I have been gone from the refuge for two days. TWO days. While I was away, so much as changed already. First, the squirrels no longer need syringe feeding. Second, the baby birds are doing great, and starting to eat on their own. Third, someone brought in a two-day-old baby possum. Fourth, someone tricked us into getting a less-than-a-week-old kitten.
Now, it seems almost impossible to trick someone into getting a kitten, unless you work at a shelter. The man who brought the kitten in, told Encar on the phone that it was a very rare animal, that looked like a kitten but with a prehensile tail. The moment it arrived, Encar evaluated it, and sure enough it was a kitten. I came in this morning, and reaffirmed this conclusion, and as of now, I am the most knowledgeable on this rare Costa Rican animal. As my many years of taking care of little baby furballs will come in handy, we need to find it a home and trust me, Encar is planning on getting it castrated (as she calls it).
The baby possum is Jess and James' favorite animal so far. It looks like a naked mole rat, and refuses to eat until there is about .2 cL of milk left in its syringe (out of the .5 cL). I can't wait until it grows bigger and can eat on its own, because having this tiny little pink thing in your hand is terrifying. I am giant compared to it, and the force in my hand is enough to suffocate it if I am not careful. The little thing is lucky that I have anxiety which makes me extra careful with little baby ones. Also, if anyone didn't know, you need to stimulate peeing in a possum like you do with kittens. So I was shaking two animals' junks today to make them pee.
Love my job in the nursery.
We also had an injured iguana (which was named Furtado, after Nelly, Colton's pet beard dragon). His tail, its deadliest weapon, was cut off at the end, and his legs weren't responsive at the evaluation. Franklin, the governmental biologist who must review the refuge, theorized that he must have lost a fight to another animal, but that iguanas are very strong and after a few days in quarantine, if he regains the function of his legs, he will be able to be rehabilitated.
But what brings you up, can also bring you down. We received a little baby monkey, barely a week old with 90% burns all over its tiny body. It's my guess that the burns are old, as the skin looked like jerky at this point and skin had already flaked off. The best theory we could come up with is, unfortunately, a common one here in Costa Rica. The mother must have been electrocuted by an un-coated electrical line. The baby survived only because it received the shock through the mother, but it was in obvious pain. Encar and I had a little bit of hope as it was moving around, and holding on to the blanket. As soon as we gave it pain medication, we both knew that he was going to be a goner. His little eyes were struggling to stay open, and he wouldn't drink the milk. Encar and I both fell quiet and we knew what had to be done. With 90% of burns on its body, the University of San Jose didn't want to treat him, and with the facilities here, it would certainly get an infection. As I hummed "Hey Jude" by The Beatles to the tiny baby in my arms, he fell asleep. When I felt that his body had gone limp I put him on the table and Encar waited with her hand on his forehead until he was really gone. It was a silent and tough moment, as we had the kitten crying and Stefano (the sloth who lost his cuddle buddy a week ago) crying. Neither of us were in the mood to respond to those cries. Thankfully, Gisella came to the rescue with the kitten and took it for the entire day- after I taught her how to get him to pee, poo and to fed him.
While the center was struggling with the new arrivals, the people from all over central American are flooding in Puerto Viejo for Semana Santa (Holy week). The tourists are nice as they bring business to the locals, but they also bring crimes. I received an email from the US Embassy about armed robberies happened around town and areas surrounding town. Not only that, but my friends' house was broken into and everything they owned was stolen. 3000$ worth of camera equipement, their laptop and 3 months of work. It is things like this that reminds me how balanced the world is. I have met some of the most wonderful people out here, and some of the most frustrating people as well. The tourists have left trash on the beach, which I pick up while muttering in Spanish "Los hijos de puta, no es dificil a usar una basura." It is really not hard to use a trash. Lazy people frustrate me. People who only want the good frustrate me. The only positive thing from the tourists has been the increase in Policia Turistica around dangerous areas and the presence of Cruz Rojo (red cross) around the beach. Yet, even with this heightened security, one can't help but want things to go back to normal, without the terrible traffic, or the trash, or the belligerence drunk tourists. I think I am ready for Easter to be over, and Puerto Viejo to regain its charming little town feeling, where people are kind and people know each other.
3/28/2013
3/27/2013
Food poisoning and baby sloths
I keep on saying how unexciting my life is at this point, and how routine things have become, yet I keep on having interesting events happen to me.
This blog post will be short and sweet. I have been at home sick for the last two days, trying to get over food poisoning. While I was dying in my bed, and my fever was on a rollercoaster between 99.5F and 100.8F, the center kept on running fine, and one of my friends left for Holland. I traded her good bye party for puking in a toilet.
So now, when I go back tomorrow, I will be alone in the nursery with Encar, which means, I get to take care of the baby sloths, and feed the baby birds/ squirrels. It's very exciting for me, as the last time I bottle fed a baby animal over a year ago, and a kitten.
I haven't had a chance to truly experience the bottle fedding as I have been dealing with puking, stomach cramps and fever, all the way up until today. All the while finishing up seasons of Mad Men, Archer and It's always sunny.
Two nights ago, I decided it was a good idea to change up my diet a bit and go eat Chinese food. As someone mentioned "Chinese food in Costa Rica... riiight." Yes. It was delicious, all the way up until 4 AM when I puked it all back up. Luckily, the next day was my day off, and I could enjoy my cozy bed, my fan and the proximity to the bathroom. As I kept taking my temperature every once in awhile, I noticed that after long hours of napping, my fever was on the high end, while after being awake, it went down. Unfortunately, my naps were unpredictable and delirious. I drank about 4 bottles of water and a powerade, and I finally felt that I needed to eat some food. I went downstairs, where the whole staff had been informed of my condition, and they had mashed potatoes ready for me. I sat miserable at the restaurant, where the bartender (Katya) had prepared a special cocktail (Lemon, salt and club soda) to revive my spirit. After eating a bit of mashed potatoes, I was full, and tired. Even though, they had switched the futbol game to Spain VS France for me, and I truly wanted to watch it, I felt as if I was about to fell asleep. I paid for my meal, and made some sort of agreement on price (I am not sure what happened, but there wasnt enough change) and went upstairs to finish sleeping. I kept my food down, slept for a good 13 hours and today I feel so much better!
The tad bit I didn't mention was that after dinner, I had locked my bike and forgotten my keys. I was dragging my bike back to the hotel when a man by the supermarket stopped me and asked what happened. I giggled and embarrassed told him that I had forgotten my keys. He dragged my bike behind someone's car (who left half way through the whole procedure) and started beating the chain with two rocks. Within five minutes he had broken the lock and requested 2$ from me. I gave him 2$ and, bewildered, rode my bike home with the broken lock in my hand. Food poisoning must have kicked in because I didn't react to him breaking my lock as much as I was glad I could get to bed faster.
This blog post will be short and sweet. I have been at home sick for the last two days, trying to get over food poisoning. While I was dying in my bed, and my fever was on a rollercoaster between 99.5F and 100.8F, the center kept on running fine, and one of my friends left for Holland. I traded her good bye party for puking in a toilet.
So now, when I go back tomorrow, I will be alone in the nursery with Encar, which means, I get to take care of the baby sloths, and feed the baby birds/ squirrels. It's very exciting for me, as the last time I bottle fed a baby animal over a year ago, and a kitten.
I haven't had a chance to truly experience the bottle fedding as I have been dealing with puking, stomach cramps and fever, all the way up until today. All the while finishing up seasons of Mad Men, Archer and It's always sunny.
Two nights ago, I decided it was a good idea to change up my diet a bit and go eat Chinese food. As someone mentioned "Chinese food in Costa Rica... riiight." Yes. It was delicious, all the way up until 4 AM when I puked it all back up. Luckily, the next day was my day off, and I could enjoy my cozy bed, my fan and the proximity to the bathroom. As I kept taking my temperature every once in awhile, I noticed that after long hours of napping, my fever was on the high end, while after being awake, it went down. Unfortunately, my naps were unpredictable and delirious. I drank about 4 bottles of water and a powerade, and I finally felt that I needed to eat some food. I went downstairs, where the whole staff had been informed of my condition, and they had mashed potatoes ready for me. I sat miserable at the restaurant, where the bartender (Katya) had prepared a special cocktail (Lemon, salt and club soda) to revive my spirit. After eating a bit of mashed potatoes, I was full, and tired. Even though, they had switched the futbol game to Spain VS France for me, and I truly wanted to watch it, I felt as if I was about to fell asleep. I paid for my meal, and made some sort of agreement on price (I am not sure what happened, but there wasnt enough change) and went upstairs to finish sleeping. I kept my food down, slept for a good 13 hours and today I feel so much better!
The tad bit I didn't mention was that after dinner, I had locked my bike and forgotten my keys. I was dragging my bike back to the hotel when a man by the supermarket stopped me and asked what happened. I giggled and embarrassed told him that I had forgotten my keys. He dragged my bike behind someone's car (who left half way through the whole procedure) and started beating the chain with two rocks. Within five minutes he had broken the lock and requested 2$ from me. I gave him 2$ and, bewildered, rode my bike home with the broken lock in my hand. Food poisoning must have kicked in because I didn't react to him breaking my lock as much as I was glad I could get to bed faster.
After all that, I got sick, so I haven't needed to ride my bike yet. Tomorrow will be the true test if I need a lock, or if someone will steal my Jamaican prize. In the mean time, enjoy this video of our two newest baby sloths that have to be fed every three hours (This is Encar feeding them, as I havent been trained to feed those delicate creatures):
3/21/2013
GerGlish- the official language of Puerto Viejo
As I mentioned before, my days are now boring to write about. It is mostly monkey feeding, sloth watching and the occasional fight with a toucan. Life can be so tough.
In reality, I am suffering second degree burn from the hot Costa Rican sun. I am known to be a bit of a drama queen when I want to be. This is no drama. I had blisters on my chest, and my face has been peeling. For the last two days, I've been hearing "Tomo el sol, eh?", "Oh man, you were at the beach, uh?" and "Didn't you put sunscreen on?".
My dear white friends, the sun discriminates against us. I did put sunscreen on, every 30 mns. It was the walk into town that caused me this pain. I have been branded as the white girl from Philadelphia at the refuge, and, at the hotel. Anyway, today my shoulder has started to peel so now I am three different colors: brown, red and back to white. It is a vicious circle that will happen for the next month until my body learns. If it is nearly as stubborn as I am, we are in for a long adventure.
The sunburns prevented me from going surfing yesterday. As the salt water burns my skin, the sun creates an either bigger problem. I didn't feel like standing in 98F temperature with a beautiful clear sky while I am trying my best not to struggle on a board, or drinking salt water. Therefore, the lessons are being postponed once more. It will be done though, some day.
I did go to the center, even on my day off, as I wanted to take some pictures for the people back home. I have been a fantastic blog writer, and a terrible photographer. I need to balance out my responsibilities a bit. I went out there to see that one of our volunteers was ready to give the animals a professional photo shot, and as the unprofessional photographer, I helped her out by taking back stage pictures of her working. The amount of work that goes into taking a picture of a sloth is intense. Adrian, her temporary assistant, was sweating as he was readjusting lights after lights as the sloth was moving around. After a few pictures, I had to go home to deal with some American paperwork.
By American paperwork, I mean that my mother had gotten a letter from the Chester county court system. Obviously, she just told me it said Chester county court system, and so I grabbed my bike and started pedaling frantically, trying to go through each parking ticket I had received in the last year, each speeding ticket and each red light violation. Needless to say, the 20 minutes bike ride home was not enough to think of all of my violations, but I couldn't think of one that I hadn't dealt with before leaving. Once I got on skype and demanded for her to open the letter. It turned out I was being summoned for Jury Duty.
You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding me.
America, come on. Use your military gadgets to google my passport number and see that I am away instead of randomly sending letters and wasting everyone's time. Even just peer into my facebook page and see that I am not in the country. Anyway, I had to explain why going to jury duty would be a hardship and write them a personal letter explaining that I will not be able to attend. When it comes down to authorities screwing something up, I can't help but be a witty little asshole to them in my letters. It was a short and sweet paragraph that created arguments between my mother and I (as she has to send it.)
