and the rest of The Eaton Clan* to spend 4 days in the cloud forests of Monteverde sampling for the very prestigious Tropical Science Center with the Center’s Director, Olivier. Our transportation was the Costa Rican equivalent to the Griswald’s wood paneled station wagon of National Lampoon fame….a giant white bus that screamed TOURISTS!...no really, it had a sign on the side which read TOURISTS!!!!
*It just occurred to me that I have skipped over some important information that is necessary for a full account of the excursion at hand. I promise to go into greater depth regarding each individual, but for now a brief introduction will have to do. Shea, by profession is a river rafting guide on the Elwha River in Washington. He was recruited at the same time as Melanie to join The Costa Rican Microbiology Team at La Selva. He refers to me as ‘Dragon Lady’ and I not so secretly LOVE it! The Eaton Clan is the Tormentor’s family who is staying the summer down here and includes head matriarch Michelle, Grandpa Ken, and the two boys Bobby and Liam ages 10 and 9.
Sampling in Monteverde was actually a pretty big deal as we would be the very first people to conduct a microbial diversity study in the very same forests that the now extinct golden toad once lived. Needless to say, Bill (renamed Clark Griswald for the duration of the trip) was elated as were the rest of the Griswalds who were just happy to get out of La Selva and see a different part of the country. After an incredibly painful and teary goodbye to my two new besties Ryan and Dennis, I found my seat at the very back of the bus, threw in my iPod ear buds and silently vowed to not have a good time. Emily and Melanie quickly followed suit and together we joined grumpy forces and became Audrey Griswald. Shea immediately filled the role of Rusty Griswald with his uncanny ability to irritate me with every single word that came out of his mouth…no wonder he calls me Dragon Lady but in my own defense, I was still totally ill with dysentery (before you get testy, there is definitely a paragraph between my promise to not say anything with a fecal reference and this comment…look for yourself) and my patience was incredibly short. Grandpa Ken called shot-gun for fear that we would treat him like Aunt Edna and tie him into the rocking chair strapped to the top of the bus and Michelle (Ellen Griswald) settled the boys in for the 6 hour trip to the mystic mountains of Monteverde.
Let this be a warning to anyone planning on traveling the back country dirt roads to Monteverde, especially if you are sitting over the rear axle and have a cup size larger than a C….wear at least 3 bras for this journey. It is necessary if you don’t want to spend the rest of your youthful years with a chest that resembles my great Aunt Magda’s.
Monteverde is by far one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. The air is cool and damp with moisture and the misty clouds move swiftly through the trees, along the roads, and down the green valleys as they make their way up and over the continental divide. Due to the elevation and severe winds in the upper reaches, the forests are dwarfed and you fully expect to find elves frolicking in the thick moss covered understory.
On the second day (I missed the first sampling day because The Tormentor kicked me off of the research team due to my intestinal discomforts) after taking antibiotics and feeling rather sparky, I eagerly donned my beloved jungle gear and hiking boots and set out with the research team. We hiked up and up and up through the cloud forest, stopping only briefly to shake hands with Peter at the Gates, and then continuing on up to the famed Continental Divide where you could take a leak on the ridge and place bets as to which ocean it would run down to. The view was rather socked in with clouds but still stunningly beautiful none-the-less. So…where do we sample?...oh not here?...then where?...DOWN THERE?!....
And down is exactly where we went. Making sure to give the machete wielding Tico man a clear enough area for his backswing, we wound down the mountain ridge cutting through vines, ducking under logs, crossing over gurgling streams, and straight through some of the thickest underbrush I have ever seen. All I could think was thank god it was too cold for snakes up here. After almost an hour of sliding on our asses straight down the muddy slip-n-slide referred to by our machete wielding guide as ‘the trail’ we arrived at sampling plot # 1, Piedres Blanco, to retrieve our bounty….32 soil cores full of dirt. A slight sense of accomplishment began to creep in as we pulled the last core, but the realization that we now had to march back up the side of the mountain using the mud ‘trail’ and sample in 2 additional plots quickly snapped us back into our state of misery.
Finally at a quarter to four our research team plodded back into the station through the pouring rain with packs bursting at the seams full of 96 hard earned cores from 3 different study plots. The Tormentor and I agreed that it had without doubt, been the hardest day of sampling either of us had ever conducted. Although physically exhausted, I felt better than I had in over a week. The fresh mountain air combined with a slew of drugs had done me wonders and I actually felt like eating something! To celebrate, Olivier treated each of us to the biggest, moistest, full of gooey goodness looking chocolate cake in all the land and a fresh cup of espresso with which to wash it all down…..I’m actually still drooling.