This was the letter my mother and I compromised on. If it was left to me, it would be a five pages story of my life and as to why I would not be able to attend. Looking back at it, I should have included my blog for further proof. Next time. Next time.
After the surprise the United States sent me, I also received more frontline through the mail. Two weeks late, but hey, better than nothing right? I was hoping for some chocolate or candy, but if I ever need some flea treatment I have enough for a year.
As soon as I was done taking care of my American problems, I started looking for lunch. It was 3pm at this point, and my stomach was growling angrily. I had made it a mission to find this little bakery called "Bread and chocolate" or "Pan y chocolate", I hadn't been able to figure out if the sign will be in English or Spanish -- and it was in both. Lucky me.
As promised by the guidebook, there was no real address here, and directions were like "In front of the baptist church." Finding anything in this small town required patience and an observant eye. Because I have both, I found it. My stomach helped me find it and I chose the grilled cheese sandwich in about 5 mns of my arrival. I wrote my postcards, and I scarfed down the delicious cheese sandwich. I love the rice and bean combination here, but Costa Rica needs to up their game when it comes down to food. Other than the homemade chocolates and seafood, the cuisine is rather limited. Ten minutes after finishing my grilled cheese, I got a text message from one of the German volunteers. Most of the volunteers stay in Playa Chiquita or Cocles, and when they come "downtown" AKA Puerto viejo, they text me to hang out. They went shopping and then we stopped for dinner at Monli, which overlooked the sun setting on the Caribbean ocean.
We were talking about how many Germans there were in Puerto Viejo when one of their old friend walks in, hammered as a Russian during the winter. I introduced myself, and knowing five words in German, started to speak English. Julia and Isa's English was incredible, but Wolfgang's (the new German welcomes into our group) was very poor.
The only comprehensible sentence of the night was "You don't need ketchup with good music". Between my poor German, and his poor English we still managed to have a two hour long conversations. I learned that if you want someone to finish their drinks in Germany, you must go "X, X, X, X" and it encourages them to drink. I learned that the word for Discotheque is pretty much the same in every language and that a drunk German from Munich will speak a different German from a drunk German from Berlin.
After a night out of international fun, it was time to head back to the hotel. This time, I hadn't brought my bike, and it was already dark out. I had brought my little knife with me, which I carried open and in sight of anyone driving past. It wasn't until I saw the police near my hotel, that I breathed easily and could put my knife away. I am not much for taknig risks, and this is still a dangerous country, no matter how much of a paradise it feels like. The police's presence was a very clear reminder that, as they search every car driving into Puerto Viejo, there ares bad guys out there who will not hesitant to ruin your vacations. No matter if you speak German, English or Spanish.
In reality, I am suffering second degree burn from the hot Costa Rican sun. I am known to be a bit of a drama queen when I want to be. This is no drama. I had blisters on my chest, and my face has been peeling. For the last two days, I've been hearing "Tomo el sol, eh?", "Oh man, you were at the beach, uh?" and "Didn't you put sunscreen on?".
My dear white friends, the sun discriminates against us. I did put sunscreen on, every 30 mns. It was the walk into town that caused me this pain. I have been branded as the white girl from Philadelphia at the refuge, and, at the hotel. Anyway, today my shoulder has started to peel so now I am three different colors: brown, red and back to white. It is a vicious circle that will happen for the next month until my body learns. If it is nearly as stubborn as I am, we are in for a long adventure.
The sunburns prevented me from going surfing yesterday. As the salt water burns my skin, the sun creates an either bigger problem. I didn't feel like standing in 98F temperature with a beautiful clear sky while I am trying my best not to struggle on a board, or drinking salt water. Therefore, the lessons are being postponed once more. It will be done though, some day.
I did go to the center, even on my day off, as I wanted to take some pictures for the people back home. I have been a fantastic blog writer, and a terrible photographer. I need to balance out my responsibilities a bit. I went out there to see that one of our volunteers was ready to give the animals a professional photo shot, and as the unprofessional photographer, I helped her out by taking back stage pictures of her working. The amount of work that goes into taking a picture of a sloth is intense. Adrian, her temporary assistant, was sweating as he was readjusting lights after lights as the sloth was moving around. After a few pictures, I had to go home to deal with some American paperwork.
By American paperwork, I mean that my mother had gotten a letter from the Chester county court system. Obviously, she just told me it said Chester county court system, and so I grabbed my bike and started pedaling frantically, trying to go through each parking ticket I had received in the last year, each speeding ticket and each red light violation. Needless to say, the 20 minutes bike ride home was not enough to think of all of my violations, but I couldn't think of one that I hadn't dealt with before leaving. Once I got on skype and demanded for her to open the letter. It turned out I was being summoned for Jury Duty.
You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding me.
America, come on. Use your military gadgets to google my passport number and see that I am away instead of randomly sending letters and wasting everyone's time. Even just peer into my facebook page and see that I am not in the country. Anyway, I had to explain why going to jury duty would be a hardship and write them a personal letter explaining that I will not be able to attend. When it comes down to authorities screwing something up, I can't help but be a witty little asshole to them in my letters. It was a short and sweet paragraph that created arguments between my mother and I (as she has to send it.)
Dear Jury Commissioner,
My name is Ally V, and my annual number is : ---- and my panel number: ---. I would like to inform you I will not be able to attend jury duty on the selected dates (April 22nd and 23rd). The reason for this inconvenience is that I am currently residing in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica to perform some community service at a wildlife refuge center. Unfortunately, those dates fall right during my stay (March 6th- May 2nd) and I cannot fly back before May 2nd. My tickets are booked, and my hours are prefixed. I am deeply sorry that I cannot perform my duty as a citizen as I am volunteering in Costa Rica for two months.In the meantime, I regretfully request to be excused from this privilege of jury duty.Sincerely,Ally V
This was the letter my mother and I compromised on. If it was left to me, it would be a five pages story of my life and as to why I would not be able to attend. Looking back at it, I should have included my blog for further proof. Next time. Next time.
After the surprise the United States sent me, I also received more frontline through the mail. Two weeks late, but hey, better than nothing right? I was hoping for some chocolate or candy, but if I ever need some flea treatment I have enough for a year.
As soon as I was done taking care of my American problems, I started looking for lunch. It was 3pm at this point, and my stomach was growling angrily. I had made it a mission to find this little bakery called "Bread and chocolate" or "Pan y chocolate", I hadn't been able to figure out if the sign will be in English or Spanish -- and it was in both. Lucky me.
As promised by the guidebook, there was no real address here, and directions were like "In front of the baptist church." Finding anything in this small town required patience and an observant eye. Because I have both, I found it. My stomach helped me find it and I chose the grilled cheese sandwich in about 5 mns of my arrival. I wrote my postcards, and I scarfed down the delicious cheese sandwich. I love the rice and bean combination here, but Costa Rica needs to up their game when it comes down to food. Other than the homemade chocolates and seafood, the cuisine is rather limited. Ten minutes after finishing my grilled cheese, I got a text message from one of the German volunteers. Most of the volunteers stay in Playa Chiquita or Cocles, and when they come "downtown" AKA Puerto viejo, they text me to hang out. They went shopping and then we stopped for dinner at Monli, which overlooked the sun setting on the Caribbean ocean.
We were talking about how many Germans there were in Puerto Viejo when one of their old friend walks in, hammered as a Russian during the winter. I introduced myself, and knowing five words in German, started to speak English. Julia and Isa's English was incredible, but Wolfgang's (the new German welcomes into our group) was very poor.
The only comprehensible sentence of the night was "You don't need ketchup with good music". Between my poor German, and his poor English we still managed to have a two hour long conversations. I learned that if you want someone to finish their drinks in Germany, you must go "X, X, X, X" and it encourages them to drink. I learned that the word for Discotheque is pretty much the same in every language and that a drunk German from Munich will speak a different German from a drunk German from Berlin.
After a night out of international fun, it was time to head back to the hotel. This time, I hadn't brought my bike, and it was already dark out. I had brought my little knife with me, which I carried open and in sight of anyone driving past. It wasn't until I saw the police near my hotel, that I breathed easily and could put my knife away. I am not much for taknig risks, and this is still a dangerous country, no matter how much of a paradise it feels like. The police's presence was a very clear reminder that, as they search every car driving into Puerto Viejo, there ares bad guys out there who will not hesitant to ruin your vacations. No matter if you speak German, English or Spanish.
3/17/2013
St Paddy's day Costa Rican style
I have left everyone in the dark for a few days. My days are becoming more and more routine, and therefore less and less exciting for everyone.
I wake up, ride my bike to the center, do some manual labor and then get to hold some sloths. While I patiently wait for my day off. Friday was my day off, and I was suppose to set up some awesome surfing lessons with this guy who could teach you within two hours. I couldn't find him and set up a lesson with Willy. I just walked on the beach and he was there ready to teach. I didn't have a bathing suit, and therefore, couldn't really start right away. I went back to the hotel and asked about surfing lessons, and hold and behold, they knew the guy I had been searching for.
Sorry Willy, I'm going with magical surf teacher. So Wednesday is my first lesson. I am not looking forward to the physical strain, but I am sure in the end, I will appreciate pushing myself out of my boundaries.
In the meantime, today is Saint Paddy's day, and it is celebrated here in Puerto Viejo as well. The local dealers are wearing green attire, and going around joyously proposing their newest shipment to everyone.
I started my St Paddy's day with a good two hours on the black sand of Playa Negra. Needless to say, the sun in Costa Rica is strong. You feel it the moment you go out. I braved going out, with a ton of sunscreen on. Yet, the fifteen minutes into town and out of town got me a nobel prize winner for sunburns. Someone commented that I got some weird sunburns going on. Mainly because only half of my face is badly sunburns and my swimsuit gave me sleepy boobs (My sunburns are straight across, so any low cut shirt I wear reveal the white of my cleavage and the red of my boobs). The amount of Biafine (cream for burns) has helped for about 30 mns, and then I go back to the itching and burning sensations where my skin was not covered. I am not looking towards tonight, as I have to lay in bed trying to catch sleep in my uncomfortable self.
The burns were somewhat worth it, as we (Natalie and I) stopped at the best seafood in town. Fresh as can be. They supply the whole town with fresh fish. Sure enough, I had the ceviche of mixed seafood, which includes tuna, octopus, shrimp and seabass, all cooked in a lemon sauce. It was the best lunch a girl could ask for. We only stumbled upon it when we tried to eat at Lazy Mon (where I tried to go to an open mic that ended up terribly wrong). Juan, the rake man, told us Lazy mon was closed until 1 pm, but we should go across the street for the best seafood in town. Juan, who looked homeless, had never been more right. Nowhere have I had fresher seafood and Mango drink.
Later, after a nice cold shower to cool down my sunburns, we went to The Point, an american bar/restaurant, for St Paddy's day they were having a free pig roast. Natalie and I went and found seats immediately, and within minutes a couple needed more seats and asked us to share our table. We obviously agreed as we are both friendly people. We quickly learned that their motive to be in Costa Rica wasn't originally vacation, but dental work. In the US, they were told they would need about 20,000$ worth of dental work, while once they arrived in San Jose and were recommended to a good dentist, they only needed 7000$. The difference makes up for the 400$ flight over. The couple was incredibly nice and a good time to have around. We shared travel stories, and they told us how they met. They both had been married once, and boasted about first marriage being practice marriages. The man, Alexander, was explaining to us how he got Judy, his girlfriend. The bickering over the proper story was cute and overwhelming, but it reminded me that there was no rush into a relationship. Of all the people I had met so far, only the 18 year-old was in a relationship, and I had been in such relationship at that age. It was a friendly reminder from fate that, dude, there is no hurry. You meet the right person at any point in your life. Make the best of your life no matter if you are single, together, or kind of together. As long as there is no drama, enjoying life can be quite easy with another person.