The next day, we said our farewells to Olivier and the guides and loaded back up into the Griswald wagon (sans Rusty who flew back to the States for a weekend of debauchery no doubt), for the long journey down the bumpy mountain road back to Wally World. Grandpa up front, Clark and Ellen with the boys, and the powerfully moody super-force conglomerate of Audrey, wearing a total of 7 braziers, happily (for the time being) in the front row nowhere near the rear axle.
21 Paces to Freedom
I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the fact that I have been virtually M.I.A. for the past 12 days and to officially redeem myself. There is no single reason for my absence however if I had to pinpoint a reason, I would definitely blame it on my new found friends Ryan and Dennis….more on them later. Anyway, after receiving numerous threats in the form of e-mails, smoke signals, and late night whispers through the darkness from this blog’s ever-growing fan club, here is the quick and dirty run down of the past two weeks. I am warning you, it wont be pretty and some feelings might get hurt…and it probably wont be quick….but it will definitely be dirty……regardless, you asked for it so here it is.
Lets start with Ryan. It was three weeks ago, the first time I laid eyes on her and I knew instantly that she was a creeper. I had just finished my morning business in the bathroom (which by the way is an exercise in humility due to the fact that there are ZERO private bathrooms here….its all public…all day, everyday, for two and a half months!)….and there she stood in the hallway staring at me. I don’t mean staring at me like she just woke up and was still in zombie mode….it was staring like she thought I was the dumbest person on earth and had never wanted to punch someone so badly in her whole existence. I knew immediately that we would be lifelong friends but I decided to wait until she cheered up to introduce myself.
Later that day I saw her slowly walking alone on the bridge looking a little less hostile and thought I should take the chance just incase it was a rarity. The expensive Nikon with the telephoto lens and the high powered binoculars dangling from her neck told me that she might be interested in the sloth I had spied up in a tree, so I waved her over and asked if she wanted to see it. As she walked towards me I assessed the situation….bandanna on her head, nose ring, wife beater T, aviator shades, and a sweet pair of trail runners…I asked myself, GJL or long lost twin? I showed her the sloth, she showed me a toucan, and we haven’t stopped talking since. Turns out she is my long lost twin and we are currently putting together a questionnaire to administer to our parents when we get home.
10 days ago….enter Dennis…or Dr. D as he insists on being called (makes him feel young and hip I think)…or The Bloody Brit as we like to call him. It wasn’t tough to spot him….he is ruggedly handsome, talks with a ridiculous accent, and is incredibly arrogant (we try to cut him some slack…he’s British after all, he can’t help himself), Have I mention the serious shortage of male eye candy around here? Anyway, Ryan and I were sitting at dinner enjoying yet another surprising spread of rice and beans when he sauntered into the cafeteria, effectively turning every female head and leaving my jaw drowning in the beans….Ryan, thanks for slapping it back into place before I started panting.
Not sure exactly how it all happened because I was still trying to wipe the beans off of my chin, but he ended up joining our table where Ryan (who has an uncanny ability to talk to anyone about anything) chatted him up and got all of the vitals for me. 42 years old….old but seasoned…..Ecologist…yummmm….. British….. yet disserted his country because he secretly adores all things American such as Alabama accents, shootin’ vermin, drinkin’ Bud Light, and ridiculously enormous 4x4’s. YEEHAW!.......2 kids……okay, I like kids…..and duhn duhn duhn….
Married…...crap….oh well; I guess that means I don’t have to shave this week after all.
Over the course of 5 minutes, the three of us became fast friends and were completely unable to do anything without each other’s company. Mostly we just made fun of Dennis’s accent and sentence structure and used him for his night vision camera (which I still think has ex-ray vision) to search the swamp for frogs and stalk kinkajous on the bridge. Ever notice how the British always end a sentence with a question? They always say something like “Hail to the Queen, have a pint, blah, blah, blah, BRILLIANT isn’t it?” What the hell does that even mean?!
8 days ago…..The Butcher arranged for Ryan and I to stow away with her and some of the other researchers to the Caribbean to get IRIE MON for 3 days! I was so freakin’ pumped I could hardly contain myself….and I mean it in the most literal sense….overnight, I became ill again and the toilet became my closest acquaintance. Not good if you are planning on sitting like a lady on a bus for 3 hours…so what do you do?.... take an Imodium and pray that god himself doesn’t want to punish you. Absolutely nothing was going to keep me from dipping my toes in the Caribbean and finally getting a tan….not even diarrhea...no way.