It is hard to keep true to the no-drama part of life.
And those are the naive observations from a 22 year old girl.
Ciao amigos.
Thanks for readin'!
I wake up, ride my bike to the center, do some manual labor and then get to hold some sloths. While I patiently wait for my day off. Friday was my day off, and I was suppose to set up some awesome surfing lessons with this guy who could teach you within two hours. I couldn't find him and set up a lesson with Willy. I just walked on the beach and he was there ready to teach. I didn't have a bathing suit, and therefore, couldn't really start right away. I went back to the hotel and asked about surfing lessons, and hold and behold, they knew the guy I had been searching for.
Sorry Willy, I'm going with magical surf teacher. So Wednesday is my first lesson. I am not looking forward to the physical strain, but I am sure in the end, I will appreciate pushing myself out of my boundaries.
In the meantime, today is Saint Paddy's day, and it is celebrated here in Puerto Viejo as well. The local dealers are wearing green attire, and going around joyously proposing their newest shipment to everyone.
I started my St Paddy's day with a good two hours on the black sand of Playa Negra. Needless to say, the sun in Costa Rica is strong. You feel it the moment you go out. I braved going out, with a ton of sunscreen on. Yet, the fifteen minutes into town and out of town got me a nobel prize winner for sunburns. Someone commented that I got some weird sunburns going on. Mainly because only half of my face is badly sunburns and my swimsuit gave me sleepy boobs (My sunburns are straight across, so any low cut shirt I wear reveal the white of my cleavage and the red of my boobs). The amount of Biafine (cream for burns) has helped for about 30 mns, and then I go back to the itching and burning sensations where my skin was not covered. I am not looking towards tonight, as I have to lay in bed trying to catch sleep in my uncomfortable self.
The burns were somewhat worth it, as we (Natalie and I) stopped at the best seafood in town. Fresh as can be. They supply the whole town with fresh fish. Sure enough, I had the ceviche of mixed seafood, which includes tuna, octopus, shrimp and seabass, all cooked in a lemon sauce. It was the best lunch a girl could ask for. We only stumbled upon it when we tried to eat at Lazy Mon (where I tried to go to an open mic that ended up terribly wrong). Juan, the rake man, told us Lazy mon was closed until 1 pm, but we should go across the street for the best seafood in town. Juan, who looked homeless, had never been more right. Nowhere have I had fresher seafood and Mango drink.
Later, after a nice cold shower to cool down my sunburns, we went to The Point, an american bar/restaurant, for St Paddy's day they were having a free pig roast. Natalie and I went and found seats immediately, and within minutes a couple needed more seats and asked us to share our table. We obviously agreed as we are both friendly people. We quickly learned that their motive to be in Costa Rica wasn't originally vacation, but dental work. In the US, they were told they would need about 20,000$ worth of dental work, while once they arrived in San Jose and were recommended to a good dentist, they only needed 7000$. The difference makes up for the 400$ flight over. The couple was incredibly nice and a good time to have around. We shared travel stories, and they told us how they met. They both had been married once, and boasted about first marriage being practice marriages. The man, Alexander, was explaining to us how he got Judy, his girlfriend. The bickering over the proper story was cute and overwhelming, but it reminded me that there was no rush into a relationship. Of all the people I had met so far, only the 18 year-old was in a relationship, and I had been in such relationship at that age. It was a friendly reminder from fate that, dude, there is no hurry. You meet the right person at any point in your life. Make the best of your life no matter if you are single, together, or kind of together. As long as there is no drama, enjoying life can be quite easy with another person.
It is hard to keep true to the no-drama part of life.
And those are the naive observations from a 22 year old girl.
Ciao amigos.
Thanks for readin'!
3/14/2013
Day whatever, we are on tico time
It is been a few days since I last posted, and I wanted to let you know that 1) I am alive and 2) I have not forgotten about you.
For that matter, I have lived life to the almost fullest. The refuge center has tired me out since it is mostly manual work for now (I need to learn how the refuge center operates before taking care of babies). I have never seen so many leaves in my life. Costa Ricans have to raked leaves as much as Sicilians have to sweep the Mt Etnian dust of their porch. Because of the rain, the leaves fall quite often and easily. I thought I knew how to rake leaves until I met Jimmy. After spending a good hour on raking little piles of leaves all over the garden, I gleefully walked back to his quarters to let him know of my accomplishment. Jimmy walked around and told me the spots that, I not only missed, but shook trees to let more leaves fall to the ground. "Falta mucho, uh?"
My smile had faded on my face and I started raking again. Jimmy was an amazing raking partner. Never complained once, and finished pretty much the whole garden while I was still working on my little patch of grass, but I guess that's what it's like when you are a gardener in Costa Rica.
After coming home to my cold shower, my bed and clean clothes, I try my best to enjoy dinner. As I mentioned, the hotel has an amazing restaurant, but in the past three days I have been out in town to eat. I have enjoyed my Costa Rican meal, which consisted of beans and rice with a fresh fish. The lady who prepares the food for the animal at the refuge also owns a restaurant. I saw Xo and Chai, the deer, ran for their food and Tuki Tuki, the toucan, attack other pets for food, so I figured that she must make delicious human food as well. Let me tell you that I devoured that meal. The fish was doused in a Caribbean sauce, while the rice and the beans were a nice complementary side dish. The most amazing thing to me was the fried plantains that came with the fish. It was like a banana cookie that I was allowed during dinner. I would have a bit of fried plantain and a bite of rice and beans, all in the while enjoying Angelina's large family walk in an out of the restaurant along with their two little kittens. The meal came with a free drink called Tamarind. After doing a bit of research, I found out Tamarind is actually a tree (they use the seeds for the drink), which is originally from Africa but was introduced to Central/ South America by the conquistadors. It is sweet and sour at the same time, and best of all (for me), it is filled with Calcium. Instead of taking my pills everyday, I am now drinking one Tamarind Drink a day. It keeps the bone doctor away!
Last night, I went out into town to eat with some of the volunteers at a restaurant called Flip Flop. It is the most hip restaurant in town. Therefore, we had to wait a whole whopping 10 minutes to get seated. Obviously, there is no real hostess here, so we jut waited for a table to get up and sat down when we had a chance. I had a burger and fries, as for the last two days I had been eating Costa Rican food and raw fruits (which is a big no-no according to my travel nurse from Passport Health). My stomach definitely enjoyed it more than it should. I earned that American passport fair and square, and the German girls were eyeing my burger with envy. I shared my fries, as any good food-sharer would and germans eat their fries with Ketchup and Mayonnaise mixed together. As soon as I mixed the two for them, the Ket-yo was met with laughs and smiles. Crazy germans. Then we decided to have daquiris each. I actually had Club soda as I was already extremely tired, and still had to bike home. The fresh fruit truly makes a difference in making a proper daquiri. As any good travelers do, we started swapping travel stories, and Franzeska started to talk about her favorite cheesecake experience, at... The Cheesecake Factory. I had to break her dream and let her know it is brand, and nothing beats a home made cheesecake. I explained that my room mate used to make cheesecakes whenever he wanted, and I had the chance to eat them. 4 German girls might come over to the USA in a short bit to come visit Colton.
Talking about the refuge reminds me that the last time I posted I talked about a little monkey and a baby three toed sloth. I am happy to announce that the baby sloth is still kicking, but sad to say that the baby monkey died that night in the arms of Encar. The baby sloth is carried around in a scarf tied around our waists. It grips on pretty tightly to our shirts and allows us to do our activities, as long as he is warm and fed. He has already gained a bit of weight as do all of our animals. We see his little tummy getting fuller everyday. It is only a matter of time until he has the typical round little stomach that our babies get.
I talk about the animals as if they are my babies but we have constant reminders that they are wild animals, and could very much hurt us. Chipito (remember, our teenage male who freaked out when James was in the cage with Jessa?) came back from his trip to the forest with his toe bitten off and a gash on his head. Another Alpha howler monkey had been roaming around nearby and saw our young flirty females. When he got to close to one of our babies, Chipito went to go and protect her. It only took a minute for the two to start fighting. Chipito didn't win this battle without injuries, but the other monkey left promptly. Our vet stitched him up quickly, but his middle toe was already ripped off. There was nothing we could do about it. He will have to learn to live without it. It isn't like wild monkeys don't have injuries. After we watched Rise of The Planet of the Apes, we know that monkeys are aggressive by nature and very unpredictable (no matter how much they resemble humans in their attitude), yet very smart. Nothing to fear, Chipito is now being cuddled by every female volunteers. I guaranteed him that any human male would be jealous of him, as we are not nearly as helpful and caring when our male equivalents break their legs. He is expected to make a nice recovery physically, we aren't sure about his ego yet though.
Anyway, tomorrow is my day off, therefore, I might go to the beach or on a chocolate tour. I haven't planned anything yet, as I am not sure how I will feel tomorrow.
One thing is sure, I am eating Argentinian tomorrow for lunch.
This is the life of a foodie. Nothing is planned but where/ what we eat.
Eat and sleep, the life of a sloth.
Ciao amigos!
For that matter, I have lived life to the almost fullest. The refuge center has tired me out since it is mostly manual work for now (I need to learn how the refuge center operates before taking care of babies). I have never seen so many leaves in my life. Costa Ricans have to raked leaves as much as Sicilians have to sweep the Mt Etnian dust of their porch. Because of the rain, the leaves fall quite often and easily. I thought I knew how to rake leaves until I met Jimmy. After spending a good hour on raking little piles of leaves all over the garden, I gleefully walked back to his quarters to let him know of my accomplishment. Jimmy walked around and told me the spots that, I not only missed, but shook trees to let more leaves fall to the ground. "Falta mucho, uh?"
My smile had faded on my face and I started raking again. Jimmy was an amazing raking partner. Never complained once, and finished pretty much the whole garden while I was still working on my little patch of grass, but I guess that's what it's like when you are a gardener in Costa Rica.
After coming home to my cold shower, my bed and clean clothes, I try my best to enjoy dinner. As I mentioned, the hotel has an amazing restaurant, but in the past three days I have been out in town to eat. I have enjoyed my Costa Rican meal, which consisted of beans and rice with a fresh fish. The lady who prepares the food for the animal at the refuge also owns a restaurant. I saw Xo and Chai, the deer, ran for their food and Tuki Tuki, the toucan, attack other pets for food, so I figured that she must make delicious human food as well. Let me tell you that I devoured that meal. The fish was doused in a Caribbean sauce, while the rice and the beans were a nice complementary side dish. The most amazing thing to me was the fried plantains that came with the fish. It was like a banana cookie that I was allowed during dinner. I would have a bit of fried plantain and a bite of rice and beans, all in the while enjoying Angelina's large family walk in an out of the restaurant along with their two little kittens. The meal came with a free drink called Tamarind. After doing a bit of research, I found out Tamarind is actually a tree (they use the seeds for the drink), which is originally from Africa but was introduced to Central/ South America by the conquistadors. It is sweet and sour at the same time, and best of all (for me), it is filled with Calcium. Instead of taking my pills everyday, I am now drinking one Tamarind Drink a day. It keeps the bone doctor away!
Last night, I went out into town to eat with some of the volunteers at a restaurant called Flip Flop. It is the most hip restaurant in town. Therefore, we had to wait a whole whopping 10 minutes to get seated. Obviously, there is no real hostess here, so we jut waited for a table to get up and sat down when we had a chance. I had a burger and fries, as for the last two days I had been eating Costa Rican food and raw fruits (which is a big no-no according to my travel nurse from Passport Health). My stomach definitely enjoyed it more than it should. I earned that American passport fair and square, and the German girls were eyeing my burger with envy. I shared my fries, as any good food-sharer would and germans eat their fries with Ketchup and Mayonnaise mixed together. As soon as I mixed the two for them, the Ket-yo was met with laughs and smiles. Crazy germans. Then we decided to have daquiris each. I actually had Club soda as I was already extremely tired, and still had to bike home. The fresh fruit truly makes a difference in making a proper daquiri. As any good travelers do, we started swapping travel stories, and Franzeska started to talk about her favorite cheesecake experience, at... The Cheesecake Factory. I had to break her dream and let her know it is brand, and nothing beats a home made cheesecake. I explained that my room mate used to make cheesecakes whenever he wanted, and I had the chance to eat them. 4 German girls might come over to the USA in a short bit to come visit Colton.
Talking about the refuge reminds me that the last time I posted I talked about a little monkey and a baby three toed sloth. I am happy to announce that the baby sloth is still kicking, but sad to say that the baby monkey died that night in the arms of Encar. The baby sloth is carried around in a scarf tied around our waists. It grips on pretty tightly to our shirts and allows us to do our activities, as long as he is warm and fed. He has already gained a bit of weight as do all of our animals. We see his little tummy getting fuller everyday. It is only a matter of time until he has the typical round little stomach that our babies get.
I talk about the animals as if they are my babies but we have constant reminders that they are wild animals, and could very much hurt us. Chipito (remember, our teenage male who freaked out when James was in the cage with Jessa?) came back from his trip to the forest with his toe bitten off and a gash on his head. Another Alpha howler monkey had been roaming around nearby and saw our young flirty females. When he got to close to one of our babies, Chipito went to go and protect her. It only took a minute for the two to start fighting. Chipito didn't win this battle without injuries, but the other monkey left promptly. Our vet stitched him up quickly, but his middle toe was already ripped off. There was nothing we could do about it. He will have to learn to live without it. It isn't like wild monkeys don't have injuries. After we watched Rise of The Planet of the Apes, we know that monkeys are aggressive by nature and very unpredictable (no matter how much they resemble humans in their attitude), yet very smart. Nothing to fear, Chipito is now being cuddled by every female volunteers. I guaranteed him that any human male would be jealous of him, as we are not nearly as helpful and caring when our male equivalents break their legs. He is expected to make a nice recovery physically, we aren't sure about his ego yet though.
Anyway, tomorrow is my day off, therefore, I might go to the beach or on a chocolate tour. I haven't planned anything yet, as I am not sure how I will feel tomorrow.
One thing is sure, I am eating Argentinian tomorrow for lunch.
This is the life of a foodie. Nothing is planned but where/ what we eat.
Eat and sleep, the life of a sloth.
Ciao amigos!
3/11/2013
New babies arrived!
Today was eventful and uneventful at the same time. There was no crazy hunt for spiders or beer, but rather it was raking, raking, raking and finally scrubbing the walls of the stables. It has been a gorgeous and sunny day, which would have been amazing if I could have laid around with sloths all day, but today was manual labor. At first, I was okay with it and thought about how much I didn't mind it, but right before lunch time, I turned into a little monster. I was hangry- hungry and angry. I was sit and tired of raking leaves, when they kept on falling, and the never ending tasks. I was tired of hearing people freaking out when I had my break from being in the sun. Listen, other nameless volunteer, you go rack in the sun for 4 hours straight while having Jimmy tell you how your racking is depressingly slow, and then you can tell me how if I never look like I am helping out. I am gonna unleash Diablolino, our margay, on your annoying personality and then you will have bigger worries than what I am doing with my life at the moment.
After lunch, everything was easier. It is surprising how just a little bit of food can so to the human spirit. While we were eating lunch, Encar came out to show us the newest arrival. It was little baby monkey wrapped in one of the blankets I had donated. Encar doesn't expect to survive the night, as it is so small and had a bot-fly.
For those of you who are wondering what a bot-fly is, do not fear. You're the majority. A bot-fly is a fly that reproduce in the following manner. If you have food nearby, you might want to scarf it down before you read the following. A bot-fly will catch a mosquito and force its eggs into it. The mosquito then bites a mammal and inject the eggs into the skin. The larvae grows peacefully and after a month crawls out of the skin to buries itself into the ground to continue its metamorphosis.
It can happen to human, and the only way to know is when you have a mosquito bite that just keeps on growing and growing. It is easily removable after a week of growing, and it is harmless to the host until the larvae gets out and leaves that gaping hole in your flesh.
This baby monkey had one of those holes, and it was Encar's job to makes sure it doesn't get infect and that the new baby gets enough warmth.
The second arrival was of a baby three toed sloths. Some strangers came into the center at the end of our shifts holding on to a towel. Wrapped in it was a sloth slightly larger than the size of my fist. Encar gave us a statistic for the survival rate of baby sloths. 99% of them die. It was almost unfair. He wasn't injured and other than looking exhausted from the trip, he moved around fine. Encar is not going to sleep tonight as she has two new babies to care for.
In the meantime, I want to make sure to thank everyone who donated, as I see the items being used everyday. The blankets have been used on sloths, baby monkeys and the adult monkeys, while the goat milk is used for all of the baby sloths and even the squirrels. The bene-bac syringes has helped Angelina, our monkey and Frankie, our adult sloths feel better.
Now enjoy this video of Pomme, our three toes sloth trying to escape to the Cayman cage:
After lunch, everything was easier. It is surprising how just a little bit of food can so to the human spirit. While we were eating lunch, Encar came out to show us the newest arrival. It was little baby monkey wrapped in one of the blankets I had donated. Encar doesn't expect to survive the night, as it is so small and had a bot-fly.
For those of you who are wondering what a bot-fly is, do not fear. You're the majority. A bot-fly is a fly that reproduce in the following manner. If you have food nearby, you might want to scarf it down before you read the following. A bot-fly will catch a mosquito and force its eggs into it. The mosquito then bites a mammal and inject the eggs into the skin. The larvae grows peacefully and after a month crawls out of the skin to buries itself into the ground to continue its metamorphosis.
It can happen to human, and the only way to know is when you have a mosquito bite that just keeps on growing and growing. It is easily removable after a week of growing, and it is harmless to the host until the larvae gets out and leaves that gaping hole in your flesh.
This baby monkey had one of those holes, and it was Encar's job to makes sure it doesn't get infect and that the new baby gets enough warmth.
The second arrival was of a baby three toed sloths. Some strangers came into the center at the end of our shifts holding on to a towel. Wrapped in it was a sloth slightly larger than the size of my fist. Encar gave us a statistic for the survival rate of baby sloths. 99% of them die. It was almost unfair. He wasn't injured and other than looking exhausted from the trip, he moved around fine. Encar is not going to sleep tonight as she has two new babies to care for.
In the meantime, I want to make sure to thank everyone who donated, as I see the items being used everyday. The blankets have been used on sloths, baby monkeys and the adult monkeys, while the goat milk is used for all of the baby sloths and even the squirrels. The bene-bac syringes has helped Angelina, our monkey and Frankie, our adult sloths feel better.
Now enjoy this video of Pomme, our three toes sloth trying to escape to the Cayman cage:
3/10/2013
Far from Philadelphia Irish parade
I realize that today was the kick off start for the next week of St Patrick's day celebrations in Philadelphia. I remember last year getting to celebrate twice in the heart of Upenn area. While everyone enjoyed the nice weather in Philly and the daylight savings, I tried my best to finish writing about today. I am still exhausted from my day out. This is what I get for not biking more often in Philly.
I forgot an important detail of that day about getting to Manzanillo. This detail might make me look better than a fat lazy american who can barely bike 20 miles. The road to Punta Uva is flat, dotted with potholes. Once in Punta Uva, the road changes landscape. Three big hills awaited my poor scrawny legs. The hills had up sides, and down sides, which meant that I was going to need to bike up hill on my way to Manzanillo and home. Obviously, I made it home, but it wasn't without intense pain in my calf muscles for that night which have prolonged to tonight (which didn't help me bike to the Refuge Center at 7 AM).
After I posted my post last night and set up the foursquare account, we actually headed out to the nearest American Sport bar. They had a promise of free shots of guarro, which is another fermented grain. It really is the Costa Rican equivalent of terrible house tequila. It burns and tastes what you would expect a 17 year-old to drink quietly in his parents' basement. It was another bottle I wasn't gonna touch in a long time. On a lighter note, I finally found the beer I was looking for. After looking for a good 5 hours, we had found it. Costa Rica Craft Brewing company brews mostly two kind of beers, a pale ale (Libertas) and a red ale (Segua). Even though I had been looking for a Libertas, I ordered a Segua. And I enjoyed it. It wasn't spectacular, but after drinking Imperial for three days, it was a much needed change. Again, it was very typical for a Red ale, but very atypical for a Costa Rican beer.
This morning, I had quite the surprise when my alarm clock rang at 6:30AM. Not because it rang. I had set it for that, but when I stepped outside all dressed, ready to go cuddle up with a monkey, I realized it was still dark outside. Even the shrieking of the usual morning birds was quieter. A bad feeling settled in my stomach and I went back in my room. For whatever reason, my instinct told me to google "Costa Rica time" and so I did. It was the same gut feeling that had urging to press a red button by a closing gate in the Metro in Paris. Well, surely enough, I was now two hours behind with the USA. My phone had moved back an hour on its own, which would have been perfectly acceptable in the good ol' country, but here, Costa Rica doesn't have daylight savings. So when my clock moved back one hour, the real time didn't. I was now up and ready to go, bike in hand and backpack on when I really had one hour to spare. I felt silly as my biking partner knew the real time and wasn't up. I parked my bike in the lobby and told the security guard that I will be back in an hour. He nodded and I went back upstairs. There was no way I was going to sleep now. I was in no mood for reading, and the computer screen was too bright for me to try to read. I sat in my bed and tried to think of things to do. So I cleaned my small space, and re-organized my suitcase so everything was easy access. I have no idea how I spent one hour re-organizing my suitcase, but I managed. You might now call me the master of time wasting, because my suitcase as of after my shower is back in its original state.
Marjon, the other volunteer, was waiting for me downstairs. I apologized and put my hair up in a tight bun and off we went to the Refuge Center.
Today was Sunday, which means no visitors. This day is dedicated to taking the animals out of their enclosure for the whole day. We do therapy with our tucan,and hawks. We try to force Toneli, the baby monkey that Encar adopted (Remember from my last blog post?) to deal with his anxiety separation. We get Stanley, our Kinkajoo, to come out in the sun and try to adapt to his new found blindness. The monkeys usually go out into the forest for the entire day. There they get to meet other wild monkeys, and if they do find a spot in the troop they join. If not, they can come back with us to their safe heaven.
Chipito is our teenage male howler monkey. In this tribe, he is the alpha male. An alpha male who is scared of the baby monkeys, and of wasps, but there aren't a lot of males around this parts. Little did we know that Chipito hates males. He doesn't only hate males, but if he is being cuddles by one of the female volunteers and a male walks into the area, he will turn aggressive. I witnessed a teenage howler monkey go crazy today on our poor little Jessa. James, her boyfriend, had walked into the monkey enclosure to play with the babies and see if anyone needed to stay back from the jungle (usually out sick monkeys do not go as to rest). Chipito started out by pulling on Jessa's hair, and as soon as James tried to help Chipito off of his girlfriend's hair, Chipito started screaming and howling all the while still pulling on Jessa's hair. It wasn't until I went to get Encar, that we found out what the real problem was. She calmly said "I am not going in there. Get James out and it will be resolved." So I rushed over and told James to come out. Within seconds Chipito had let go of Jessa's hair and rest his head on her messy head of hair. He actually closed his eyes as if he was going for a nap. Jessa and I were in the dormitories, quiet, waiting for him to start acting out again. We could hear our heartbeat in our ears. Chipito actually ended up falling alseep in Jessa's arms later that day, and James got an earful from Jessa about nearly killing her by trying to help her out.
After the event, I went from high up to low down. The baby sloths needed to be taken out for their daily affection. I was chosen to cuddle up with Pomme, our little three toed sloth. We had recently gotten her and she was still looking for her mom. So as soon as she couldn't feel you or hear you, she would start letting out little squeals. It was absolutely adorable as I started napping with her and as she would move, she would suddenly cry desperately until I let her three toes hang my index finger. If this was the biggest complain of the day, I would take it anytime (especially over spider hunting).