3 hours later our bus pulled into the palm tree lined beach town of Puerto Viejo de Limon near the Panama border. Ryan and I rented the honeymoon suite at Kaya’s, fully equipped with bunk beds, a sink that stopped working, and our own private bathroom with a sign that read “Please to not flush paper in toilet. Please put in the trash can.” Dios mio how I would hate to be a housekeeper there! I immediately christened the toilet before Ry and I headed out for a candle lit dinner of vegetarian nachos and pizza. Ever since coming down here I have become a vegetarian to help eliminate possible gastrointestinal illnesses which sounds lovely except that I am also lactose intolerant….but I LOVE cheese and it is especially delish in Costa Rica obviously because the cows are happier here.
Okay, lets pause here to assess the situation…hindsight is always 20/20…isn’t it? I was already afflicted with a pretty gnarly case of explosive diarrhea so why wouldn’t I test fate and indulge in a copious amount of queso?! Sometimes my own intelligence astounds me.
Okay, so Ryan and I throw back a couple of drinks (vodka soda limes to kill the bacteria), meet up with the other researchers, throw back a couple more and retire to the honeymoon suite to dream the night away. Fast forward to 3 a.m. and you will find me in my bunk lying in a pool of sweat and trying not to shit the bed (sorry, there is simply no better way of putting this). I’m not sure how long I lay there in agony visualizing every single step that separated me from the toilet but as soon as a small break in the violent cramping came, I seized the moment and hauled ass. Clenching every single muscle even remotely associated with my bowels I scurried down the 5 rungs on the ladder, shuffled the 6 steps to the door and bolted 15 more straight down the hall which landed me precisely at my target….el bano (I chose not to defile our own restroom because I didn’t want to alienate my new friend so early in our relationship). Feeling a bit better and thinking the worst had to be over, I gingerly slipped back into the room. I had just closed the door to the hall and barely taken 3 steps into the room when I heard the bell rang and the announcer yell “ROUND 2!” Sorry Ryan, but logistically there was no other choice…by my calculations, our bathroom was exactly 13 steps closer than the one down the hall and there just wasn’t any time left! So in I went, head first this time and purged the cheesy contents of my stomach….(don’t say I didn’t warned you that this would get dirty).... and what I saw will baffle me to the day I die….I have never seen anything like it…. I swear I could have rolled it in almonds and called it a cheese log. BRILLIANT isn’t it!
Even though I remained a slave to my gastrointestinal track, I spent the next two days lying in ecstasy on the black sand beach soaking up the Caribbean vitamin D. Aside from the obvious distraction, I had a great time getting irie and now I can finally stop complaining that I have been to this country of rich coasts 3 times without ever seeing la playa. By Sunday evening, I was back to the sullen rains of La Selva practically drunk with kisses from Caribbean sunbeams….and possibly a slight overdose of Imodium.
Lets start with Ryan. It was three weeks ago, the first time I laid eyes on her and I knew instantly that she was a creeper. I had just finished my morning business in the bathroom (which by the way is an exercise in humility due to the fact that there are ZERO private bathrooms here….its all public…all day, everyday, for two and a half months!)….and there she stood in the hallway staring at me. I don’t mean staring at me like she just woke up and was still in zombie mode….it was staring like she thought I was the dumbest person on earth and had never wanted to punch someone so badly in her whole existence. I knew immediately that we would be lifelong friends but I decided to wait until she cheered up to introduce myself.
Later that day I saw her slowly walking alone on the bridge looking a little less hostile and thought I should take the chance just incase it was a rarity. The expensive Nikon with the telephoto lens and the high powered binoculars dangling from her neck told me that she might be interested in the sloth I had spied up in a tree, so I waved her over and asked if she wanted to see it. As she walked towards me I assessed the situation….bandanna on her head, nose ring, wife beater T, aviator shades, and a sweet pair of trail runners…I asked myself, GJL or long lost twin? I showed her the sloth, she showed me a toucan, and we haven’t stopped talking since. Turns out she is my long lost twin and we are currently putting together a questionnaire to administer to our parents when we get home.
10 days ago….enter Dennis…or Dr. D as he insists on being called (makes him feel young and hip I think)…or The Bloody Brit as we like to call him. It wasn’t tough to spot him….he is ruggedly handsome, talks with a ridiculous accent, and is incredibly arrogant (we try to cut him some slack…he’s British after all, he can’t help himself), Have I mention the serious shortage of male eye candy around here? Anyway, Ryan and I were sitting at dinner enjoying yet another surprising spread of rice and beans when he sauntered into the cafeteria, effectively turning every female head and leaving my jaw drowning in the beans….Ryan, thanks for slapping it back into place before I started panting.
Not sure exactly how it all happened because I was still trying to wipe the beans off of my chin, but he ended up joining our table where Ryan (who has an uncanny ability to talk to anyone about anything) chatted him up and got all of the vitals for me. 42 years old….old but seasoned…..Ecologist…yummmm….. British….. yet disserted his country because he secretly adores all things American such as Alabama accents, shootin’ vermin, drinkin’ Bud Light, and ridiculously enormous 4x4’s. YEEHAW!.......2 kids……okay, I like kids…..and duhn duhn duhn….
Married…...crap….oh well; I guess that means I don’t have to shave this week after all.
Over the course of 5 minutes, the three of us became fast friends and were completely unable to do anything without each other’s company. Mostly we just made fun of Dennis’s accent and sentence structure and used him for his night vision camera (which I still think has ex-ray vision) to search the swamp for frogs and stalk kinkajous on the bridge. Ever notice how the British always end a sentence with a question? They always say something like “Hail to the Queen, have a pint, blah, blah, blah, BRILLIANT isn’t it?” What the hell does that even mean?!
8 days ago…..The Butcher arranged for Ryan and I to stow away with her and some of the other researchers to the Caribbean to get IRIE MON for 3 days! I was so freakin’ pumped I could hardly contain myself….and I mean it in the most literal sense….overnight, I became ill again and the toilet became my closest acquaintance. Not good if you are planning on sitting like a lady on a bus for 3 hours…so what do you do?.... take an Imodium and pray that god himself doesn’t want to punish you. Absolutely nothing was going to keep me from dipping my toes in the Caribbean and finally getting a tan….not even diarrhea...no way.
3 hours later our bus pulled into the palm tree lined beach town of Puerto Viejo de Limon near the Panama border. Ryan and I rented the honeymoon suite at Kaya’s, fully equipped with bunk beds, a sink that stopped working, and our own private bathroom with a sign that read “Please to not flush paper in toilet. Please put in the trash can.” Dios mio how I would hate to be a housekeeper there! I immediately christened the toilet before Ry and I headed out for a candle lit dinner of vegetarian nachos and pizza. Ever since coming down here I have become a vegetarian to help eliminate possible gastrointestinal illnesses which sounds lovely except that I am also lactose intolerant….but I LOVE cheese and it is especially delish in Costa Rica obviously because the cows are happier here.
Okay, lets pause here to assess the situation…hindsight is always 20/20…isn’t it? I was already afflicted with a pretty gnarly case of explosive diarrhea so why wouldn’t I test fate and indulge in a copious amount of queso?! Sometimes my own intelligence astounds me.
Okay, so Ryan and I throw back a couple of drinks (vodka soda limes to kill the bacteria), meet up with the other researchers, throw back a couple more and retire to the honeymoon suite to dream the night away. Fast forward to 3 a.m. and you will find me in my bunk lying in a pool of sweat and trying not to shit the bed (sorry, there is simply no better way of putting this). I’m not sure how long I lay there in agony visualizing every single step that separated me from the toilet but as soon as a small break in the violent cramping came, I seized the moment and hauled ass. Clenching every single muscle even remotely associated with my bowels I scurried down the 5 rungs on the ladder, shuffled the 6 steps to the door and bolted 15 more straight down the hall which landed me precisely at my target….el bano (I chose not to defile our own restroom because I didn’t want to alienate my new friend so early in our relationship). Feeling a bit better and thinking the worst had to be over, I gingerly slipped back into the room. I had just closed the door to the hall and barely taken 3 steps into the room when I heard the bell rang and the announcer yell “ROUND 2!” Sorry Ryan, but logistically there was no other choice…by my calculations, our bathroom was exactly 13 steps closer than the one down the hall and there just wasn’t any time left! So in I went, head first this time and purged the cheesy contents of my stomach….(don’t say I didn’t warned you that this would get dirty).... and what I saw will baffle me to the day I die….I have never seen anything like it…. I swear I could have rolled it in almonds and called it a cheese log. BRILLIANT isn’t it!
Even though I remained a slave to my gastrointestinal track, I spent the next two days lying in ecstasy on the black sand beach soaking up the Caribbean vitamin D. Aside from the obvious distraction, I had a great time getting irie and now I can finally stop complaining that I have been to this country of rich coasts 3 times without ever seeing la playa. By Sunday evening, I was back to the sullen rains of La Selva practically drunk with kisses from Caribbean sunbeams….and possibly a slight overdose of Imodium.
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