The last animal I got to enjoy the company off was Stanley, out kinkajoo. We recently found out that Stanley is blind, and that's why he doesn't come out or try to climb branches very often. Not only that, but Kinkajoos are nocturnal, so we have to wake up out little cat-monkey hybrid and force him to run around and play with us. Encar is amazing at playing with Stanley. I tried to reproduce her technique but it just ended with Stanley, confusingly running around on the grass and into the horse enclosure. My poor little Stanley had no idea where I was, and there was far too many people talking for him to realize what I was suppose to sound like. So instead, we laid on the grass, with him on my chest napping and me looking at the blue sky.
At the end of day he was excited to come back to his bed, and to smell that we had a fresh coconut waiting for him. Too bad we placed it right next to his water bowl and he fell into it. But it didn't matter, to us we call Stanley, Stan the Man. I look forward to many more naps with Stan the Man.
Anyway, I am about to try to catch up on my sleep from last night.
Buenas Noches!
I forgot an important detail of that day about getting to Manzanillo. This detail might make me look better than a fat lazy american who can barely bike 20 miles. The road to Punta Uva is flat, dotted with potholes. Once in Punta Uva, the road changes landscape. Three big hills awaited my poor scrawny legs. The hills had up sides, and down sides, which meant that I was going to need to bike up hill on my way to Manzanillo and home. Obviously, I made it home, but it wasn't without intense pain in my calf muscles for that night which have prolonged to tonight (which didn't help me bike to the Refuge Center at 7 AM).
After I posted my post last night and set up the foursquare account, we actually headed out to the nearest American Sport bar. They had a promise of free shots of guarro, which is another fermented grain. It really is the Costa Rican equivalent of terrible house tequila. It burns and tastes what you would expect a 17 year-old to drink quietly in his parents' basement. It was another bottle I wasn't gonna touch in a long time. On a lighter note, I finally found the beer I was looking for. After looking for a good 5 hours, we had found it. Costa Rica Craft Brewing company brews mostly two kind of beers, a pale ale (Libertas) and a red ale (Segua). Even though I had been looking for a Libertas, I ordered a Segua. And I enjoyed it. It wasn't spectacular, but after drinking Imperial for three days, it was a much needed change. Again, it was very typical for a Red ale, but very atypical for a Costa Rican beer.
This morning, I had quite the surprise when my alarm clock rang at 6:30AM. Not because it rang. I had set it for that, but when I stepped outside all dressed, ready to go cuddle up with a monkey, I realized it was still dark outside. Even the shrieking of the usual morning birds was quieter. A bad feeling settled in my stomach and I went back in my room. For whatever reason, my instinct told me to google "Costa Rica time" and so I did. It was the same gut feeling that had urging to press a red button by a closing gate in the Metro in Paris. Well, surely enough, I was now two hours behind with the USA. My phone had moved back an hour on its own, which would have been perfectly acceptable in the good ol' country, but here, Costa Rica doesn't have daylight savings. So when my clock moved back one hour, the real time didn't. I was now up and ready to go, bike in hand and backpack on when I really had one hour to spare. I felt silly as my biking partner knew the real time and wasn't up. I parked my bike in the lobby and told the security guard that I will be back in an hour. He nodded and I went back upstairs. There was no way I was going to sleep now. I was in no mood for reading, and the computer screen was too bright for me to try to read. I sat in my bed and tried to think of things to do. So I cleaned my small space, and re-organized my suitcase so everything was easy access. I have no idea how I spent one hour re-organizing my suitcase, but I managed. You might now call me the master of time wasting, because my suitcase as of after my shower is back in its original state.
Marjon, the other volunteer, was waiting for me downstairs. I apologized and put my hair up in a tight bun and off we went to the Refuge Center.
Today was Sunday, which means no visitors. This day is dedicated to taking the animals out of their enclosure for the whole day. We do therapy with our tucan,and hawks. We try to force Toneli, the baby monkey that Encar adopted (Remember from my last blog post?) to deal with his anxiety separation. We get Stanley, our Kinkajoo, to come out in the sun and try to adapt to his new found blindness. The monkeys usually go out into the forest for the entire day. There they get to meet other wild monkeys, and if they do find a spot in the troop they join. If not, they can come back with us to their safe heaven.
Chipito is our teenage male howler monkey. In this tribe, he is the alpha male. An alpha male who is scared of the baby monkeys, and of wasps, but there aren't a lot of males around this parts. Little did we know that Chipito hates males. He doesn't only hate males, but if he is being cuddles by one of the female volunteers and a male walks into the area, he will turn aggressive. I witnessed a teenage howler monkey go crazy today on our poor little Jessa. James, her boyfriend, had walked into the monkey enclosure to play with the babies and see if anyone needed to stay back from the jungle (usually out sick monkeys do not go as to rest). Chipito started out by pulling on Jessa's hair, and as soon as James tried to help Chipito off of his girlfriend's hair, Chipito started screaming and howling all the while still pulling on Jessa's hair. It wasn't until I went to get Encar, that we found out what the real problem was. She calmly said "I am not going in there. Get James out and it will be resolved." So I rushed over and told James to come out. Within seconds Chipito had let go of Jessa's hair and rest his head on her messy head of hair. He actually closed his eyes as if he was going for a nap. Jessa and I were in the dormitories, quiet, waiting for him to start acting out again. We could hear our heartbeat in our ears. Chipito actually ended up falling alseep in Jessa's arms later that day, and James got an earful from Jessa about nearly killing her by trying to help her out.
After the event, I went from high up to low down. The baby sloths needed to be taken out for their daily affection. I was chosen to cuddle up with Pomme, our little three toed sloth. We had recently gotten her and she was still looking for her mom. So as soon as she couldn't feel you or hear you, she would start letting out little squeals. It was absolutely adorable as I started napping with her and as she would move, she would suddenly cry desperately until I let her three toes hang my index finger. If this was the biggest complain of the day, I would take it anytime (especially over spider hunting).
The last animal I got to enjoy the company off was Stanley, out kinkajoo. We recently found out that Stanley is blind, and that's why he doesn't come out or try to climb branches very often. Not only that, but Kinkajoos are nocturnal, so we have to wake up out little cat-monkey hybrid and force him to run around and play with us. Encar is amazing at playing with Stanley. I tried to reproduce her technique but it just ended with Stanley, confusingly running around on the grass and into the horse enclosure. My poor little Stanley had no idea where I was, and there was far too many people talking for him to realize what I was suppose to sound like. So instead, we laid on the grass, with him on my chest napping and me looking at the blue sky.
At the end of day he was excited to come back to his bed, and to smell that we had a fresh coconut waiting for him. Too bad we placed it right next to his water bowl and he fell into it. But it didn't matter, to us we call Stanley, Stan the Man. I look forward to many more naps with Stan the Man.
Anyway, I am about to try to catch up on my sleep from last night.
Buenas Noches!
3/09/2013
3 Days in, already a day off
This morning I woke up early again, but what really got me up was the delicious smell of bacon. I remember making myself a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich at home and worrying that this will be the last time I eat bacon in months. Yet, here I am again, surprised at the world.
I didn't eat my American breakfast today. I actually took the two hours this morning to face my fear of sitting in a hammock. If you have only seen the braided hammock that look slightly comfortable but are nicely displayed at Lowe's (or wherever hammock are sold), you haven't seen a real hammock. It is really just a piece of cloth attached at the ends by two ropes. Strong ropes, I am sure, but ropes non-the-less. I opened up the hammock to make sure there was no spiders, scorpions or snakes. There was none. I am not 100% why there would be some, but hey, nature has this funny way of finding its way around me. Ask the three mosquitos that braved the 30% DEET solution on my skin to access my blood!
I was half hoping there would be some sort of strange creature in there so I could give myself a reason to never try again. But here I was, ready to go. The terrifying thing about hammocks are not the imminent danger of hurting yourself physically but of really embarrassing yourself. This was the reason I picked such an early hour, when everyone was sleeping and no one was around other the night security guard who had already caught me talk baby to the stray cat the other morning. There was no shame between the two of us. If I was to fall and embarrass myself, he would be the one I wanted to do it in front of. And so I opened up the hammock, because the cloth really doesn't look like there is any end to it. I plotted my butt into the hammock, my feet were still to the ground so I could still have my balance. I sighed, while holding my laptop (I was hoping to re-read my last entry), closed my eyes and quickly put my legs in the hammock and rested my head back.
I stood still for a good minute, making sure the hammock wasn't going to break. My movements in the hammock were the equivalent of a sloth's. I opened my laptop and started reading. After five minutes of concentration, I forgot I was in a hammock.
I can safely say, I am no longer scared of getting in a hammock. Fear conquered. I think I will always double check for scorpions, spiders and snakes, but I think I am ready to publicly sit in a hammock.
After my hammock incident, I couldn't ignore the black hole that had replaced my stomach. The bacon smell had turned into sausage smell, and the two mixed together made my stomach angry. It growled once, and I knew what it meant. I took my malaria medications and went into town. I didn't take my bike, because I wanted to take a walk on the beach. And so I did. I arrived in town within 5 minutes. There is three places to be in Puerto Viejo: EZ time, TexMex and Johnny's place. Texmex is the place where all the dodgy, Rastafarians hang out. If you are looking for a baggy of Marijuana, that's the place to go. Johnny's place is a bar restaurant that has events everynight. EZ time is another bar restaurant where they allow people to play their music whenever. I wanted to go there for breakfast, but apparently 9am is too early for breakfast here. So, I ended up at a Spanish restaurant... So much for my Costa Rican meal.
A German couple sat down at my table since there was non open, and we discussed where they traveled, and where I was going. The woman looked exactly like Scarlett Johansson and had some crazy stories about her backpacking experience/ hiking from Panama up to Puero Viejo, and all over Thailand. She had worked at an elephant rescue center and was telling me about this elephant who had three legs. I'm still not sure I can believe her, or imagine it, but why would she lie right?After the whole description of how a tree legged elephant walked, we discussed hair problems, as after all we are girls, and laughed over my American out-of-shape problems. They were pleasant to have breakfast with and if this was gonna be my life, I wouldn't be too upset about it.
After my avocado-scrambled eggs filled breakfast, I went to the tourism office to try to see about surfing lessons. It turns out a two hours lesson is 55$. I had budgeted 40$ a day for food and activities. Therefore, I might wait when I am a little more within my travels until I take a hand in surfing. The funny thing about this surfing school is that you can't call yourself. The tourism office had to call themselves and set up a meeting for you. It sounds exciting, but again, my only real worry is my budget. Trying to be responsible is tough at times.
Before I took off for the beach, Linda, JT's pitbull mutt puppy, had a limp. JT explained to us that she had jumped out of his truck while it was still moving. So her leg was hurting. She is an intrepid puppy. She enjoyed barking at a dog double her size this morning, all the while limping. She didn't back down, or run towards me to hide between my legs. She stood her ground until the pacific dog left the propriety, which I don't think it ever planned on walking on.
In the afternoon, Raligitano and I went all the way to Manzanillo, which is the last town on the road. We took a quick stop in Punta Uva, where we went to the ocean and had an informal photoshot. And by that I mean, I mostly took pictures of him while he enjoyed the ocean as much as he could. We had hoped that this one bar had some Libertas - another local beer- so we could have some other Costa Rican beer than Imperial (Raleigh actually went on a tour of the brewery, so I got jealous), but as it turned out the remote bar didn't have any, so we continued on. On the way to Punta Uva, we took a quick stop and found a little kitten that must have been hit by a bike. His spine was deformed and it forced him to walk funny. At first, we thought he was just acting silly, but after we petted him (He/She was extremely friendly) we noticed the poor little thing's broken back. It was a miracle he could still walk. It was at this moment that I truly understood what Raleigh meant when he said Animals here aren't as pampered as in the USA, and therefore the animals are tougher. A puppy can jump off a moving truck and walk it off with a little limp. While a kitten can be run over by a bicycle/ motorcycle and walk it out with a deformation. It was sad to see, and as I debated in taking it home with me, I realized that this was Morocco all over again. If I was to take every orphan cats home from my travels, the TSA would officially create a title "cat lady" for my many returns to the USA with multiple foreign cats. My passport would have various stamps warning the security of my status as a cat lover.Therefore, I will try to keep my cat loving to the minimum, or on the Refuge's propriety, and leave my little furry friends alone and come visit them while I am here.
While we got to Manzanillo, we were still hunting for our local beer (Libertas, one of the Costa Rica's Craft Brewery), but it turns out that, even though Manzanillo is at the end of the road, it is smaller than Puerto Viejo. We settled on sharing a small flask of the local coconut rum called, Lizano Cahuita. We took a quick half shot of the devil's liquid and could smell coconut for a good five minutes. It was not our favorite, but as the town Cahuita is a few miles and our efforts in trying to drink local beer had failed, we felt impulsed to purchase it and try it. Well, I had it once and I am happy to say that I feel very local for being able to say that I had a bit of it but the next time I chose my alcohol, I will have to go with something less fruity.
Once we got back to the hotel, Raleigh and I actually ended setting up a foursquare for Kaya's place. My new goal is to be the mayor of the place and to be able to brag about it back home. Since no one knows of this place yet, it should be fairly easy. And this my friends is a real coup d'etat.
Ciao, amigos!
It is time to be off on more adventures :)
I didn't eat my American breakfast today. I actually took the two hours this morning to face my fear of sitting in a hammock. If you have only seen the braided hammock that look slightly comfortable but are nicely displayed at Lowe's (or wherever hammock are sold), you haven't seen a real hammock. It is really just a piece of cloth attached at the ends by two ropes. Strong ropes, I am sure, but ropes non-the-less. I opened up the hammock to make sure there was no spiders, scorpions or snakes. There was none. I am not 100% why there would be some, but hey, nature has this funny way of finding its way around me. Ask the three mosquitos that braved the 30% DEET solution on my skin to access my blood!
I was half hoping there would be some sort of strange creature in there so I could give myself a reason to never try again. But here I was, ready to go. The terrifying thing about hammocks are not the imminent danger of hurting yourself physically but of really embarrassing yourself. This was the reason I picked such an early hour, when everyone was sleeping and no one was around other the night security guard who had already caught me talk baby to the stray cat the other morning. There was no shame between the two of us. If I was to fall and embarrass myself, he would be the one I wanted to do it in front of. And so I opened up the hammock, because the cloth really doesn't look like there is any end to it. I plotted my butt into the hammock, my feet were still to the ground so I could still have my balance. I sighed, while holding my laptop (I was hoping to re-read my last entry), closed my eyes and quickly put my legs in the hammock and rested my head back.
I stood still for a good minute, making sure the hammock wasn't going to break. My movements in the hammock were the equivalent of a sloth's. I opened my laptop and started reading. After five minutes of concentration, I forgot I was in a hammock.
I can safely say, I am no longer scared of getting in a hammock. Fear conquered. I think I will always double check for scorpions, spiders and snakes, but I think I am ready to publicly sit in a hammock.
After my hammock incident, I couldn't ignore the black hole that had replaced my stomach. The bacon smell had turned into sausage smell, and the two mixed together made my stomach angry. It growled once, and I knew what it meant. I took my malaria medications and went into town. I didn't take my bike, because I wanted to take a walk on the beach. And so I did. I arrived in town within 5 minutes. There is three places to be in Puerto Viejo: EZ time, TexMex and Johnny's place. Texmex is the place where all the dodgy, Rastafarians hang out. If you are looking for a baggy of Marijuana, that's the place to go. Johnny's place is a bar restaurant that has events everynight. EZ time is another bar restaurant where they allow people to play their music whenever. I wanted to go there for breakfast, but apparently 9am is too early for breakfast here. So, I ended up at a Spanish restaurant... So much for my Costa Rican meal.
A German couple sat down at my table since there was non open, and we discussed where they traveled, and where I was going. The woman looked exactly like Scarlett Johansson and had some crazy stories about her backpacking experience/ hiking from Panama up to Puero Viejo, and all over Thailand. She had worked at an elephant rescue center and was telling me about this elephant who had three legs. I'm still not sure I can believe her, or imagine it, but why would she lie right?After the whole description of how a tree legged elephant walked, we discussed hair problems, as after all we are girls, and laughed over my American out-of-shape problems. They were pleasant to have breakfast with and if this was gonna be my life, I wouldn't be too upset about it.
After my avocado-scrambled eggs filled breakfast, I went to the tourism office to try to see about surfing lessons. It turns out a two hours lesson is 55$. I had budgeted 40$ a day for food and activities. Therefore, I might wait when I am a little more within my travels until I take a hand in surfing. The funny thing about this surfing school is that you can't call yourself. The tourism office had to call themselves and set up a meeting for you. It sounds exciting, but again, my only real worry is my budget. Trying to be responsible is tough at times.
Before I took off for the beach, Linda, JT's pitbull mutt puppy, had a limp. JT explained to us that she had jumped out of his truck while it was still moving. So her leg was hurting. She is an intrepid puppy. She enjoyed barking at a dog double her size this morning, all the while limping. She didn't back down, or run towards me to hide between my legs. She stood her ground until the pacific dog left the propriety, which I don't think it ever planned on walking on.
In the afternoon, Raligitano and I went all the way to Manzanillo, which is the last town on the road. We took a quick stop in Punta Uva, where we went to the ocean and had an informal photoshot. And by that I mean, I mostly took pictures of him while he enjoyed the ocean as much as he could. We had hoped that this one bar had some Libertas - another local beer- so we could have some other Costa Rican beer than Imperial (Raleigh actually went on a tour of the brewery, so I got jealous), but as it turned out the remote bar didn't have any, so we continued on. On the way to Punta Uva, we took a quick stop and found a little kitten that must have been hit by a bike. His spine was deformed and it forced him to walk funny. At first, we thought he was just acting silly, but after we petted him (He/She was extremely friendly) we noticed the poor little thing's broken back. It was a miracle he could still walk. It was at this moment that I truly understood what Raleigh meant when he said Animals here aren't as pampered as in the USA, and therefore the animals are tougher. A puppy can jump off a moving truck and walk it off with a little limp. While a kitten can be run over by a bicycle/ motorcycle and walk it out with a deformation. It was sad to see, and as I debated in taking it home with me, I realized that this was Morocco all over again. If I was to take every orphan cats home from my travels, the TSA would officially create a title "cat lady" for my many returns to the USA with multiple foreign cats. My passport would have various stamps warning the security of my status as a cat lover.Therefore, I will try to keep my cat loving to the minimum, or on the Refuge's propriety, and leave my little furry friends alone and come visit them while I am here.
While we got to Manzanillo, we were still hunting for our local beer (Libertas, one of the Costa Rica's Craft Brewery), but it turns out that, even though Manzanillo is at the end of the road, it is smaller than Puerto Viejo. We settled on sharing a small flask of the local coconut rum called, Lizano Cahuita. We took a quick half shot of the devil's liquid and could smell coconut for a good five minutes. It was not our favorite, but as the town Cahuita is a few miles and our efforts in trying to drink local beer had failed, we felt impulsed to purchase it and try it. Well, I had it once and I am happy to say that I feel very local for being able to say that I had a bit of it but the next time I chose my alcohol, I will have to go with something less fruity.
Once we got back to the hotel, Raleigh and I actually ended setting up a foursquare for Kaya's place. My new goal is to be the mayor of the place and to be able to brag about it back home. Since no one knows of this place yet, it should be fairly easy. And this my friends is a real coup d'etat.
Ciao, amigos!
It is time to be off on more adventures :)
3/08/2013
1st day at the refuge
Last night, the hotel I am staying at had a "Raligitano night", It's really Raleigh playing the guitar. The staff who was so friendly to me the first night was playing, so I went. Or more like, I had to eat dinner and I wanted to try the local beer (Imperial) and I figured why not listen to some good music. He did play some good music, I won't deny I had a good time. It was a good turn out for his first time at the place. The owner, JT and his son, Luke were there too. Luke is this rambunctious toddler who tends to do what he wants. I think he is hilarious and he has already given me a scare when he ran towards the road for some coconut. But last night, Luke brought his machete, "Macheche". Macheche is made it out of wood, but in the hands of a toddler during an open mic can cause as much terror as a steel sharp machete int he hands of a maniac. As he was throwing around his Macheche, and Raleigh was trying to sing "Sexy bitch", I couldn't help but laugh at the scene I was witnessing. I came all the way from Philadelphia, escaped a snow storm and inevitable double shifts as a hostess, to see a young toddler screaming in Spanglish and throwing his wooden machete at the ground as a grown man tried his hardest to sing acoustically a club song . It isn't what you expect everyday. I surely never expected it.
The restaurant in the hotel has good meals, and therefore I had no problem eating there. I am a little concern at the lack of Costa Rican food in my diet at the moment, but I am in no hurry to stuff rice and beans down my throat. Maybe tomorrow for lunch after I find myself a surf school...
The next morning (this morning), I woke up bright and early at six. It wasn't just my body's reaction to the one hour time change, but also, the fact that I had found the other volunteer in the hotel and she had promised to take me to the refuge at 7am. I couldn't be late on my first day. This particular lady is a Dutch nurse who has been here for two months. She cares for the baby sloths in the nursery and bikes at a reasonable speed. I followed her after I managed to gather the donations that I had brought over (which I couldn't fit all in my backpack). The bike ride is maybe 25 mns at the most on a very flat road. The only real danger are the occasional car that is confused about which side to drive on and the casual stray dog that looks confused on the road. Once I arrived, I parked my bike and entered the residency. This sanctuary is nothing short of paradise within paradise. Even in the rain, I could frolic between Tucans, Lola the parrot and Chai the deer (without counting the baby monkeys that demanded to climb on your shoulders).
I was given a very very quick and brief tour of the sanctuary while everyone was getting the place ready for the first visitors. Cages had to be clean and animals had to bed fed. Among the chaos, I am not sure I learned anything valuable, but I was promised a free tour, and therefore, I took the chance and started working. First, I racked leaves. My second task, given to me by our Costa Rican gardener Jimmy (yes here too the gardeners are from Central America), was to kill every spider I saw and to clean the cobwebs. I stood there as I watched him kill three. He kept putting them in his hands to prove to me they didn't bite and then threw them under his boot. I squirmed while holding my broom and waited for Jessa, my partner for the day. She was not pleased with the news. For the first five minutes, we cleaned cobwebs, then we encountered our first spider. This was no baby spider that we see in North America. This was a palm size (this description might be exaggerated by my imagination) black and yellow spider that inhabited a web made out of silk that the almighty scientists are working with to create bullet proof vests. Paul (the woman who tried to explain to me what the refuge was all about) came around, and I explained to her our task. Since we had been standing there trying to build up the courage to bring this spider down and squish it, Jessa had gotten her broom stuck and was standing still so the spider wouldn't move, while I was on the other side trying to figure out if I would actually be able to squish it once it is on the ground. Paul laughed and told us to wait for one second. She came back with Kyle, a very quiet man who looks like he could either 16 or 40. He grabbed my broom, scooped up the spider and brought it outside. I ran to Jessa's side and we had a shiver going down our spine, while Jimmy was watching all of this smiling. The monster came up behind us and tickled our neck, to get a reaction out of us. Well, we both screamed and swatted at our neck as Kyle was on his way back. The dream team was completed, Kyle would catch the spiders and release them, while we would just take care of empty cobwebs. This plan worked for the rest of the day, until the tour started. I screamed for Kyle, and he came running with his broom and marveled at the giant creature in front of his eyes. - We did commit some abortions as we found spider-egg-pockets on the monkey dorms.- That was the end of my experience with the spider hunting.
The tour had started and I was trying not to show my excitement, all the while checking that I didn't smell like sweat, monkey poop and sloths. I didn't, at least not against the other volunteers. There are many different types of animals at the refuge. The refuge is actually were the owners live. It used to be their garden, until the people of Puerto Viejo, Cahuita, Cocles and Manzanillo found out two biologists from Spain had settled there. One night, a woman dropped off a sick baby jaguar, and as Encar tried to save the baby jaguar, an idea came to her mind. Since so many locals came to them with sick animals, they might as well start to accept injured animals and rehabilitate them. The baby jaguar didn't make it, but throughout the years they had many more animals, some who survived and some who didn't. The ocelot I was so excited to work with died two nights ago of a seizure. It had epilepsy and didn't survive this one particular strong seizure. The only remaining big cat is a Marguay:
This is not the one from the center. The one we have is only approachable by Encar and Sandro (the owners). This Marguay was found around this size (in the video above) at the border of Panama and Costa Rica. Some man was trying to sell it on the black market for 20,000$. The little kitten Marguay, a carnivorous animal, was fed only coffee and bread for months. As you can imagine, it is not fond of humans, especially males. It is also a little shorter than a typical Marguay, but it is such a tiny difference that it doesn't matter. They tried to release it once, and it ate the neighbor's chickens, causing a huge scene in the village. Sandro had to buy new chickens and I don't think the neighbors are friends with the refuge anymore. The second time he was released, he came back with scratches on his face. Encar and Sandro suspect that he was too young to be released and got into a fight and lost.
Most of the animals that were turned over to the refuge were once pets and therefore are either aggressive or too friendly towards humans. It is evident when an animal was a pet. Chai, our white tail deer comes up to you and acts like a dog, licking you for your salty skin and demanding scratched behind the ear. While Lola, our parrot has learned to mimick a baby howler monkey's cry to get attention, and uses it to play tricks on us. She laughs this deep maniacal laughter when her trick works. The most recent dump was this woman who drive from San Jose (remember how it is a four hour drive?) to drop off a baby howler monkey whose mother was shot. Encar is now its mother, and whenever she walked by he cries for her.
There is no feeling like having a baby monkey (whatever it be spider monkey or howler monkey) cuddle into your neck asking for milk at the end of a spider-killing day. I will tell you that much.
On a side note, I did give some of the donations to the center. The vet grabbed the syringes, the coagulating solutions, the Front line and the goat milk and went "So precious. So, so, so precious." I explain to her that this wasn't only from me, but also from my friends, and my mother's friends. She only had one response "You have good friends. Generous friends. Good people." If only she knows that Sunday will be another gift giving day. Anyway, I had to get my picture taken. So after 6 hours of hard labor, my photo is on the web with everyone's donations.
After the bike ride home, I went directly to the beach. This is no Ocean City beach. Those waves hit you hard. I didn't expect it at first, and goodness I swallowed salty water. But the whole experience washed off the crass and sweat of the day. It was refreshing and I wished I could transport people down here, rather than come back up north.
Alright, it is time for a non-Costa Rican dinner!
Ciao, amigos!
The restaurant in the hotel has good meals, and therefore I had no problem eating there. I am a little concern at the lack of Costa Rican food in my diet at the moment, but I am in no hurry to stuff rice and beans down my throat. Maybe tomorrow for lunch after I find myself a surf school...
The next morning (this morning), I woke up bright and early at six. It wasn't just my body's reaction to the one hour time change, but also, the fact that I had found the other volunteer in the hotel and she had promised to take me to the refuge at 7am. I couldn't be late on my first day. This particular lady is a Dutch nurse who has been here for two months. She cares for the baby sloths in the nursery and bikes at a reasonable speed. I followed her after I managed to gather the donations that I had brought over (which I couldn't fit all in my backpack). The bike ride is maybe 25 mns at the most on a very flat road. The only real danger are the occasional car that is confused about which side to drive on and the casual stray dog that looks confused on the road. Once I arrived, I parked my bike and entered the residency. This sanctuary is nothing short of paradise within paradise. Even in the rain, I could frolic between Tucans, Lola the parrot and Chai the deer (without counting the baby monkeys that demanded to climb on your shoulders).
I was given a very very quick and brief tour of the sanctuary while everyone was getting the place ready for the first visitors. Cages had to be clean and animals had to bed fed. Among the chaos, I am not sure I learned anything valuable, but I was promised a free tour, and therefore, I took the chance and started working. First, I racked leaves. My second task, given to me by our Costa Rican gardener Jimmy (yes here too the gardeners are from Central America), was to kill every spider I saw and to clean the cobwebs. I stood there as I watched him kill three. He kept putting them in his hands to prove to me they didn't bite and then threw them under his boot. I squirmed while holding my broom and waited for Jessa, my partner for the day. She was not pleased with the news. For the first five minutes, we cleaned cobwebs, then we encountered our first spider. This was no baby spider that we see in North America. This was a palm size (this description might be exaggerated by my imagination) black and yellow spider that inhabited a web made out of silk that the almighty scientists are working with to create bullet proof vests. Paul (the woman who tried to explain to me what the refuge was all about) came around, and I explained to her our task. Since we had been standing there trying to build up the courage to bring this spider down and squish it, Jessa had gotten her broom stuck and was standing still so the spider wouldn't move, while I was on the other side trying to figure out if I would actually be able to squish it once it is on the ground. Paul laughed and told us to wait for one second. She came back with Kyle, a very quiet man who looks like he could either 16 or 40. He grabbed my broom, scooped up the spider and brought it outside. I ran to Jessa's side and we had a shiver going down our spine, while Jimmy was watching all of this smiling. The monster came up behind us and tickled our neck, to get a reaction out of us. Well, we both screamed and swatted at our neck as Kyle was on his way back. The dream team was completed, Kyle would catch the spiders and release them, while we would just take care of empty cobwebs. This plan worked for the rest of the day, until the tour started. I screamed for Kyle, and he came running with his broom and marveled at the giant creature in front of his eyes. - We did commit some abortions as we found spider-egg-pockets on the monkey dorms.- That was the end of my experience with the spider hunting.
The tour had started and I was trying not to show my excitement, all the while checking that I didn't smell like sweat, monkey poop and sloths. I didn't, at least not against the other volunteers. There are many different types of animals at the refuge. The refuge is actually were the owners live. It used to be their garden, until the people of Puerto Viejo, Cahuita, Cocles and Manzanillo found out two biologists from Spain had settled there. One night, a woman dropped off a sick baby jaguar, and as Encar tried to save the baby jaguar, an idea came to her mind. Since so many locals came to them with sick animals, they might as well start to accept injured animals and rehabilitate them. The baby jaguar didn't make it, but throughout the years they had many more animals, some who survived and some who didn't. The ocelot I was so excited to work with died two nights ago of a seizure. It had epilepsy and didn't survive this one particular strong seizure. The only remaining big cat is a Marguay:
Most of the animals that were turned over to the refuge were once pets and therefore are either aggressive or too friendly towards humans. It is evident when an animal was a pet. Chai, our white tail deer comes up to you and acts like a dog, licking you for your salty skin and demanding scratched behind the ear. While Lola, our parrot has learned to mimick a baby howler monkey's cry to get attention, and uses it to play tricks on us. She laughs this deep maniacal laughter when her trick works. The most recent dump was this woman who drive from San Jose (remember how it is a four hour drive?) to drop off a baby howler monkey whose mother was shot. Encar is now its mother, and whenever she walked by he cries for her.
There is no feeling like having a baby monkey (whatever it be spider monkey or howler monkey) cuddle into your neck asking for milk at the end of a spider-killing day. I will tell you that much.
On a side note, I did give some of the donations to the center. The vet grabbed the syringes, the coagulating solutions, the Front line and the goat milk and went "So precious. So, so, so precious." I explain to her that this wasn't only from me, but also from my friends, and my mother's friends. She only had one response "You have good friends. Generous friends. Good people." If only she knows that Sunday will be another gift giving day. Anyway, I had to get my picture taken. So after 6 hours of hard labor, my photo is on the web with everyone's donations.
After the bike ride home, I went directly to the beach. This is no Ocean City beach. Those waves hit you hard. I didn't expect it at first, and goodness I swallowed salty water. But the whole experience washed off the crass and sweat of the day. It was refreshing and I wished I could transport people down here, rather than come back up north.
Alright, it is time for a non-Costa Rican dinner!
Ciao, amigos!
3/07/2013
1st morning
I finally made it. I am finally here.
I am not gonna lie and say that, as I sat in my parent's car, I didn't regret booking this trip. I thought of all the people I was leaving behind, and I especially remember how Kitten would always cuddle with me under the sheet.
But now, that I am here, I regret nothing. I am writing this blog post not from my comfortable couch at home, in front of my TV but from a wooden bench overlooking the black sand and the busy street of Puerto Viejo. It is 7 am, and I am the only one awake in the hostel. The excitement and the humidity kept me awake and after organizing myself a bit (and wondering which bird was screeching out my window) I quickly proceeded to step outside.
Again, I can't describe the amazement that I feel right now. Especially after having my first impression of Costa Rica through the eyes of an exhausted traveler. Now let's back track a bit so you can understand what I mean by "exhausted".
At 3:30 AM on Wednesday, I stepped out of my parents' home with one suitcase (46lbs), one big carry on, and another backpack which carried my laptop, passport, money, and important valuables. at 4:00AM, we arrived at the airport. The Philadelphia airport is nothing short of a maze. After going up and down stairs, crossing bridges, and opening doors, we finally made it to check in. I, nervoulsy, put my suitcase on the scale, ready to quickly switch items to my carry on. The suitcase's exact weight was 47.5 lbs. The limit is 50 lbs. I had half a second to debate if I wanted to add items, but it was early in the morning and I didn't want to give TSA another reason to search my bag.
After more anxiety provoking experiences, my bag made it through TSA. It got its little sticker "cleared" and I relaxed a bit. The new worry was food. Will I have a last meal in the USA?
Well, PHL is constructed in such a way, that the food court in terminal A East is on the other side of security. So I didn't get to have my little DD or Cinnabon with my parents (which I am sure I won't be upset about).
I smiled and waved at my parents as I went through security. A little 5ft young adult managed to have 4 baskets out and two bags. I was walking back and forth through the line to push all my stuff together. Nervously waiting for TSA to find a reason to stop me.
Again, I made it clear. I boarded my first plane. Within seconds, I fell asleep. I woke up in Miami, confused and boiling hot. I had booked a window seat, and the sun had been beaming on the window's protective curtain, resulting it in being scolding. My face had NO IDEA until I woke up. Whatever, I still got some sleep.
At the Miami airport, my new gate was only 5 minutes away from the exit of the plane. It wasn't only convenient, but I got to peruse the breakfast places (it was 8:00 at this point). Quickly, I paid my 3$ for a chocolate stuffed croissant, took my malaria medication. I was two days in. I better had not start forgetting. Before boarding the plan, I met a family that was on a NatGeo historical tour of the Panama Canal. I flagged their tour guide over, as they didn't notice she was taking names. Turned out, their boat had issues and their trip was going to changed drastically. I couldn't help but feel a little bad, before I bolted for the gate. Group 3 was called, and I had this constant worry that my giant carry-on would not find space. It did. Everytime.
This plane was harder for me to sleep on. The worry of the unknown was gnawing at my stomach, and my brain was racing through the plan. Get off the plane, grab my suitcase, get a ticket for the 14:00 MEPE bus to Puerto Viejo, get on the bus and get off in the city. Once in the city, find a taxi or walk to my hostel.
I had forgotten so many details of being a traveler and Costa Rica didn't take its time to remind me that the moto of a traveler is that Things wont go according to plan, but it will be fine.
I arrived, and forgotten about customs. The line was long, but it was quick. I met a farmer in line who had sold all of this land in the USA (Nevada and Utah) to move down to Panama. He was getting ready to sell his propriety in Costa Rica. He talked about the economy collapsing and how Costa Rica had too many gringos for him.
It was my turn to go see our little customs officer. He asked me if I spoke Spanish and I said yes. I answered all of his questions correctly and he asked to see my return ticket. I told him I only had it on my phone. My anxiety took the best of me, and as he gave me permission to show him my phone, the phone went flying through the air and crashed on the ground. Battery popped out. My phone is used to taking a hit for the team, but it enjoyed revenge as well. After five long minutes of awkwardly waiting for my phone to turn back on, I showed him the email from American Airlines. He stamped my passport, and off I went to grab my suitcase. I still had to go through Costa Rican customs. I was certain that at this point I had an ulcer, as the only food I had eaten was half a chocolate croissant in MIA and that I had been feeling nervous pain for the past 4 hours. I put all of my suitcases, carry-ons and jacket through the X-ray. The suitcase went through and I saw the guard put on his gloves.
He knew. I knew. He asked me in Spanish what the cans were. I baffled in Spanish "Leche de Cabra" (Goat milk) and pulled one out. He must have noticed my shaking, and my wide eyes and he let me go. Now was the easy part I told myself.
I walked out of the airport expecting to be in a city.
SJO airport is nowhere near San jose. It is 30 minutes away by taxi. How did I know this? The airport taxi staff told me. Now the guide books had warned me that taxi drivers like to rip off the gringos. At this point, I wasn't sure to trust him, but it didn't look like there was any buses here. There was no sign for a train, or a bus. Only taxis and renting a car. I reluctantly asked him the price and jumped in his cab. Luis was incredibly nice actually. After a few mishap in the city (such as getting pulled over by the police and going to the wrong bus station), we made it to the right bus stop. I had missed my bus by 10 minutes. The next bus was at 16:00. I had to wait another 2 hours to get to where I wanted to go.
People kept sitting on my bench and a few tried to talk to me. My phone was dying, and so I was forced to ask a few of them for the time. All of them were surprised of my origin. I was indeed, not a tica, but a full blooded white chick from two parts of the world.
After so much waiting and almost boarding the wrong bus, I made it onto mine. I sat next to a random man who I hoped hadn't eaten some bath salt. After three long hours, we made it to Limon. It was 8 PM. We were granted a 12 minutes break. Why so precise? I am not about to find out. I got off to the bus station which was mostly closed and looked through the merchandise. The only thing I recognized was peanuts. I was not in the mood to be adventurous with food, and I wasn't sure how much money I would need in the near future. I bought the bag of salted peanuts for 650 colones (1.3$) and pretty much ate all of it in one setting. I had some water from the plane to SJO and drank some of that. I tried to use one of the payphone to warn my hostel of my late arrival, but I had no idea how they truly worked.
Anyway, my 12 minutes were up. I got back on the bus, and the human sweat and odor was pungent. I could hardly believe that I had been breathing the smell of sweaty old men for the past three hours (granted I was asleep for a good hour). I told myself I only had 45 minutes to Puerto Viejo and that I would totally survive. It was dark and everything around the road looked the same. I wasn't sure if I would be able to recognize a place that only had pictures of it during the day when it was pitch dark outside.
I wasn't the one who recognized it. It was another young woman. She screamed "KAYA's" while on the bus, and it stopped. I grabbed my bag and got off the bus telling the driver I had "dos maletas". I grabbed my suitcases and rolled them in the sand to the receptionist.
He was closing the reception desk in 10 minutes. I was not amused, he was not amused. I was shown my room and all I wanted to do was shower and sleep. It was 9PM. I took a cold shower (as we are in Costa Rica) and emptied my bags into the tiny cabinet I was given. My room is far from luxurious. I have a bed with a small mattress, and a wooden desk/ cabinet. To be honest, I am happy with whatever they wanted to give me for 10$ (as long as it was a private room). The constant beating of the waves on the black sand put me to sleep as soon as I set up my mosquito net ( I had been there for 10 minutes and one landed on my arm. I am a mosquito magnet). I was snoring away.
This morning I woke up in disbelief that I was here. The combination of luck and readiness was flagrant to me now. If it wasn't for the ticos who had taken care of me along my way, I would still be in the airport looking for MEPE bus (maybe even crying).
Anyway, the hostel does have a cat, which I think is in heat so I get my daily dose of cat cuddles. No worries guys, it seems I picked the right place to be.
Now, I am gonna go on this beach that has been tempting me so badly!
As the ticos say it "CIAO!"
I am not gonna lie and say that, as I sat in my parent's car, I didn't regret booking this trip. I thought of all the people I was leaving behind, and I especially remember how Kitten would always cuddle with me under the sheet.
But now, that I am here, I regret nothing. I am writing this blog post not from my comfortable couch at home, in front of my TV but from a wooden bench overlooking the black sand and the busy street of Puerto Viejo. It is 7 am, and I am the only one awake in the hostel. The excitement and the humidity kept me awake and after organizing myself a bit (and wondering which bird was screeching out my window) I quickly proceeded to step outside.
Again, I can't describe the amazement that I feel right now. Especially after having my first impression of Costa Rica through the eyes of an exhausted traveler. Now let's back track a bit so you can understand what I mean by "exhausted".
At 3:30 AM on Wednesday, I stepped out of my parents' home with one suitcase (46lbs), one big carry on, and another backpack which carried my laptop, passport, money, and important valuables. at 4:00AM, we arrived at the airport. The Philadelphia airport is nothing short of a maze. After going up and down stairs, crossing bridges, and opening doors, we finally made it to check in. I, nervoulsy, put my suitcase on the scale, ready to quickly switch items to my carry on. The suitcase's exact weight was 47.5 lbs. The limit is 50 lbs. I had half a second to debate if I wanted to add items, but it was early in the morning and I didn't want to give TSA another reason to search my bag.
After more anxiety provoking experiences, my bag made it through TSA. It got its little sticker "cleared" and I relaxed a bit. The new worry was food. Will I have a last meal in the USA?
Well, PHL is constructed in such a way, that the food court in terminal A East is on the other side of security. So I didn't get to have my little DD or Cinnabon with my parents (which I am sure I won't be upset about).
I smiled and waved at my parents as I went through security. A little 5ft young adult managed to have 4 baskets out and two bags. I was walking back and forth through the line to push all my stuff together. Nervously waiting for TSA to find a reason to stop me.
Again, I made it clear. I boarded my first plane. Within seconds, I fell asleep. I woke up in Miami, confused and boiling hot. I had booked a window seat, and the sun had been beaming on the window's protective curtain, resulting it in being scolding. My face had NO IDEA until I woke up. Whatever, I still got some sleep.
At the Miami airport, my new gate was only 5 minutes away from the exit of the plane. It wasn't only convenient, but I got to peruse the breakfast places (it was 8:00 at this point). Quickly, I paid my 3$ for a chocolate stuffed croissant, took my malaria medication. I was two days in. I better had not start forgetting. Before boarding the plan, I met a family that was on a NatGeo historical tour of the Panama Canal. I flagged their tour guide over, as they didn't notice she was taking names. Turned out, their boat had issues and their trip was going to changed drastically. I couldn't help but feel a little bad, before I bolted for the gate. Group 3 was called, and I had this constant worry that my giant carry-on would not find space. It did. Everytime.
This plane was harder for me to sleep on. The worry of the unknown was gnawing at my stomach, and my brain was racing through the plan. Get off the plane, grab my suitcase, get a ticket for the 14:00 MEPE bus to Puerto Viejo, get on the bus and get off in the city. Once in the city, find a taxi or walk to my hostel.
I had forgotten so many details of being a traveler and Costa Rica didn't take its time to remind me that the moto of a traveler is that Things wont go according to plan, but it will be fine.
I arrived, and forgotten about customs. The line was long, but it was quick. I met a farmer in line who had sold all of this land in the USA (Nevada and Utah) to move down to Panama. He was getting ready to sell his propriety in Costa Rica. He talked about the economy collapsing and how Costa Rica had too many gringos for him.
It was my turn to go see our little customs officer. He asked me if I spoke Spanish and I said yes. I answered all of his questions correctly and he asked to see my return ticket. I told him I only had it on my phone. My anxiety took the best of me, and as he gave me permission to show him my phone, the phone went flying through the air and crashed on the ground. Battery popped out. My phone is used to taking a hit for the team, but it enjoyed revenge as well. After five long minutes of awkwardly waiting for my phone to turn back on, I showed him the email from American Airlines. He stamped my passport, and off I went to grab my suitcase. I still had to go through Costa Rican customs. I was certain that at this point I had an ulcer, as the only food I had eaten was half a chocolate croissant in MIA and that I had been feeling nervous pain for the past 4 hours. I put all of my suitcases, carry-ons and jacket through the X-ray. The suitcase went through and I saw the guard put on his gloves.
He knew. I knew. He asked me in Spanish what the cans were. I baffled in Spanish "Leche de Cabra" (Goat milk) and pulled one out. He must have noticed my shaking, and my wide eyes and he let me go. Now was the easy part I told myself.
I walked out of the airport expecting to be in a city.
SJO airport is nowhere near San jose. It is 30 minutes away by taxi. How did I know this? The airport taxi staff told me. Now the guide books had warned me that taxi drivers like to rip off the gringos. At this point, I wasn't sure to trust him, but it didn't look like there was any buses here. There was no sign for a train, or a bus. Only taxis and renting a car. I reluctantly asked him the price and jumped in his cab. Luis was incredibly nice actually. After a few mishap in the city (such as getting pulled over by the police and going to the wrong bus station), we made it to the right bus stop. I had missed my bus by 10 minutes. The next bus was at 16:00. I had to wait another 2 hours to get to where I wanted to go.
People kept sitting on my bench and a few tried to talk to me. My phone was dying, and so I was forced to ask a few of them for the time. All of them were surprised of my origin. I was indeed, not a tica, but a full blooded white chick from two parts of the world.
After so much waiting and almost boarding the wrong bus, I made it onto mine. I sat next to a random man who I hoped hadn't eaten some bath salt. After three long hours, we made it to Limon. It was 8 PM. We were granted a 12 minutes break. Why so precise? I am not about to find out. I got off to the bus station which was mostly closed and looked through the merchandise. The only thing I recognized was peanuts. I was not in the mood to be adventurous with food, and I wasn't sure how much money I would need in the near future. I bought the bag of salted peanuts for 650 colones (1.3$) and pretty much ate all of it in one setting. I had some water from the plane to SJO and drank some of that. I tried to use one of the payphone to warn my hostel of my late arrival, but I had no idea how they truly worked.
Anyway, my 12 minutes were up. I got back on the bus, and the human sweat and odor was pungent. I could hardly believe that I had been breathing the smell of sweaty old men for the past three hours (granted I was asleep for a good hour). I told myself I only had 45 minutes to Puerto Viejo and that I would totally survive. It was dark and everything around the road looked the same. I wasn't sure if I would be able to recognize a place that only had pictures of it during the day when it was pitch dark outside.
I wasn't the one who recognized it. It was another young woman. She screamed "KAYA's" while on the bus, and it stopped. I grabbed my bag and got off the bus telling the driver I had "dos maletas". I grabbed my suitcases and rolled them in the sand to the receptionist.
He was closing the reception desk in 10 minutes. I was not amused, he was not amused. I was shown my room and all I wanted to do was shower and sleep. It was 9PM. I took a cold shower (as we are in Costa Rica) and emptied my bags into the tiny cabinet I was given. My room is far from luxurious. I have a bed with a small mattress, and a wooden desk/ cabinet. To be honest, I am happy with whatever they wanted to give me for 10$ (as long as it was a private room). The constant beating of the waves on the black sand put me to sleep as soon as I set up my mosquito net ( I had been there for 10 minutes and one landed on my arm. I am a mosquito magnet). I was snoring away.
This morning I woke up in disbelief that I was here. The combination of luck and readiness was flagrant to me now. If it wasn't for the ticos who had taken care of me along my way, I would still be in the airport looking for MEPE bus (maybe even crying).
Anyway, the hostel does have a cat, which I think is in heat so I get my daily dose of cat cuddles. No worries guys, it seems I picked the right place to be.
Now, I am gonna go on this beach that has been tempting me so badly!
As the ticos say it "CIAO!"
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